Keep Me Safe (Dangerous Obsession #2)

Chapter 1

KARA

I sat motionless as all the color drained from my employee’s face.

“We have to terminate your employment, effective immediately,” I said. “I’m sorry. It was a difficult business decision that we’ve had to make. Your position has been eliminated.”

I knew I sounded robotic and unfeeling, but the truth was I felt like shit. Not just because of my jet lag, but because of the man who sat across from me in the glass conference room. Scott Rhodes’s jaw tightened until I was sure he was going to crack his teeth.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he hissed. “I expected nothing less from this company.”

Scott had been working at the Manhattan branch of Incentive Systems for the better part of twenty years, and he was the second person I’d had to let go this month.

I was a top-level project manager, the youngest at the company at only thirty years old, and I wasn’t experienced at laying people off. It’d be all right with me if I didn’t get any more practice at it.

Scott’s chaotic gaze went to my boss, who sat beside me.

Jim had wanted this to happen for at least six months, but I’d fought a losing battle for my employee’s job.

In Jim’s defense, Scott’s work had been declining.

Plus, I’d heard rumors he was coming in late and leaving early, even after I’d put him on a performance improvement plan.

I still oversaw the New York implementation team from my office at the international headquarters in Maastricht, and rather than do it over a video call, I’d chosen to fly in from the Netherlands to relieve Scott. He was owed that for all his years, even if he’d been sliding.

“Human resources will be sending over a severance package,” Jim said. He looked, for lack of a better word, bored. Like he had no idea we’d sent the world crashing down on Scott.

This was just one of the many reasons why I’d left New York. My boss was kind of a dick.

Scott’s breathing was rushed, panicked. “What . . . happens now?”

“You’ll go to your desk,” Jim said, “and collect your items. Kara won’t hover, but we do need to make sure that’s done, and you leave immediately afterward.”

For a moment, I was concerned he wasn’t going to go quietly, and I held my breath.

But it left me in a relieved sweep when he rose from his chair, his glassy-eyed expression shifting away from me. He turned and plodded toward the door, leaving the conference room like a zombie.

“You still think flying in all the way from Europe was necessary?” Jim asked when the door swung shut.

“Yes.” I ignored his pointed question. It probably hadn’t made a shred of difference, but I wasn’t cold or unfeeling—and didn’t want anyone to view me that way either.

If I hadn’t flown in, I was sure my ex-husband, who worked five floors up, would use it as an excuse to lobby for my dismissal.

Paul had resented my climb through the company ranks from the moment I’d started here.

“The bright side is his wife will get less in alimony.”

I was able to disguise my personal feelings, but only barely. “He’s getting divorced?”

“Amber said the wife moved out last month. I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t. That explains why his work was suffering.”

Jim leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Yeah, maybe, but it’s not an excuse. People get divorced and keep doing their job all the time, you know. You did.”

I tore my gaze away from him so he couldn’t see my discomfort. The ink on my settlement papers had been dry for almost two years, but the word divorce was still a slap in the face.

“It wasn’t easy.” There was an understatement.

When he didn’t move, I stood on the high heels that hurt my feet.

I was already tall at five-eleven, so the shoes were completely unnecessary.

I loomed over people and made them uncomfortable.

Really, I made men uncomfortable, and at this point in my life, that was a good thing.

These shoes were a freedom now that I was single.

My ex-husband had been an inch shorter than me when I was flat-footed.

“I’ll go check on him,” I said.

I rounded the table and was halfway to the door when a woman darted down the hallway, sprinting past the conference room.

“What was that?” Jim asked.

It gave me pause. “Amber.”

“Was she running?”

Anxiety made the air in the room go thin. The offices beyond the glass were quiet. Too quiet.

I didn’t realize I was retreating until the table against my hip let me backpedal no farther. Even before I saw Scott and the small, silver handgun clutched at his side, I somehow knew.

Cold dread curled its fingers around me as he burst through the door and raised the gun toward Jim. His hand shook like he was completely out of control, which was exactly how I felt.

A smart person would run. They would seek shelter beneath the heavy conference table, or at least behind one of the chairs. Even standing motionless would be better since that was less likely to draw his attention.

But my mind buzzed with fear, and I refused to let it control me. I’d given up control too much in my life already, and it made me reckless now.

I had hardly enough breath to form the word. “Scott.”

His focus, including his gun, swung my direction. “I worked here eighteen goddamn years. Before you, before him. I helped build this place. You can’t replace me!”

Terror froze Jim into a statue.

“Please, Scott. Don’t do this.” My voice stayed calm, even as a tremor crept along my body. “You’re better than this.”

My words had no effect on him. His eyes teemed with hurt, with utter betrayal, and he looked so lost. Like he wasn’t all there anymore.

“You can’t fire me.” The barrel of his gun shifted back to Jim. “I need this job. It’s all I . . . it’s the only thing left.”

The urge to do something, to try to diffuse the situation somehow, was so compelling I couldn’t ignore it. My voice dropped down into a whisper. “Look at me.”

He did, showing me his wild, chaotic expression. “I’m not going to give you the gun.”

“That’s fine.” My tone was eerily calm. “I don’t want it.”

I moved without consideration and stepped out of my shoes, partly because I wanted to seem less challenging, but also because I didn’t want to die in them.

My actions temporarily disrupted Scott, and his expression changed to confusion.

His extended arm sagged a few inches, lowering his aim away from Jim.

