Chapter 33
Zane
Sitting not far from her at her workplace, I shifted in my chair, replaying the memory of waking from my nightmare, tussling with Lucas this morning.
I’d been wrong to think the nightmares had stopped.
Pete was on guard toward the front of the office at the desk I used to use, while I sat farther back, nearer to my woman. Something was off with Pete today, and I’d considered asking him about it. Maybe later.
The telltale chime of Peyton’s phone interrupted me. I noticed her read another message.
She shook her head and tapped out a response, obviously another dud, then walked over to the coat rack and fished out one of her little white AirPods out of her leather jacket. “Shit.”
I rushed over. “What?”
“I don’t want to cut the lining.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I forgot to use the left pocket. There’s a hole in the right-hand one. Stupid me, one of my AirPods got out of the pocket into the lining, and it’s a bitch to get it back out.”
“I can—”
She rested a hand on my arm. “That’s sweet, but later.”
I returned to my spot.
It was clear she wasn’t able to get as much work done as she would have liked. Every possibility Jordy’s program generated interrupted her.
Jordy had been sending them about every ten minutes this morning, and every time, I crossed my fingers that Peyton would say it was him.
At this point, I’d even settle for an “it might be him” response.
I would have preferred doing this from the safe house, but Peyton had to go to work. She refused to “give in to him,” as she’d explained.
Then my phone rang. Lucas. “Hi, boss,” I answered. “It looks like Peyton is rejecting everything Jordy comes up with.”
“It’s a process.” Lucas sighed. “We have to give it time. But that’s not why I called.”
“Okay.” I listened intently. It had better not be that he had second thoughts about Pete. This work didn’t seem like much, but it was what Pete needed to heal.
“O’Connor called again,” Lucas said. “He needs some more interview time with Peyton, and I didn’t want to give him access to her at the hotel, so I’m going to send him to you at SpaceMasters.”
This was the cost of keeping everyone, including the detective, in the dark about our safehouse. I knew my request was a long shot, but I tried anyway. “Why don’t we put it off until after we catch the guy?”
“We can’t dodge him like that,” Lucas said. “It’s how the system works. If this were any other case with any other witness, you wouldn’t suggest that.”
I knew he was right. “Yeah, okay. I’ll warn her.”
“Additionally,” Lucas continued. “If we get a hit, we can use him as an extra body, either for protection at SpaceMasters or out on our grid to catch this guy.”
“I don’t like the idea. We have no idea what his capabilities are,” I argued.
“For the next two days, while Duke and Winston are on Zamora, we don’t have a better choice. Protection or apprehension, the choice is yours, unless you want to take two days off watching for the target.”
I definitely wasn’t a fan of that option. “If he’s armed, I guess he could handle protection alongside Pete. I’d rather not have him out chasing the target, because when we catch the bastard, O’Connor will want the cops to whisk him away.”
This asshole had threatened Peyton. He didn’t deserve a comfy jail cell with cops who would leave him alone as soon as he asked for a lawyer. No, I’d teach him what terror felt like.
“My thoughts exactly,” Lucas agreed.
I sauntered to Pete. “That Boston PD detective is coming by to interview Peyton, and Lucas wants us to utilize him for additional protection.”
He didn’t look up. “Sure. Whatever.”
I leaned against the desk. “Hey, you all right?”
He looked up. “Lucas thinks I’ve lost it, doesn’t he?”
That was too loaded a question to answer. “What makes you say that?”
“I saw Xavier again yesterday.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, second time. I ran after him but he gave me the slip.”
“Xavier?”
His eyes connected with mine. “Clear as day.”
“Hey, man. You’ll catch him next time.” I patted him on the shoulder before I left. Xavier died in Syria over a year ago.
Peyton
I caught myself as my head bobbed down, almost falling asleep. I was at my desk outside Grace’s office, working on the spreadsheet for the Orgoron family project, and the numbers swam on the screen, making them illegible.
I hadn’t slept well after Zane had left me last night for his stint on guard duty.
My thoughts had ping-ponged between ecstasy and terror.
Reliving recent events, including the explosion and fighting with the three hooligans the Strangler had sent after me, put me into a cold sweat as I realized how close I’d come to being abducted.
To counteract those morbid thoughts, I’d imagined being in Zane’s arms again. That had worked, until I drifted off to sleep and the nightmares woke me again.
In the end, I’d gotten very little actual sleep.
I finished my second coffee of the morning. A few minutes later, it was close, but I caught myself before my head actually hit the desk.
