Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“Okay.” His voice was a little more firm than usual, no-nonsense.
It was likely in response to my hysteria, knowing he needed to keep me as calm as possible.
“Kenz, I need you to get out of the store, okay? Get out right now and just… just stand out front if you want and wait for me. Or go to the coffee shop. Just get out of the store and into plain sight, okay?” There was a pause as I forced my legs to move, not actually feeling them, like they were sleep-numb, though they weren’t, as I actually had to focus on picking them up and moving toward the door. Slow. It was way too slow. “Kenzi?”
“I’m out,” I said, my voice airy as I swallowed hard, looking around, full of paranoia.
“Okay, good. I need you to stay on the phone, okay?” He moved the phone from his mouth, his tone muffled as he barked out something to someone else, and then I heard the hiss of cars as he, I imagined, got on the street to get in his car.
“Kenz,” he said again, his voice a whip, cracking through the weird fog my brain felt stuck in.
Cassie.
My Cassie.
My best friend in the freaking world. The girl I played with, grew with, built a life with.
And there was some psycho out there—some bastard who wanted to shove whole limbs inside of us—and he had her. He had her, and there was no telling how long there would be before something awful started happening to her.
“Breathe,” he demanded, making me realize my chest was actually tight, that I hadn’t been breathing.
So I took a long, deep breath, finding it somehow made everything even worse.
“I am two minutes away.” There was reassurance in his voice, but it fell on deaf ears because all I could hear was my own heartbeat whooshing in my ears.
My belly was somehow a knot, but swirling ominously at the same time, making me genuinely worry I might get sick all over my own feet.
It felt like no time, but an eternity at the same time, before his car screeched to a halt behind me, behind my car, double-parked in a town that hated that shit, but obviously not caring as he ran up to me with the engine still running.
His giant hands closed around my shoulders before one released to snag my chin and drag my face up. “I need you to get in my car and lock the door. Right now. Kenz,” he added when I made no response. “Right fucking now.”
That got through—the bossiness of it, I guess.
I jumped back and nodded as he moved toward my store.
I climbed in, finding that the inside smelled like he did—some crisp male-scented soap or cologne. My hand reached numbly toward the lock and hit the button, watching the door like some crazy machete-wielding psycho might come bursting out.
But the only person who came out was Tig, motioning at me, and I reached for the handle and pushed the door open, walking back to him on legs that were no less numb.
“Here we go,” he said, and I heard it too—the sirens.
“You called the cops?” I asked, my brows drawing together. The words came out almost like an accusation.
“I can do a lot of shit, honey, but I can’t lead up an investigation on a kidnapping.”
Then I felt the weirdest thing.
His hand slid under mine, his fingers moving between mine, and then curling and holding tight.
It was so unexpected that even though the cops were there—sirens and lights all over, men popping out with guns—my eyes went there instead, finding myself oddly mesmerized by how his hand seemed to completely consume mine.
Our skin contrasted. There were scars on his knuckles.
And maybe it was inappropriate to notice given the situation, but he had very neat and trimmed nails.
Two cops in blue moved past us, guns raised, and disappeared inside my store as Tig’s hand gave mine a reassuring squeeze, practically cracking the bones in the process.
How strange to be so strong, I mused, as another man exited a sedan in a deep gray suit that, while expertly tailored to fit his strong body well, my fashion-trained eyes knew to be of somewhat cheap quality.
He was good-looking otherwise—young for a detective with a fit body, a classically handsome face, dark hair, and dark eyes.
I had seen him at the NBPD station during one of the many times I had been there over the past several months, though he had never been the detective on my case.
No, I had some old jerk with a pinched face and splotchy skin who talked down to me and all but ensured me that the harassment would stop and there was no real threat.
“Lloyd,” Tig said, jerking his chin as the man approached.
“Tig,” Lloyd said, doing a similar chin lift as he reached into his pocket for a notepad and pen. “I’m assuming you trudged through the crime scene.” The words were a bit testy, but his tone seemed almost teasing.
“That’s me. The bull in the china shop. Fucked everything up in there.” Tig’s smile was wry. “I just checked to make sure no one was around and came right back out.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, turning his dark eyes to me. “I know you’ve filed reports, but I need all your info again.”
