Chapter 13 Brady
brADY
“What the fuck was that?” I snap at my sister as she follows me into my office.
“What was what?” Her hazel eyes flash back at me, and for a minute I forget how pissed off I am about how rude she was to Elizabeth and just enjoy the glimpse of the old Sera.
“You’ve never been rude to a client like that before.”
She makes a face and gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t like her.”
I throw up my hands. “First of all, you don’t know her, and second, whether or not we like our clients has nothing to do with how we treat them.”
“Oh reeaally?” She cocks her head, ponytail swinging. “Because you always help clients out of the car and walk around laughing and whispering in their ears?”
Her eyes are full of emotion, but she looks at her boots before I can figure out what it is. When her head lifts, the mask she’s worn this past year is back.
I take a slow breath, reminding myself to be patient with my baby sister. She hasn’t had an easy time since her attack, and not for the first time, I miss my smiley, but fiery, baby sister.
“She’s injured.”
Sera snorts. “That means you need to whisper in her ear?”
I don’t need my sister to tell me my behavior crossed a major line. Elizabeth is a client, and already my inability to remain detached could have gotten her killed.
“I wasn’t whispering in her ear.”
“Bullshit.” She narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms across her chest in a disturbingly similar imitation of me.
I can see she’s determined to wait me out, but patience has never been her strong suit, and it’s less than a minute before she explodes. “Finn told me how she slipped her coverage and you had to run out to save her.”
“Sera—”
“I’m not going to lose the only family I have left because some spoiled, rich bitch thinks she’s too good to follow the rules.”
My temper rises, but I see the sheen in her eyes and bite my tongue, so I don’t snap back. “That’s not exactly what happened. It’s not on her. It’s on me.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve always had a soft spot for helpless women, and you’re letting it blind you. You would have fired another client who behaved like that.”
My jaw clenches as I fight to keep my temper in check. Even though we’re only twelve years apart, I’ve spent most of my life taking care of Sera. Doing my best to make up for our father’s absence.
“My objectivity is in perfect working order. I’m not too close if that’s what you are trying to imply. And Elizabeth is far from helpless. Next to you, she’s the toughest woman I’ve ever met.”
“You realize you’re only proving my point, right?”
“You aren’t going to lose me, Ser. They weren’t trying to kidnap me.”
Her jaw works as she struggles to contain her emotions. “But you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself between her and the threat.”
“Like you said,” I reply as gently as I can. “That’s the job.”
“You’ve fired difficult clients before,” she persists.
I frown. “Are you suggesting I turn my back on a client in danger? What’s your problem with her?”
She doesn’t answer, only continues to glare at me, and I heave out a sigh. I don’t have time to deal with Sera’s increasingly frequent, prickly moods. We have a problem to solve.
“I’m going to email you a list of names. See if there is any connection between them and Keith Gowan.”
A knot forms in my stomach. If my gut is correct…
“Sera, wait,” I call after her when she whirls around. She doesn’t acknowledge me, other than to practically take my door off the hinges when she slams it.
Less than a minute later, Vincent is in my office. “Everything okay?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Yeah. Sera’s just having a bad day.”
I expect him to nod or grunt—his normal responses—so I’m shocked when he meets my gaze with a worried look. “Lots of those lately.”
I know, but I don’t know what to do about it. She won’t talk about what happened.
Giving Vincent a quick summation of Elizabeth’s case, I wait for the lecture that’s sure to come. It’s not that Vincent is a stickler for the rules. I’m fairly certain there are warrants for him all over the world, but he takes what we do seriously, and if he thinks I’m jeopardizing that…
However, instead of the warning I expect, he just raps his knuckles on the doorframe and leaves.
I sink into the desk chair and prop my elbows on the desk, burying my head in my hands.
Why is it so hard to keep my distance from Elizabeth? It’s not like she’s the only beautiful woman I’ve ever had sex with.
She’s a client.
I drag my hand back through my hair. It doesn’t matter how long the list of reasons why I need to stay away from her is. The fact remains, I like her. I like arguing with her, watching her attempt to hide her reaction when I push her buttons. Hell, I liked sitting in the car with her.
And that’s the problem. I like her. Too much.
I sit back, exhaling slowly through my nose, and reach for the manila folder Sera left on the corner of my desk. Elizabeth’s name is typed across the top, a headshot photo taken from her website pinned to the front. I stop for a minute, staring at her.
“Enough,” I grumble and begin to read.
There’s nothing surprising in the dossier.
The facts are all here: where she went to school, a timeline of how she built her business with her college sweetheart and husband, her divorce documents, when she bought her new home, etc.
She doesn’t have massive debt or an arrest record.
Valedictorian of her North Georgia high school, she’s the oldest of three.
Her younger brother works in the parents’ successful florist shop, and her youngest sister is an elementary school teacher.
They, along with what looks like a fairly extended family, still live near the small town where Elizabeth grew up.
The only thing I can see that possibly makes her a target are the lawsuits filed by former clients three years ago, alleging missing money from various trust accounts.
From the settlement papers, it’s clear Elizabeth made full restitution, so there should be no reason for the plaintiffs to still be angry.
Plus, I don’t believe for one second Elizabeth took that money. From what she said about her ex, it’s not hard to connect the dots and see who the real thief had been.
But these documents contain only the facts. They don’t tell her whole story. It’s easy to read between the lines to what is missing. To see who she is.
Oldest daughter. The only one of her family to leave home. Married her first serious boyfriend, and then spent her twenties building a law practice. Her financial records show that after her divorce her income significantly dropped, but two years later, it surpassed the previous amount.