“I’ve been where you are,” I said. “I know how hard it is—”

Anger flashed through him, and his grip tightened on the gun, raising it back up. “You don’t have any idea.”

I swallowed thickly. “All right, tell me.”

It didn’t look like he was going to.

He stared at Jim with contempt as he considered his options. Did he even comprehend what he was doing right now?

Abruptly, a pained sound escaped him, and he glanced in my direction. “She left me, Kara. Twenty-two years gone, like they were nothing.” His violent shaking increased, amplifying how unstable he looked. “Without this, without her, I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing, Scott,” I said softly, “but I get it. I felt like that, too. I know what it’s like to put your soul into something, to change your whole damn life for another person.” The tremble in my voice matched his. “To give and give and give, only to have it fall apart, no matter what.”

I didn’t bother to hide my pain. I wanted him to feel the connection.

Since his back was turned, he didn’t notice the movement beyond the glass. I barely caught it out of the corner of my eye but didn’t dare drop my gaze. It remained locked on Scott’s, where I could see all the turmoil churning inside him.

His shoulders lifted with a heavy breath and then dropped with resignation. The gun lowered hesitantly to his side.

“It’s going to get better, I promise,” I uttered in the silence, maybe more for my own benefit than his.

He tilted his head and looked at me like I was a fool. “No, it won’t.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but the door burst open so violently that it slammed into the wall on the other side. A security guard charged in, leveled his Taser at Scott, and fired before anyone could react.

The leads hit their mark, and a horrible clicking sound filled the air, followed by Scott’s guttural groans. He dropped the gun, went unnaturally wooden, and fell forward, crashing to the floor with a loud, sickening thud.

Everything moved so quickly after that.

Police arrived. I stood by and watched one of them put a knee in Scott’s back while he was cuffed and hauled to his feet. I stared at the stubby office carpet and tried to block out the fact he was crying.

I didn’t cry.

It wasn’t that I was incapable or that I didn’t have feelings.

I had plenty. Perhaps too many, even. But crying never accomplished anything, and it was hard for me not to view it as a waste of my time.

I didn’t like being sad, and I certainly didn’t like self-pity. I would much rather focus on solutions.

My first phone call after the ordeal was over was to my sister, Laurel. Thankfully, it wasn’t late in Munich when I phoned, but she freaked out to the point that I began to wonder who had just been threatened at gunpoint.

Given her history, plus her pregnancy hormones, I cut her all the slack.

The police took my statement together with Jim’s, and when the interview was over, he loosened his tie like it had been cutting off circulation.

“I never would have thought he’d be one to go like that,” he said. I could see he was still sweating through his dress shirt, and his grateful gaze found mine. “You’ve got a level head about you, Kara. Probably saved both of our lives.”

He gave me a look that said he owed me, and my reward was he refused to let me work the rest of the day.

I put up a fight, but he wouldn’t hear it.

He meant well, but it was the last thing I wanted.

Every second in New York where I wasn’t focused on work, I was bombarded with reminders of him, the ex-husband.

Paul already knew what had happened in the conference room.

He’d been evacuated with everyone else while the police had secured the building.

I zipped the pouch on my laptop bag when the phone intercom beeped in the spare office, lighting up the screen with the words “Front Desk.”

“Ms. Hayward?” the receptionist said. “I’ve got your brother here to see you.”

Brother? If I had one, that was news to me.

I popped my head out of the office and peered down the long hallway.

“Shit,” I groaned. I rarely swore at work, but there was no helping it, because Shawn Dunn stood at the front desk, leaning down to chat with the woman seated there. Or perhaps, flirt. That seemed all he was capable of doing.

I yanked myself back into the office and out of view before he noticed me.

What the hell was he doing here—not just in New York, but in my building? I didn’t want to deal with him, wasn’t prepared in the slightest. My heart skipped faster as I paced restlessly in the small, open area in front of my desk.

The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was more nervous to see Shawn than I’d been when a gun was thrust in my face.

God, pull yourself together.

I sucked in a deep breath. I would not fall apart at the sight of him, and I jammed my feet back into my killer heels. I was going to need every inch of them while dealing with Laurel’s annoying brother-in-law.

He’d been sending me almost daily text messages for the last few months, which I viewed as partially my fault. Sometimes, when I was home in Maastricht and safely seven hours away from him, I engaged. I allowed his shameless flirting because I was lonely and it felt good to be desired.

One time, I’d had too much to drink and stayed awake half the night responding to his texts.

But nothing could happen between us.

He was persistent on a level I wouldn’t have believed possible. An elaborate and excessive flower arrangement had arrived on my birthday six weeks ago, and he’d sent another one every week since. My co-workers thought it was the most romantic thing ever.

Hardly.

Shawn made it crystal clear what he wanted from me every time I was in Munich visiting my sister.

I marched down the hall, trying to exude confidence I didn’t have, and kept my gaze pinned to him.

He must have sensed my approach, for he straightened to his full, impressive height. Still taller than I was in my heels. When he set his warm gaze on me, I clenched my teeth and bit out a polite smile.

His brown hair was so dark it was almost black and slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it recently. He had on a raincoat that glinted with raindrops and an umbrella tucked under one arm. It had been overcast when the office had been evacuated, but I hadn’t realized it had started to rain.

He gave me a smile that was more like a smirk. Like he knew just how good he looked to me, or to women in general, and he enjoyed that immensely. I told myself I found it irritating. That was the word I’d use to describe the man staring at me as if he owned the world and every person on it.

Irritating.

Or maybe German.