Chapter 24
twenty-four
I try—really and truly try—to focus. But no matter how hard I force concentration, I can’t turn my attention away from the one question running through my mind on a loop.
Where the hell is Alice?
The second-floor landing is my favorite spot for observation at Mason and Jacqueline Stryker’s opulent manse. I’ve spent many philanthropic events and social gatherings perched here, watching Grayson move through the enormous entertaining space at the foot of their grand, curved staircase.
Tonight proves no exception. Though now, I keep my eyes trained on my boss and his future wife. Keeping tabs on Ella is easy enough—in her white gown, it’s impossible to miss her. It helps that Grayson tends to stick close to her side.
Which is good. Because I need all the help I can get.
My head isn’t even in the room. When my mind isn’t racing with all the things that can go wrong at any moment, it’s back in Alice’s little pastel apartment, basking in her enticing warmth.
Finishing The Wallflower this afternoon didn’t discourage my new fixation.
As I read it, I couldn’t help but imagine Alice’s eyes running over the same words, her mind conjuring the same sensual images.
My body had a distinct reaction to that thought.
One so potent, I had to relieve myself before I could turn my meager focus to tonight.
It didn’t make much of a difference, in the end. I remained distracted while I donned my requisite black tuxedo. All during the drive to retrieve the guests of honor. And throughout the final briefing I gave my team before the party commenced.
Now, I have to actively yank my mind back to the task at hand every few minutes. Exhaling in frustration, I shift from one foot to the other and scan the Italian marble foyer. A fresh stab of aggravation assaults me when I realize: I’m not even looking for potential security threats.
I’m looking for her.
Where the hell could she be? She told me she’d be here. She’s never flaked on anything else for the Strykers.
Fuck. Focus, Amir.
During the first hour, I was on edge and overeager. During the second, I got angry. Almost indignant. By the third, worry has crowded in.
What if she is hurt? Or sick? She could have been in a traffic accident or gotten mugged on the subway again.
My stomach turns leaden with dread. Repeatedly, my hand twitches for my phone.
I narrowly catch myself every time, internally chanting stern reminders that I am working.
Doing the job that garners me millions of dollars and changed the lives of my entire family.
Keeping people I care about safe from the threats circling their heads like vultures.
Screwing around with my phone during a high-risk event is unthinkable.
Yet here I am, thinking about it.
I blink down at the scene below, noting that Grayson stands off to the left, but Ella does not. When he meets my gaze, he subtly rolls his head up and to the right, indicating the level behind me. His lips mouth, “Bathroom.”
Instantly, I raise my watch to my lips, speaking into the speaker hidden there. “Who has a twenty on the bride?”
Pierce responds first, his voice filling my ear via the earpiece I wear.
“I had her about three minutes ago. She was in my quadrant, en route to the elevator in the west wing. I thought you’d catch her when she exited.
She was going up to your floor and planned to cross over the landing to the bathroom in the east wing. ”
Damn it. I would have caught her if I weren’t so damn distracted.
“Barnes?” I growl. “Do you have a visual?”
The old Brit hates being in a storage closet full of monitors. Every time the situation necessitates it, the task turns him more stoic and surlier than usual. But he is the one who knows this house the best.
“Second floor,” he snaps back. “West wing, heading east.”
Toward me. Good.
“I’ll intercept her at the top of the stairs,” I determine, blowing out a gust of anxiety. “Next time, someone better fucking call me.”
Pissed, Barnes clicks off without a word. But Pierce’s voice takes on a conciliatory note. “Understood, sir. I’m in the dining room; I’ll keep a twenty on the groom.”
Great. The sarcastic tone of my thoughts is uncharitable, and I know it. Pierce has diligently given up time with his new wife all week. He can handle watching our boss drink a martini.
I still don’t like handing the reins of Grayson’s security to another person. For years, I took sole responsibility for his safety. It feels unnatural to forfeit the job, but my boss made one thing exceedingly clear—Ella’s well-being now supersedes his own.
It is a noble notion. One I agree with and understand. Honestly, I know I would make the same choice if I were in his shoes.
If Alice and I were in danger, of course I would want her to be safe before me.
The errant thought surprises me. What the fuck am I doing? I am at work.
A strange tendril of indefinable certainty creeps up my insides. It isn’t new—and it seems to reach farther and deeper each time I think of her. Problem is, I don’t understand the sensation. It’s warm and solid and real… but what is it?
Carajo.
I’ve gotten distracted again. For two minutes, my smart watch informs me.
Two minutes. That seems like a long time for someone to walk from one side of the house to the other.
An instinctive prickle skitters down my spine. It doesn’t matter how long I do this kind of work—I always forget this feeling until it returns. The solid certainty mixed with soaring adrenaline. How it sharpens my mind and sends an anchor dragging through my gut.
Something isn’t right.
My eyes snap to the crush of people below, scanning. Not knowing what I’m looking for until I find it.
But I find it.
I always do.
Tension grips my lungs. I’ve trained myself to ignore the urge to panic, though. And years of practice have given me the ability to think around the fear.
It’s the trick no one teaches you; being a good soldier doesn’t require the absence of fear. Just the humility to treat it with respect. So you can move through it, instead of tripping over it.
I hit the speaker on my smart watch. “I need backup on level two, east wing. Whoever has eyes on Ella, move in.”
Brad bleats back, “Heard,” just as Pierce adds his agreement. Barnes’s “aye,” is belated, but I don’t have time to think about that.
Striding as quickly as I can without making my concern obvious, I stalk down the grand staircase, keeping my gaze trained on a head of ashy brown hair.
The color is all wrong. It should be blond. And the face hidden under it may be gaunt and half-insane, but I recognize it. Him.
Ted Styker’s son, Daniel. Ella’s tormentor from her past life. Grayson’s sick, son-of-a-bitch cousin.
He’s supposed to be behind bars. I put him there myself—slammed the door on his cell and everything. How the fuck is he here?
It’s another mystery I don’t have time for. Not now.
Because the fucker has his target in his sights, weaving his way through the throng to get to—
Ella.
She’s there, floating toward Grayson with Pierce right behind her. He’s focused—good kid—and doesn’t see me. I raise my watch back to my mouth.
“Hold her there,” I bark. “Now.”
It all happens too quickly.
The worst things tend to.
Daniel watches as Pierce yanks Ella to a halt. She whirls, surprised, and Daniel flashes his teeth. I take the opportunity to reach for him, but he sees the way the crowd has to part to let me through—and he launches himself at his mark.
Grayson senses the commotion and turns. He shouts something—and the split second it takes for me to tune into his voice is all Daniel needs to draw a gun.
My scalp tingles, lungs stuttering as he raises it at Ella. My friend. My love of Grayson’s life.
I lunge, intending to tackle him or block his shot. But I’m not fast enough.
By the time I land on the marble floor with Daniel Stryker under me, smoke and the reverberation of a gunshot hang in the air. The room is silent as blood creeps up Ella’s white gown and pools underneath me.