Chapter 36 Kennedy
kennedy
Ididn’t know a Range Rover could go this fast, but apparently, all it needed was Jordan Boucher racing to my apartment like a maniac to make it go pretty damn quick.
And my heart isn’t far behind, feeling like it would register higher than the speedometer in the car.
He hasn’t really explained why we are flying through the streets of Milwaukee, outside of the fact he realized I was right and all of this could be connected.
I still feel like I don’t have the full picture, but I’m too consumed with thoughts of exactly what is at my place to think coherently.
He parks in a spot that definitely isn’t mine, and we run into the lobby like we’re on the Amazing Race, trying to get to the next clue.
Heart in my throat, I beeline for Sean, our concierge, waiting patiently, and without judgment, at the desk.
“Hey, Sean,” I gasp, “I got a message that I had a package today?”
“Oh yes, Ms. Kramer, we placed it in your apartment per your request. Is everything okay?”
Shit. “Yeah, it’s fine. That’s exactly what I asked for with the delivery. Sorry for the panic. Thanks.”
I look to Jordan, forcing a brittle smile, still not quite understanding why he’s here, what else he’s being tight-lipped about, or what the hell is going on.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me toward the elevator.
“Jordan.” I drag my heels. “You don’t have to come with me. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“No way. No fucking way. We’re going together to see what this is,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I twist my lips as I consider arguing with him, but from the way he’s holding my hand, and the long-ass day we’ve had, I don’t want to be alone tonight.
“Okay,” I whisper, allowing myself to follow his lead. “Let’s go.”
Taking the elevator up to the 10th floor is the longest damn elevator ride of my entire life, but when it finally dings, we speed-walk down the hallway, and I tap the key fob against my door. Red light.
“Shit! I hate this damn door. This freakin’ key has to hit just the right spot.”
Jordan snorts. “You do live here, right?”
I give him a wicked side eye. “Yes, I live here. But this stupid door is impossible.”
“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let me try. I have a knack for hitting things in just the right spot.”
A shiver runs up my spine thinking about what other spots he may be able to hit. I still feel like he’s keeping something from me, but my body responds anyway—that damn undeniable heat pooling low in my core. Shit…I need to stop reading romance books with morally gray men.
I hand it over and, sure enough, he unlocks it in one try.
“How…how did you do that?”
He shrugs as he hands back the key. “I watered Maggie’s plants when she and Vladi were out of town and got the hang of it. I also may have, you know, accidentally killed one of her plants, and she absolutely threatened bodily harm if it happened again.”
I snicker, breaking the tension as the door clicks open. But now…I pick at my nails, almost scared to enter. Jordan slowly pushes open the door, and we both inch inside as if a creepy clown is going to pop out of a closet.
“Anyone there?” he yells, glancing around the dark space, then whispers, “Stay here; let me walk around and make sure no one snuck in.”
“Jordan, this building is secure; there’s no way someone walked in here without security knowing.”
“Will you just let me check? Please?”
I let out a defeated sigh, a part of me glad he’s here with me and I’m not alone. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”
What happens next can only be described as Jordan Boucher acting like he’s an undercover agent for the FBI.
Shuffling down the hallway with his back against the wall, he darts around corners, holding his hands in the shape of a gun like he’s one of Charlie’s Angels.
I stifle a laugh at the ridiculous manner in which he’s ensuring the safety of my apartment.
“Are you seriously laughing?!” he whisper-yells down the hallway. “Someone could be trying to murder me right now!”
“How did this escalate to murder?” I retort as he tiptoes down the hall, shaking my head in disbelief.
As I step into the kitchen, my eyes catch on a little plush teddy bear sitting on the counter with a balloon attached.
The tension flickers away, and I suddenly feel ridiculous for racing to get here.
“Jordan…oh my God, Jordan, stop. Come look at this. I think we may have overreacted.”
He walks back into the kitchen and stands next to me, placing his hand around my waist. Standing this close, his scent floods my senses.
He smells like juniper, and citrus, and—fuck, he’s like a walking gin and tonic, and my mouth is salivating for him more than the drink.
Not to mention my thighs clenching together at how he’s being ridiculously protective. Why is this so intoxicating?
“The coast is clear,” he pants as if he’s just run a marathon.
“Thank God you were here,” I tease as he rolls his eyes at me. He actually rolls his eyes at me. It’s so immature, so ridiculous, and somehow, it’s…charming.
“Look…” —I gesture to the stuffed animal on my counter— “…someone sent me this cute guy and a balloon. I think we let our imagination get the best of us. It’s probably from my mom.”
