Chapter 12
12
JOSS
My golden snail, Gary, detached himself from the side of my fish tank and dropped onto the ball of moss near the floor, damn near crushing Clyde in the process. Clyde, my Cherry shrimp, skittered away, huddling in the corner as he continued his search for food. I dropped in a couple algae wafers for them and a sprinkling of flakes for the fish, then watched as the tank woke up for breakfast.
After the past couple years, I needed the peace of watching my fish tank. Inside, there was no abuse. There was no striving to please, no watching what I said.
There was no pain.
Except when the occasional shrimp or fish died or disappeared.
How easy it was, just to clean the tank and remove the body if it hadn’t been eaten. There was no therapy. No hospitalizations. No doctor visits to deal with the pin that’d been placed in my wrist or the trauma of what I’d dealt with.
Sitting here, watching these animals, I was able to escape thoughts of my ex. I didn’t have to think about him going to jail where he belonged. I didn’t have to think about Cheyenne and Dakota being in the hospital right beside me, my best friend suffering from a broken leg and a concussion while her brother had half his long, beautiful hair cut off when they had to shave his head to stop the bleeding in his brain.
I would have been content to watch my critters all day and likely would have had my phone not dinged with an incoming text.
Van: Be there in 5
Settling the tank lid closed, I turned to the window leading to the fire escape and unlocked it. A cold blast of Chicago’s winter air rushed into my apartment as I pushed it open. I stuck my head outside, wishing I’d put my coat on first, and glanced at the neon green dog food bowl I’d secured to the metal platform. In it sat a pop can tab and the lid to a beer bottle.
“Nice!” I grabbed the two shiny metal objects and tossed them in the basket on my table next to the window, then dropped three unsalted peanuts into the green bowl. “There you go, Frank.”
By the time I’d shut the window, grabbed my coat and purse, and hurried down the elevator to the front of my building, Van’s truck was waiting at the curb in the No Parking zone. I climbed inside and buckled in, then held my freezing hands up to the heat blasting through the vents.
My new friend and coworker waited until he’d pulled away from the curb and was stopped at the light at the end of the block to speak. “You okay?”
I clenched my fist again, then tried stretching my fingers as far as the pain would let me. “I will be once I get warm.”
More than two years since the accident, since Peter broke my hand with his baseball bat and bracing for the rollover had shattered my wrist, and it still hurt every time it got cold.
Beside me, Van chuckled.
“What?”
My entire body tensed when he took his eyes off the road in front of him and looked my way. That’s the reason I asked him to drive me to work this morning—because the roads were slick as snot, and I couldn’t bring myself to drive in conditions like this. I needed him to pay attention to the road, not me.
“Your North Dakota’s showing.”
“What?” I asked again as I reached for the oh-shit handle above my head.
“Your accent.” He turned to face the road, but it didn’t keep me from seeing the smirk creeping across his face.
“I don’t have an accent.”
He laughed. He actually laughed! “Not much of one. Not around here, anyway. But every now and again, you say something that pops.”
“What did I say?”
“Warm.”
“Warm?”
“Yeah. I didn’t notice it myself until someone in Louisiana pointed it out to me. You say it like ‘worm.’”
“Worm?”
He looked over at me again. “Like an earthworm. Those creepy crawly little things.”
“I know what a worm is, Van.” I pointed at the road in front of us, trying to direct his attention that way.
He raised his hands in front of him—taking them off the steering wheel! “Okay, okay! I was just checking.”
There was silence for a moment. Van kept his hands on the wheel and kept his eyes on the road. While he seemed to have forgotten the entire conversation, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I trusted Van to tell me the truth. We may have met just last week—when we both showed up to our job interviews with Lee Bridgewater that Lee had accidentally scheduled at the same time—but the two of us had hit it off in a way I hadn’t with anyone else since Cheyenne.
Van was from North Dakota, not far from where I’d grown up. He’d even come to my parents’ zoo once or twice as a child.
If anyone would notice my accent, it was him.
Dragging my gaze from my hands twisted in my lap, I directed my attention to him.
“Is it… bad?”
Van scoffed. He looked over at me, his eyes hard yet caring. “Nah. It’s nothin’. Fuck anyone who cares.”
Fuck anyone who cares.
I repeated that in my head about a few hundred times. It was hard to get used to that, coming from a place where I had to care what everyone thought for my own survival. Not giving a fuck wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
But I needed it to be.
Van pulled into the tiny parking lot at the side of the building, swiping his badge at the gate to let us in. We didn’t speak again until he’d pulled open the front door and ushered me inside.
He stopped me as I went to set the push bar so the door wouldn’t lock behind us.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I let out a sigh. I’d told Van about Peter. About my history of abuse. My broken hand. The entire night that had left me traumatized and looking over my shoulder for the past two years.
And the fact that I was married.
We’d gone out for drinks. We’d both gotten a little tipsy. And for the first time since I came home from Vegas, I’d almost been kissed.
There had been other men, don’t get me wrong. Men who’d asked me out, who’d flirted with me, who’d shown more interest than I could afford.
That’s the reason I continued to wear my wedding band, despite the fact that it was scratched and misshapen after its run-in with Peter. It was easier to keep men away when I could point to my ring and tell them I was married.
But with Van…
Our shared history—both coming from North Dakota and growing up the way we did—made it easier to let him in.
And harder to hide the truth.
“I’m okay.” I told him. And I meant it, I really did. Van was the first person I’d talked to about everything that happened, and I felt safe with him.
He cast a long, probing glance my way, but dropped the topic without pushing. He gestured toward the entrance, ushering me inside. “What’s Lee got you doing today?”
