Chapter Twenty-Nine
Abigail
I'm sure Jacob didn't leave me in the closet for too long, but it felt like hours. I could hear sounds through the thick door, muffled voices and footsteps, but nothing I could decipher clearly.
Finally, he called me back and told me it was safe to come out. I unlocked the heavy door and swung it open to find Jacob standing right in front of me.
"Close your eyes," he said, scooping me into his arms and swinging me away from the safe room door. I obeyed, but not fast enough to avoid the sight of Big John's dead body, blood soaking his shirt, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
Not sure what else there was to see, I squeezed my eyes shut and let Jacob carry me away from the carnage.
He set me down on my feet in the guest bedroom and pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly, his cheek resting on top of my head.
"I thought I'd lost you," Jacob whispered. "I saw the guards and thought he had you."
I waited for him to step back and let go, but he kept me there, tucked into his solid body, until a fist pounded on the door of the room.
"Winters, we need to get her statement."
Jacob raised his head and said, "In a minute."
He took my face in his hands, his mouth hard as he took in the swelling on my temple where Big John had hit me. I wasn't sure if it was lucky or not that he'd struck me opposite where I'd slammed my head into the van. Now both sides of my head ached, but at least I wasn't bleeding.
"We need to get ice on this," he said. "Did he hit you?"
I nodded. "I'm okay," I said. "Really."
Jacob made a sound in his throat that reminded me of a growl and tilted my face up to his, his silver eyes gleaming with an emotion I was afraid to read.
"Abigail," he whispered, and lowered his mouth to mine. He kissed me, nipping and sucking at my lower lip until I melted into him, opening my mouth and tasting him, pouring all my fear and hope into our kiss.
I was lost, and all I could do was sink my fingers into his shoulders and hold on.
Voices filtered in from the hall, and Jacob pulled back.
"The police need you to tell them what happened. After that, we're going to go stay with Aiden for a few days while they get this mess cleaned up. But first, you can change out of that robe and pack a bag."
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. I had questions—a long list of questions—but I couldn't seem to make my voice work.
Instead, I went to my closet and chose a pair of jeans and a loosely woven knit shirt. I wasn't normally a jeans kind of girl, but after the past few hours, I wanted something comfortable, fashion be damned.
I tugged on underwear, the jeans, and a camisole for under the knit shirt before I found a bag in the bottom of the closet and hastily threw together a few days’ worth of outfits.
Taking the bag to the bathroom, I pulled a brush through my tangled hair and packed my toiletries. The whole time, Jacob stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest as if to ensure no one interrupted us.
I was as ready for the police as I'd ever be. Holding an ice pack someone had brought me to the side of my head, I sat in the armchair in the corner of the room, Jacob beside me, and told the officer everything I remembered after Big John broke into the penthouse.
A man in a brown blazer, who introduced himself as Detective Ryan Brennan, asked me a few follow-up questions before they both left, warning us they'd be in touch.
"Are we in trouble?" I asked Jacob after they'd gone. He shook his head.
"No, sweetheart. I didn't kill Big John."
"Then who?" I remembered the dark-haired intruder. "Someone came in right before I made it to the closet."
"Lucas Jackson. President of the Raptors."
"Oh. He killed Big John? Why?"
Jacob took the overnight bag from the bed, where I'd left it, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, steering me down the hall and angling me toward the front door so I couldn't see into the office. His gym bag, stuffed full, sat by the ruined front door.
He stopped short and turned to me.
"Close your eyes, Abigail." I opened my mouth to speak, and he shook his head. "Please. I'll tell you anything you want to know, but it's a mess out there, and I don't want you to see it. Humor me and just close your eyes. I'll lead you out."
I closed my eyes, letting him guide me across the hall to the elevator. There were a lot of things I wanted to argue about, but if Jacob didn't want me to see the hallway, I wouldn't fight him.
Common sense told me that nothing good had happened to the guards on my door. Not if Big John had managed to break into the penthouse.
"The fire?" I asked as we descended to the garage.
"Mostly smoke damage. Only minor injuries."
"And the Sinclair team?"
Jacob didn't answer, just let out a breath, his arm tightening around me. Finally, he said, "One down. Three guys are in the hospital, one in critical condition. No one you know."