He leans over my shoulder, a smile relaxing his face. “Oh, look! It’s one of those bears that talks. Push the paw and see what it says.”
I’m expecting the bear to say something cute like, ‘you’re amazing’ or ‘world’s best daughter’ or ‘I miss you beary much.’
Not. Even. Close.
Chills crawl down my spine as deranged circus music crackles through the speaker, every distorted note twisting through the air.
I freeze, ridiculously waiting for a car full of clowns to drive through my apartment, forcing me to rock back on my heels.
Then the bear blinks. It fucking blinks.
I sneak a glance at Jordan, his eyes matching my horrified state.
His fingers tighten around my waist as a deep voice curls around us.
“Roses are red, violets are blue, stay away from Boucher, or I’ll come for you.”
As if that wasn’t already scary as hell, the arms start swinging up and down, and we both scream like little girls.
I grab the bear, balloon in tow, and slam it on the floor, violently stomping it to death and popping the balloon with my shoe as Jordan screams louder, covering his eyes.
I grab a pan out of the cabinet and continue smashing the shit out of the stuffed animal from hell until the music crawls to a stop.
“Is it…is it dead?” he squeaks, his hand on my shoulder, peering around to see if the bear was silenced.
“Yeah.” I let out a relieved sigh before whirling around and pointing the pan at the scaredy cat in question. “Jordan, what the fuck was that? Why is someone telling me to stay away from you?”
“First of all, can we please get rid of the deranged Build-A-Bear? It’s looking at me.”
I blink. “Are you seriously scared of a stuffed bear?”
“Well, that one for sure!” He tiptoes forward, leaning for a closer look before shivering and scurrying back to the safety that’s, apparently, behind me.
“My sisters had one of those talking bears with the cassette tape that read you stories, and they used to scare the shit out of me with it. I was convinced it was going to come to life and eat me in my sleep! You would have thought having older sisters would be a lot of hair and make-up experiments, and while it was some of that, my sisters loved torturing me with stories about dolls killing me in my sleep. So, excuse me if I don’t want that damn bear staring at me while we talk. ”
I smirk. This man tried to protect me from a murderer, but he is also scared of a talking bear. It’s surprisingly adorable. “If I put it in the trash, will that make you feel better?”
“Yes! Please. Thank you.” He sighs, his facial expression relaxing.
I set the pan down in exchange for a pair of kitchen tongs, not wanting to touch this damn thing either, and throw it in the trash can.
Just as I’m ready to grill him about what the hell is going on, my eye catches a glimmer across the room like a shooting star in the night sky.
My breath catches in my chest as I remember that half the things in my apartment could be from this person.
A pit forms in my stomach. “Oh my God. The other gifts…are they from this creep too?”
He pipes up quickly. “I think the word creep may be a bit harsh.”
“Jordan!” I spit out, digging through the junk drawers in my kitchen. “You just hid in a corner from a stuffed animal. I think creep is a fitting description for the person sending me this stuff!” I move to the next drawer. “I know I have a hammer here somewhere,” I mutter to myself.
“Did you say a hammer?”
I dart my gaze to him, his eyes wide with fear. I guess I was louder than I thought.
“Yes.” I continue rummaging through the drawers of random crap, desperate to find it. One would think someone with a job requiring my level of precision and focus would be completely organized at home. Not me. I don’t get paid to be organized here.
“Um…what do you need it for?” Jordan asks, his voice shaky.
“Ah ha! Here it is,” I shout in triumph, walking over to the stupidly giant diamond-encrusted leopard.
“Kennedy? What are you…oh shit! What are you doing?”
“I need to crack open this leopard to see if there’s something fucked up inside. I’ve been dying for an excuse to break this thing.” I raise the hammer over my head, my tongue sticking out of the corner of my mouth, aiming right for the head of th—
“STOP! Don’t hurt Neil!” he shouts.
I freeze mid-swing, my gaze snapping to him. “Who the fuck is Neil?”
“Neil. Neil Diamond.” He gestures toward the monstrosity before me. “The leopard.”
I shake my head as I blink. What the fuck is happening here? “His name is Neil?!”
Jordan rubs the back of his neck. “My parents are big Neil Diamond fans, okay? I know every song by heart.”
“Okay…I’m not surprised by that. What I am surprised about is how the hell you know this leopard’s name,” I say, my brows narrowing, my mouth hanging open in shock.
“The leopard wasn’t from them. It was um…from…”
“Who was it from, Jordan?”
His eyes lock with mine. He runs his hand through the long waves of brown hair before finally whispering, “Me.”