God, that would be embarrassing. I could see it now. “How did you get this cut on your forehead?” the emergency room nurse would ask.
“Oh, I fell asleep while typing into a spreadsheet because my boyfriend kept me up most of the night.” Nope, not going there or trying to explain my nightmares of being captured by the Boyfriend Strangler.
Then my phone dinged with another face from Jordy for me to check.
Sooner or later the face would be the one I saw in my nightmares, but this wasn’t it.
ME: No.
I really hoped it was sooner. With a firm grasp on the desk, I heaved myself out of my chair. Damn the bladder consequences, it was time for coffee number three.
The coffee machine did its thing and spat the steaming liquid into my mug.
“Tired?” Zane asked. He’d followed me into the break room. Like a guard dog, he didn’t let me out of his sight for even a second. A week ago, that would have bothered me. With all that was going on now, it was a comfort.
“A little. What about you?”
“SEALs train to operate on less sleep when it’s required.”
That didn’t answer my question, but I dropped it. “How long do you think it will take to catch him?” That was my real question, the one that mattered.
He grabbed a paper cup and started the coffee machine.
Grabbing two ice cubes from the break room fridge, I added them to my mug and stirred because I needed this coffee stat. “How many is that?”
“Four, I think.”
I had my answer. Caffeine was the crutch Zane also used to handle sleep deprivation. He was mortal.
I gulped half the cup before I reached my desk.
Zane followed and waited until I sat to give me the bad news. “Sergeant O’Connor is coming by to complete your interview.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great. How long will that take?”
“No idea.” That was not the answer I wanted to hear.
“Good morning, Ms. Clarke.”
I dragged my eyes up.
Zane had brought O’Connor to my desk, just as he’d warned me.
Talking to the detective wasn’t at the top of my list, or anywhere on my list, but it had to be done. “Morning, Sergeant, and Leighton will do.”
Nearby, Marci looked puzzled.
I hadn’t asked, but I assumed Terry had told Grace about my name. But I hadn’t briefed Marci or anyone else in the office about my real name or what had happened to make me flee Boston.
Marci moved closer, her face twisted up. “Leighton?”
“Just a moment.” Ignoring the detective’s raised hand, I hurried to my coworker. “I’m sorry, Marci. I totally forgot I was supposed to locate the chamomile tea in the break room for you. Let’s go. I know it’s in there.” I towed her toward the room with a firm grip.
Luckily for me, she got the hint and waited until we reached the break room to demand, “What’s going on? Sergeant? I thought you’d already talked to the police about the attack.”
I’d told her I’d had a run-in with some bad people when I went to retrieve my bike in the wrong part of town, but nothing about the explosion and fight at Zane’s house.
“I’ll explain later, but my name is Leighton Clarke in front of him.”
“I don’t understand. Why lie to him?”
“I can’t explain right now.” If there was a reason Lucas didn’t want to reveal my Los Angeles name to the detective yet, I was going to trust his judgment.
“Why?”
Hearing footsteps coming down the hallway, I grabbed the stepstool and climbed up to reach the tea cupboard.
“Why?” Marci repeated. This was not a good time for her curiosity.
I pulled out a box of chamomile teabags just as the detective entered the room.
“Do you have any coffee to spare?” he asked. “Jet lag is a bitch.”
“Sure,” Marci answered. Her natural helpfulness overpowered her curiosity just in time. She marched to the coffee machine.
“I don’t know why we put it that high,” I said in answer to Marci’s why when O’Connor entered. “It was that way when I arrived, and I just left it.”
“How do you like your coffee?” Marci asked with her customary cheerfulness.
O’Connor sauntered across the room. “I’m a simple sort. Two sugars is all.”
I had to separate Marci from the detective before her questions kicked back in. “Marci, I’ll finish his coffee. Could you please cover the phones for me? We’re expecting a call from Mrs. Orgoron. I’ll be away from my desk for a bit while I talk with Detective O’Connor.”
“Sure thing,” compliant Marci said. “What does Mrs. Orgoron want?”
Yep, still full of questions. “I don’t know, but we can’t send her to voicemail. Just be your normal pleasant self and pass her off to Grace. We’ll be in demo two.” I knew Grace didn’t have the room scheduled this morning.
Marci beamed at the compliment I threw her. For a second, it looked like she might ask something else, but she didn’t. “Okay.”
“She’s nice,” O’Connor noted after Marci left.
I removed his completed cup from the machine and put another paper cup in its place to make myself one for the interview. “Artificial or real?” I asked, with a sugar packet suspended over his cup.