THIRTY-EIGHT
“HEY! COME ON.”
Closing her locker at work, she turned to Yvette hanging in the break room door. “Come where?”
Only place she wanted to go was to her guy.
“We have an idea,” Yvette said, smiling as she side-nodded.
Out of curiosity, and because she had to go that way anyway, she followed her friend out of the room and to the staff exit that would take them to the stairwell. Celeste and Nessa were there waiting.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Nessa held up a bottle of Scotch while Celeste opened a card.
“We’re going to take them to him. Gifts. A card.”
“Take them…?”
“Sign the card,” Celeste said, thrusting a pen and the card her way. “Write something nice.”
Closing it over, the big, “Get Well Soon” words covered the front, top to bottom. Something nice…
Hmm, what was she supposed to write to her secret boyfriend?
“Hurry up!” Nessa urged her on.
“How can we take them to him?” she asked, writing a generic get well message and signing her name. “In the hospital?”
“He went home,” Nessa said. “That’s what Cinda said, she said he was back at Breckenridge House.”
Word really did travel fast and far. “Just today?”
Was it dishonest to plead innocence?
“How would she know that?” Yvette said. “Where did she hear it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Celeste said. “Going to the house would be an overstep, and it’s forever away.” Yeah, what would be the point traipsing over there just to immediately come back. A cab would cost a fortune. “We’re only going to BHQ.”
Oh, so much better. A shiver quaked in her spine as Nessa opened the stairwell door to venture on. All followed her, so what choice did she have? Traipsing out after them, she had to ignore the alley where she usually got into the Breckenridge car and follow her coworkers to the street to get in a cab.
“I’ve never been to BHQ,” Nessa said after a block or two. “Think our employee credentials will get us in?”
“Do you think Caber will be there? He should be able to pass on our best to his brother.”
And if he wasn’t? Unlikely Astor or Dougie would be there, they were school age, not corporate overlord age. They’d met Ward, maybe he’d be around. Would he play it cool? He had in the store, though that was no guarantee. The more time she spent with the family, the more difficult it became to remember her and Darroch weren’t common knowledge.
Nessa opened the bag looped around her wrist to put the sealed card inside. “You take this.”
The young woman thrust the gift bag into her hands. Peeking inside to the chocolates and grapes, there were a couple of other boxes in there too.
Nessa’s shift finished earlier, she must’ve gone out shopping before returning with her wares.
“This might be an overstep.”
What the hell would she do if someone recognized her and said something? How far did discretion go? Damn, what if Benedict was there? Would he feel obliged to receive them because she was part of the gang? The man was too busy to field visitors.
“Nonsense,” Celeste said. “He’s our teammate. It would be rude not to send him our best.”
“Can’t we mail a card?”
If she volunteered to do it, she could save herself the cost of a stamp and give it to him in person. She hadn’t spoken to him all day, she missed him. It was crazy, but her worry eclipsed every other emotion. Customers suffered for her distraction. Maybe she should take him up on that time off. Nursemaid would be a role she’d happily adopt, if he agreed to be compliant. Though she was one to talk, from their kissing the previous night before his brothers showed up, they may not be the most trustworthy together.
The cab stopped. Wait. They were there?
The driver must’ve been paid because there they were piling out onto the sidewalk in front of the building her guy had been attacked behind. Oh, it made her sick. Someone hurt him. Took advantage and—why would anyone do that?
Yvette snatched her hand. “Come on.”
Celeste and Nessa were already inside, by the time they caught up, the other two were holding open the elevator.
Shit.
Okay.
The top button lit and they ascended way faster than they should’ve. Okay, maybe not than they should’ve but she wasn’t ready. Ready. Could she get ready for—
The doors opened to a bustling bullpen. Not exactly what she expected. Maybe they didn’t get all the way to the top, or—glass rooms around the far perimeter were definitely offices. Shit, there was Ward, and Troy. What were they doing there? Why wouldn’t they be? God, this was a disaster already—
“Miss Mayden?”
Her head turned before her eyes followed. And there was Schmidt standing with security at the access turnstiles. Were they turnstiles? Glass access doors, there but… not there.
“We came to give Mr. Breckenridge our best,” Celeste said.
Nessa raised the liquor bottle again.
“Okay,” Schmidt said.
The other three security guys looked to him for direction. And, of course, he was staring at her. Oh, this wasn’t going well.
“If you could pass these things along,” she said, raising the bag, trying her best to tell him not to recognize her.
He had. Obviously, he had.
Damn, what was she supposed to—
The elevator behind them opened again, this time Ferguson joined them.
Oh, fuck. He’d know better but—
“Yes, we will…” Schmidt’s voice diverted her attention back to the—
In the corner of her eye, a side door opened. Those glass walls were opaque and the rabble of men who emerged—no. Mouth open, she couldn’t breathe because there was no way. Laughing, his head came around. The moment their eyes locked, his amusement died.
Oh, anger had never been so—
“Darroch!” Nessa exclaimed. “Wow, you look so good. We didn’t think—”
“Get fucking well,” she said throwing the gift bag over security toward him and spinning on the spot.
Thank God the elevator was still there. She marched in and hit the button. Repeatedly. Yes, she heard him calling her name, but she didn’t give a shit.
Swiping angry tears from beneath her eyes, the numbers lit as she descended. Fucking idiot. Her, not him. Why would he—it didn’t even matter. No.
Thundering outside, she got in the first cab waiting by the door and gave her address. She couldn’t breathe through whatever churned inside her. Anger, upset, grief, anger, yep that one again.
When they got to her apartment, she paid the driver and rushed up the stairs. What would she do with this—she had to do something with this—damn, this was why people shouldn’t be trusted.