There was another bone-crushing squeeze that had me snapping out of my stupor. My head shook hard once, clearing the fog in my brain. “Kenzi Washington. I own Luxe. My partner, well, she’s more of an employee, I guess. Well, we have been getting threats.”
“And when the detective had nothing to go on, you went to Sawyer? Or are you two a thing?”
My mouth opened and closed once, an action that Lloyd didn’t miss if the way his lips twitched was anything to go by. “I, ah, I went to Sawyer to see if they had other ways of getting information.”
“Less than legal ways? I’m sure he does. Okay. Tell me about today,” he started, flagging down a cop as he walked past and telling him to call my security camera company.
“Everything was fine. Dead, because we had all our clothes ruined last week by this psycho.”
“This kind of psycho,” Tig interrupted, holding out his phone screen toward Lloyd, who looked impassive for a second before a muscle started ticking in his jaw, everything about him tightening.
“Tell me the rest in the office or wherever you can access the security footage for all the cameras.”
With that, he moved into the store, leaving us on the street. Where I might have stayed indefinitely had Tig not actually dragged me along with him, not bothering to encourage or comfort me. There wasn’t time for that.
So I was pulled through my store, which suddenly felt less like home, less like a place I loved. It felt very much like what it was—a crime scene.
My stomach twisted hard when I saw the cops taking pictures behind my desk.
But then Tig was yanking me through to the back, past the tiny makeshift kitchen and into an even smaller room that served as the office—just a cubby of a room with an Ikea desk because it was the only one small enough, with a computer on top.
There was a heavy-duty safe crammed beneath, bolted into the floor.
“Safe hasn’t been touched,” Lloyd observed as Tig pushed me into the room, where I took a seat and fired up the computer with numb fingers, surprised I was even able to type in the passcode.
“Kenz, honey, rewind it,” Tig had to prompt me when I brought up the footage, showing the cops in my store, looking at all my stuff, taking samples of Cassie’s blood, making my stomach pitch to the floor.
“Right,” I agreed, moving the mouse and hitting rewind.
It was a blur, and I stopped it as I hopped up off the desk and moved to go get lunch. There was Cassie—alive and well, doing something on her phone. Nothing amiss.
It was a good five minutes later when someone came in from the back, behind her, grabbing her.
The back of my chair was grabbed, pulling me to the side until I hit the wall as Lloyd moved in, trying to get a closer look.
He took the mouse as I watched Cassie struggle.
Bless her, she fought. She was not the kind of woman to just accept her fate.
She reached up behind her, clawing at the man in a ski mask, cliché of all clichés.
She kicked backward, hitting his shin and sending them both toppling forward, where her head smashed against the edge of the desk.
My heart stopped beating right then, seeing her body go slack, watching the man grab her effortlessly, tossing her over his shoulder like some kind of drunk girl at a bar, her head against his back, his arm right under her ass. One of her feet was bare.
“Are there cameras out…” Lloyd started, and I was vaguely aware of him looking at me, but my gaze was stuck on the camera, watching my best friend disappear with a man who wanted to assault her, taking her right out of my life.
“There are cameras in the front, back, and down the side alley,” Tig supplied for me.
“Get her out of here. She’s no use to us if she’s fucking catatonic.”
With that, Tig’s hand grabbed the side of the chair, sliding it out into the back room, kneeling down in front of me, which, since he was a giant, still made him taller than me.
There was a squeezing sensation on my knees, and my gaze moved down to find his giant hands completely covering them.
My eyes followed them up to the wrists, over the strong forearms, then the giant, corded muscle of his biceps that made the material of his tee stretch to fit over.
“Kenzi, honey, you need to take a breath,” he reminded me.
I swallowed hard, finding the motion difficult with a dry mouth as my eyes finally landed on his—finding them active, both concerned and spinning.
I knew I was supposed to say something. But no words could string together in my brain, let alone find their way to my tongue.
“Lloyd, can I take her home to calm her down? You have her address.”
Lloyd sounded distracted, distant, when he barked out a ‘yeah.’
The next thing I knew, I wasn’t in the chair.
I also wasn’t on my own two feet either.