Chapter Seventeen
Abigail
Islept late and woke with the scratch of dried tears on my cheeks. Stupid.
Crying over Jacob was a waste of time. I'd made my bed. Literally. The least I could do was sleep in it without getting weepy.
Annoyed with myself, I dragged my tired body out of bed and took a long, hot shower. When I stepped out, feeling more together, if not quite awake, I pulled on a matching pair of yoga pants and hoodie.
Though I never left the penthouse, I usually dressed with a little more formality. Loungewear was comfy, but it wasn't really me.
That morning, I'd woken with a dull headache, my body feeling heavy as if I hadn't slept. I wanted comfortable clothes and a mug of tea. As I zipped up the lightweight hoodie, my mobile phone rang.
Jacob.
My stomach tightened with nerves. He never called during the day. Something was wrong.
"Jacob?" I said when I answered.
Immediately, he responded, "Everything is fine."
No, it wasn't. Not if he'd bypassed 'hello' for reassurance.
"What happened? Is it my mother?" I asked, suddenly dizzy. I sat on the edge of the bed, the pounding in my head worse.
"No. Your mother is fine. Griffen already checked. We had an intruder in the garage. He shot at my car."
I gasped. "Are you okay? Jacob—" He cut me off.
"I'm fine. He didn't hit me, just my window. I backed into him, and he's in police custody. The building is secure, I've got eyes on every entrance to the penthouse level, and the guards are on the floor below, blocking the stairwell.
“Elevators above the office level are locked down to hand prints only. No one is getting upstairs. I moved the guard from directly outside the door—between the police and the press, it's a mess down here, but you're completely safe. I didn't want you to see the building on the news and worry."
"I never watch the news. I read the paper," I said absently, my mind racing over what he'd told me.
I wasn't worried for myself. Jacob had reassured me he had this level covered. I was worried for him.
"Big John is coming after you, isn't he?"
"It looks like it," Jacob admitted. "The shooter was a mid-level guy with the Jordans. He already had a record, so they IDed him right away."
"I should leave," I said, panic arcing through me. When I'd come here, I'd been thinking of my mother. And myself. Jacob had seemed invincible. I never thought Big John would come directly for him. Not like this.
"Abigail," Jacob's hard voice cut through my rising panic. "Don't do anything. Stay in the penthouse."
"But—"
I couldn't stand the idea that Jacob would be hurt because of me. I'd been selfish enough asking him for help. I couldn't let him get hurt.
"No, listen to me," he commanded. "Even if you leave, he'll come after me. At this point, I'm his best lead. The only way to stop that is for you to turn yourself over, and that is not going to happen. Understand?
“I’m covered. I have the best security all over me. I'm locking down the building. I was avoiding going that far—I didn't want to draw Big John's attention by changing things at Winters House too much. Now that he's come after us, there's no reason not to get serious about security.
“Before, we were trying to keep it low-key. Now, it's going to get very visible. No one is getting in the building who doesn't belong here. No one."
"Okay," I said.
He had a point. The only way to pull Big John off Jacob was to turn myself in. If I did that, I was as good as dead. Worse than dead.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be, sweetheart. I'm starting to think the day you came to my office might have been the luckiest day of my life. We'll figure out a way to handle the Jordans, and then you'll be free again. Trust me."
"I do. You promise you're all right?"
"I promise. I have to go down to talk to the police and make some arrangements with Cooper and Evers. I'll be back around lunch time. Don't worry."
"Okay," I said again.
He hung up the phone. I was a liar. Of course I was going to worry. Big John had sent someone to shoot at Jacob.
I felt sick to my stomach. My head pounded. I dragged myself to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.
In a movie, I'd sneak out of the penthouse and confront Big John. I'd figure out some clever way to get myself out of this mess and save the day.
I was no action movie heroine. This penthouse was the one place in the city I knew I was safe. I'd do as Jacob said and sit tight, as much as I hated being useless.
I finished my tea and took something for the headache that wouldn't go away. It helped a little, but I still felt slow and draggy. I thought I'd slept well, but maybe I hadn't. I drifted off on the couch, waiting for Jacob to come home.
The sound of pounding on the penthouse door startled me awake. I rolled to my feet, fighting off a wave of dizziness, and stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing the house phone off the counter.