Dropping my purse on the front desk, I reached for the stack of papers I’d taken from Lee’s desk Friday night. “I’m inputting this into the new scheduling software.”
His face pulled into a grimace, like office work was the worst thing in the world. “Sounds like a blast.”
I set the papers down, then shrugged off my coat. “Did you know he forgot about an employee? He’s been away on an assignment so long, Lee forgot he worked here.”
Van chuckled under his breath. “After this past week, I don’t blame him.”
That thought sobered me. It wasn’t like Lee didn’t have anything else to deal with. Just last month, he and Van and some of the men who worked here had taken part in a rescue mission that ended up stopping a boat full of women and girls from being sold overseas. One of those women, Kelly O’Connor, had been in Lee’s care ever since.
That was, until last week. The day Van and I were hired, Kelly had gone missing again. Lee had spent every waking hour trying to find her.
I’d made it my mission to get this place in order and take care of everything I could so he could focus on bringing her home. That included creating a schedule to keep track of all his employees, as well as a few other projects we’d talked about that first day.
Van tapped his knuckles against the counter. “I’ll let you get to it.”
“You’ll be here to take me home?” My throat tried to close in on me, to keep those words from squeaking out, and it didn’t want to let up even after he nodded and smiled.
“You got it. I’ll just be hanging around here, getting shit done. You let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks, Van. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Once Van had disappeared into the back room, I booted up my computer and got to work. In the tiny kitchenette in the back, I took out the old coffee carafe and got a pot started. I cleaned the crumbs someone had left on the counter, then picked up the magazines in the lobby I swore I’d just cleaned up before I left on Friday night.
Then it was back to my desk. Back to the task of sorting through contracts and Lee’s handwritten notes to try to make sense of his staffing schedule and needs.
Wade Warren. Currently on long-term assignment with the CEO of Carmore Industries.
Kolton Johns. Just started in September, working through the remainder of his training courses so he can be armed while on the job.
Weston Abrams. Also started in September, recruited from a competing firm. Current assignment entails protecting the college-aged daughter of Illinois State Representative Caroline Sterger.
Cael Waldenberg. Currently between assignments, set to go back out, but no client listed.
I made a note to myself to ask Lee about that.
Zane Maxwell…
I flipped through the contracts, sure I’d made a mistake. I gathered up the files and left the front desk, wandering to the back until I found Van sitting on the floor, surrounded by open bankers boxes and hundreds of files. He had the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes, his head tilted up to face the ceiling.
“Everything okay in here?”
Van groaned, then lowered one of his hands, peaking at me through a narrowed eye. “Just peachy.” He shook his head, blinked, then rubbed at both his eyes. “You okay?”
Stepping into the room, I handed over the files to his outstretched hand. “Is this right?” I squatted down next to him. “This says Zane Maxwell is protecting Mia Sterger, but Weston Abram’s file says the same thing.”
Van smirked at me, not even bothering to look at the files as he handed them back to me. “Mia Sterger is a piece of work.”
“Really?”
“Tell me how a nineteen-year-old college student needs two grown-ass men to babysit her and keep her out of trouble? My dad would have slapped my ass to Jupiter and back if I even tried even one ounce of the shit she pulls every day.”
“So, they came over together? From the other firm?”
Van nodded. “I guess this isn’t the only time they’ve dealt with Mia before.”
“As long as they can handle her and keep bringing in money, I guess that’s good, right?”
“I guess.”
“What’s all this?” I gestured to the mess around him.
“Just digging into old files.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Lunch?” Van chuckled then shrugged. “Nothing really. Lee doesn’t have anything else for me to do right now, so I thought I’d read up on the past.”
“I can see that’s going well. Though I don’t know that I’d be eating anything I found in there.”
Van reached toward me, pushing me over so I rolled off my heels and landed on my ass. “It’s about as interesting as a root canal.”
He sounded so serious, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, let me know if you find any other missing employees, but maybe keep anything you deem edible to yourself.”
He smirked again and shook his head before extending his hand out to me. “I’ll do that. Now get. Leave me in peace with my piles of dust and massive headache.”
I gripped his hand and let him pull me up. “Did you want me to get you something for lunch? I can order in or run out and get food if you want.”
He gave me a look that made me feel like I’d done something wrong. “I’m not letting you go out in this cold by yourself to get me lunch, Joss.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It’s not? With your hand?” He shook his head. “In that case, we can go together. I need to get out of this hell hole and breathe fresh air for a minute.”
“We could do that deli down the street! I’ve been wanting to try that.”
“Sounds like a plan. Go get your shit done, and I’ll try to finish up here. I’ll be out after a bit.”
I slipped out the room and went back to the front desk. After entering Zane Maxwell into the system, I pieced through the next few files, only to realize that Mitch Saunders, Carey MacEvoy, Brendan Stone, and a handful of other people were no longer employed here.
The front door opened just as I was reaching for the final file in the stack, but what I saw there stopped me from looking up.
This couldn’t be right, could it? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Did the dust Van unsettled in the back room have something in it that was making me see things, or was it the strain of working through these files all morning?
I ran my finger over the name on the green file folder just as two hands slid across the desk and wrapped around the edge of the counter.
Then a familiar voice sounded. A voice I heard every night in my dreams. One that made me shiver in my place, made my knees go weak and my spine turn to jelly.
One that had me wishing for a different life.
One I’d left far, far behind.
“Say it ain’t so.”
I lifted my gaze from the file to the man standing on the other side of my desk. I shivered. I shook. The very sight of him had my knees going weak and my stomach erupting into a buzzing inferno.
On vacation, due back at the beginning of the year.
Rested and tanned to perfection and more handsome than I remembered.
My husband.
Rylan Dennis.