I felt sick at the idea that men had died and been injured because of my mess. I knew Big John had done the damage, not me, but they wouldn't have been anywhere near him if I hadn't gone to Jacob.
I fell silent as we got in the car and drove north to the Winters estate in Buckhead. I'd never been there before, but I'd heard about it. This late at night, it was a quick ride from Jacob's building.
He stopped the car in front of black iron gates that remained shut until he reached above his head to the visor and pressed a button on what looked like a garage door opener.
The gates swung open smoothly, closing as soon as we cleared the entrance. I couldn't see much of the grounds in the dark, but the driveway wound up to the house, lined with live oaks arching over the road, every other tree lit with strategically placed spotlights.
We reached a second gate, this one also black iron, but more delicate, blocking the entrance to a porte cochere.
Jacob hit another button on the remote on his visor, and this gate opened as well. We drove through the porte cochere into a square courtyard with a lit fountain at the center.
Looking around, I realized that the Mediterranean style house surrounded the courtyard on all four sides.
The largest section, with a huge carved wooden double-door, was two full stories, while the other sides of the square were only one, wrapping around the courtyard with covered galleries, tall windows, and French doors.
I'd guessed that the Winters estate would be big, but this was beyond my expectations, and I'd been raised around the wealthy of Atlanta. I couldn't begin to guess at the square footage. I'd seen hotels that were smaller.
I was a little awed as Jacob parked the car and came around to let me out. "I'll get our bags and move the car later," he said.
I looked up to see his brother, Aiden, standing in the entrance to the house, his height dwarfed by the tall double doors.
"Don't worry about it," Aiden said. "Your rooms are ready for you, and there's a tray of sandwiches and tea. Just settle in and relax. We can talk in the morning." To me, he said, "I'm glad to see you're well, Abigail."
My manners kicked in, and I said, "Thank you for having me." Aiden smiled, stepping back to hold the heavy door open for us.
"This will always be Jacob's home, even if he doesn't live here."
"See you tomorrow," Jacob said to his brother, whisking me out of the main entry and down a high-ceilinged hallway.
We turned a corner, and he stopped before a set of carved wooden doors that mimicked the front doors, but smaller in scale. Opening the doors, he ushered me into a sitting room that reminded me of his penthouse.
Elegant but comfortable, with creamy walls and dark woodwork, the sitting room had a small desk, a huge flat screen on the wall, a gas fireplace, and a deep leather couch that made me want to curl up with a book.
Off to one side, an open door revealed a bedroom, the crisp white sheets on the bed already turned down.
Spotting the tray of food on the desk, I said, "Do you want something to eat? I don't know if you got dinner—" I babbled, suddenly nervous to face Jacob after our argument earlier.
"Abigail," Jacob interrupted, taking my hand and leading me to the couch. "I have some things I need to say, and I want you to let me talk before you tell me what's on your mind."
I nodded, bracing myself for what might be coming. I tried to take a deep breath to settle my nerves, my lungs tight.
Accusations from our ugly fight pinged through my head. So much had been wrong between us. I waited for Jacob to say something.
He shifted on the couch and took a deep breath of his own. Was Jacob nervous? What did Jacob have to be nervous about?
"Abigail," he said, and stopped. When he opened his mouth again, words poured out, spilling over each other. "I created a trust for your mother. For her care. It's irrevocable, and it pays for medical and living expenses for the rest of her life."
I stared at him, too tired and anxious to keep up. "I don't understand. A trust?"
"No matter what happens between us, you never have to worry about your mother again. If you decide to walk out the door, whatever you want, she's taken care of."
"Why?" I asked, both terrified and thrilled at the gesture. "Why would you do that?"
He was talking about a lot of money. A lot. So much that trying to cover the expense had nearly destroyed my life.
"Abigail," he said again, looking uncomfortable, his eyes moving around the room before coming back to meet mine.
Leaning forward, he took my hands in his and said, "I love you. I did it because I love you. And I want you with me because you love me too, not because you need to take care of your mother."
My fingers tightened on his in reflex as I tried to understand what he was saying.
He loved me?
"You love me?" I whispered, afraid to give voice to the words.
"I love you," he said, his lips inches from mine.
"Oh," I said stupidly.
Love, I hadn't expected.
Not from Jacob.
"Abigail?"
"Hmm?" I said, still trying to take it all in.