I'd left my mobile somewhere. I couldn't remember. I'd been good about carrying it with me since the picture had been delivered, but somehow, I'd misplaced it that morning after I'd talked to Jacob.
I started to dial his number when I heard the key in the lock. It couldn't be Jacob. He wouldn't have knocked. But he'd assured me an intruder couldn't get to the penthouse level. And an intruder wouldn't have the key.
Clutching the phone in my hand, I waited for whoever it was to come down the hall.
A man rounded the corner, dark hair falling in his eyes, his face determined and pissed off. The expression was familiar.
Not sure what to do, I said, "Leave, or I'm calling security."
"Who the hell are you?" the stranger demanded. "And what are you doing in my cousin's penthouse?"
I relaxed a little. One of Jacob's cousins. I knew he had one who lived a few floors down and worked in the building.
That would explain how the stranger had gotten on the penthouse level without anyone raising an alarm. And how he had a key. Studying his face, the family resemblance was clear.
"You're one of Jacob's cousins, I presume? Which one? You're too young to be Gage or Vance, so you must be Tate."
"Good call," he said, his eyes narrowed on my face. "When will Jacob be back?"
"You'd better come in," I said, turning back to the kitchen. I set the phone down in its charger, finally spotting my mobile beside the single-serve coffee machine.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"I think it's better if Jacob answers that question," I said.
If Jacob hadn't told his family what was going on, I wasn't going to do it. "But I have his permission to be here, if that's what you're worried about. Would you like some coffee? Tea? It's a little early for lunch, but I can probably throw something together."
"Coffee, and something to eat if you have it. It's been a long morning," he said, sitting down at the counter facing the rest of the kitchen.
I started a cup of coffee and decided to make him a sandwich. We had turkey and some leftover pesto sauce. I'd made bread the day before. Unless Jacob ate at the precinct, he'd be hungry when he got back.
Making lunch would keep me busy. I snuck glances at Tate while I worked. He didn't bother sneaking, his deep blue eyes openly studying me as I moved around the kitchen.
He looked so much like Jacob it was a little scary. Except for the eyes, a warm blue to Jacob's cool silver, and his youth, he was almost a carbon copy.
They had the same thick, dark hair, though Tate's was worn longer, showing its wave. The same aristocratic face and lean frame. Tate wasn't that much younger than Jacob, I didn't think, but he had a lightness to him that I didn't see in Jacob.
Maybe it had nothing to do with age. I could imagine Jacob as a serious toddler, barking orders and concentrating intently as he built a Lego empire.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"Wouldn't you know if you did?" I countered. "Cream? Sugar?"
I held up a steaming mug of coffee. Normally, I loved the smell, but this morning, it turned my stomach. I needed more tea. With honey. My throat was starting to prickle when I swallowed.
"Black is fine," he said, taking the coffee. "Did the mess in the parking garage this morning have anything to do with you?"
I couldn't help my flinch, but I settled my expression to hide my nerves before I answered him.
"You really need to ask Jacob," I said. Checking the clock, I saw it was close to noon. "He should be home soon."
Tate drank his coffee in silence as I finished making his sandwich and slid it in front of him. He ate it in big bites, as if he were starving. Part of me wanted to ask what he knew about the 'mess' in the garage, but I didn't want to betray my own ignorance.
I knew I was safe with Jacob's family, but I wasn't going to tell Tate anything Jacob didn't want him to know.
Feeling off balance wearing such casual clothes in front of a stranger, I excused myself and went to my bedroom. My wet hair was still up in a simple twist, so I left it. Despite the medicine, my head hurt. I didn't want to touch my hair.
Shedding the yoga pants and hoodie, I pulled on a loose but tailored shift and shoved my feet into matching sandals.
Comfortable, but more appropriate. I added some make-up, alarmed to see how pale my skin was, with two bright spots of color on my cheeks.
I never got sick. I was one of those people who escaped unscathed when everyone else caught a cold, but I was beginning to think I might have picked something up.
How, I had no idea, since I never left the penthouse and Jacob was vibrantly healthy. I hoped he didn't catch whatever I had. It was bad enough I'd gotten him shot at. I didn't want to get him sick on top of that.
A short laugh escaped me as the idiocy of my thought caught up to me. A cold wasn't exactly the same as dodging bullets. Jacob had almost been shot because of me.
Just the idea of someone trying to kill him sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. Every time I tried to make things better, I ended up creating a bigger disaster.