She must have worked her ass off.
“Burning all the time is exhausting.”
“I think I’d be happy to flicker. Be a happy little light but blaze when needed.”
I hate that the night at Carrow’s hadn’t had the lasting effect that she’d hoped, and I wonder if it’s because, instead of the fresh start she deserved after her divorce, she was hit with lawsuits.
Elizabeth’s been fighting for so long, she must have reached the point she forgot to take her armor off and live.
It’s obvious in the way she keeps her guard up.
The look on her face the first time I teased her.
The surprise and joy before she course corrected.
She should have more moments like that—moments where she lets herself have fun without worrying. A dull ache forms behind my ribs.
I could have Sera dig deeper. Have Finn hack into her friends’ and family’s social media, look for messages that might give us a clue, but it’s not necessary.
I believe her. Elizabeth doesn’t know why this is happening.
And if it were something obvious, she’s smart enough to have already recognized it.
Keith Gowan is the key.
And Carrow.
It can’t be a coincidence that Carrow’s ex-wife was brutally murdered during roughly the same timeframe—a supposed home invasion with a wiped-down crime scene. Bullshit.
I think back to Detective Simpson’s words at the hospital.
“These aren’t people to mess around with. Are they?”
I need to tell her the truth about the night we met.
Jogging lightly down the stairs, I glance to where I left Elizabeth and falter.
She’s lying in the recliner, head tipped to the side, one arm folded over her stomach. Her laptop rests forgotten on the adjustable table in front of her, the screen still glowing faintly. She’s out cold—probably a result of the meds.
I cross the room quietly. Just looking at her sleeping so peacefully makes something shift in my chest. Forcing my feet to walk past her, I join Finn at his console. Sera is sitting at the other station but doesn’t look up when I enter.
I’ll deal with her later.
“Need you to look into any connection you can find between Keith Gowan and the term Lapidarists.”
At that, Sera’s head pops up. I haven’t told her much about my time undercover, for her own safety, but she knows the basics. I don’t like the fear in her eyes.
“Is she one of them?”
“No,” I snap. “It’s just a feeling. Look into it.”
I don’t wait for Finn to answer before returning to the main room and coming to a stop at the side of the recliner. She looks vulnerable like this. Softer.
Not that she’d ever let herself admit she wants to be either of those things when she’s conscious.
Except she did that night.
With a mask on her face, she was honest.
“Fun is overrated. I’ll take peace if I can get it.”
She had been a woman who was surviving her life, not living it. It looks like that hasn’t changed.
Her features are relaxed, lips parted slightly. I crouch beside her and press the lid of the laptop shut before sliding it into her bag. She doesn’t stir.
Choosing not to think about what I’m doing, I bend and slip one hand behind her back and the other beneath her legs. Lifting her slowly, I brace for a startled noise or flinch. Instead, she tucks her head beneath my jaw with an unintelligible murmur.
Her body curls into mine, arms looping around my neck as she burrows in, and my chest burns. I stand there for a second, holding her close, inhaling her scent.
“You don’t have to burn tonight, Firefly,” I whisper and am rewarded with a nuzzle.
Turning toward the staircase, I see Sera and Finn standing in the doorway of the cyber room. Finn has his hands in his pockets, an amused half-smile tugging at his mouth. Sera is glowering, lips pressed tight in a thin line.
I hold her stare with one of my own. I know she gets the unspoken message I’m sending when she stalks back into the room. I love my sister, but this has nothing to do with her.
“Hope you know what you’re doing, Boss,” Finn offers before following my sister.
I don’t have a fucking clue.
Elite’s rules against keeping clients with a personal connection to their protection detail are there for a reason. When your feelings are involved, you can’t think clearly. And that puts you both at risk.
I know this. I wrote the damn rules.
And I don’t care.
The third floor is dimly lit and quiet. I type the code on the panel beside the landing, and the lock releases with a beep. Pushing the door wide with my shoulder, I carry Elizabeth down the short hall and into the open living space the bedrooms share.
It’s not fancy, but it’s not intended to be used for more than a night or two.
Elizabeth is only our third client to stay here.
The common room is simply an option if the client becomes stir-crazy in their windowless bedroom.
Consisting of a small, non-descript sectional, wooden coffee table, and recliner, the room serves its purpose along with the small galley-style kitchen along one wall.
The room Finn prepared with fresh sheets and towels for her is on the right. I push the door open with my foot and cross to the bed, laying her down as gently as I can. Flipping the blanket over her legs, I hesitate, and it’s just long enough for her eyes to slowly open.
Blue eyes dilate with panic until she recognizes me standing inches away.
“I fell asleep.”
“You needed it.” Her lids are still heavy. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in a little bit.”
“Don’t go,” she murmurs, lashes lowering.
I freeze, every muscle in my body locking tight.
Did I hear her right?
“Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
Well, fuck. That’s every good intention and the last shred of my professional integrity out the window. There is no way I can walk away and ignore the plea in her voice.
I shouldn’t stay. I know that. I should assure her she’s safe, and take the chair in the corner or the sofa outside the door…
Kicking off my boots, I ease onto the other side of the bed. Folding my arms behind my head, I close my eyes, and a wave of fatigue hits me.
When was the last time I slept? Last night? Two nights ago?
Her face scrunches, and she mumbles something.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, and her face smooths.
I stare at the ceiling for several minutes, wondering how the hell I’m going to resist the temptation next to me.
Especially when I don’t want to.