Chapter 3 – Shane
I’m a light sleeper, so when my personal phone chimes with a quiet notification Monday morning, I take notice. Not many people have my private number—just my wife, family, and close friends. If someone’s messaging me this early, it’s important.
After checking the time, I groan. It’s only six. I usually don’t get up until seven. “This had better be important,” I mutter as I grab my phone and glance at the screen.
I’m surprised to see I have a text message from Troy Spencer, my attorney and close friend.
It’s an odd request. When we meet, which we do often, we usually do it over lunch so we can kill two birds with one stone—take care of business and shoot the breeze. What’s so urgent it can’t wait until then?
Me – Sure. I’ll see you then.
I lie in bed for a little while longer, enjoying the feel of my wife sleeping in my arms. Her skin is like silk, and her hair smells like strawberries. I’m careful to keep my morning wood from prodding her backside because I don’t want to wake her up. She can sleep in as long as the kids do.
Soon, I hop out of bed to shower and quietly dress for work.
When I head to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for the road, I’m not surprised to see the kitchen light on.
Cooper is standing at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Beth and I share this house with Cooper and his husband, Sam—each couple having their own private wing and sharing the common areas.
“Mornin’,” Cooper says in a low voice. He’s barely awake himself.
“Good morning.”
When I join him at the coffeemaker, he reaches into an overhead cupboard and grabs a stainless-steel travel mug for me.
Cooper is more than just a friend. He and I started McIntyre Security together after we both left military service. We met serving in the Marine Corps. Cooper was a shooting instructor and a sniper. He now runs our company’s shooting range, teaching classes and assessing applicants’ weapons skills.
He fills my mug with black coffee, pops on the lid, and hands it to me. “You’re up early.”
“Troy texted me. He wants to meet at eight.”
Cooper’s brow furrows. “Did he say what about?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “He didn’t go into details, just said we need to meet. It’s probably some routine corporate bullshit paperwork we need to file.”
Cooper nods as he sips his own coffee. “Probably.”
I lift my mug. “Thanks. I’d better get going. I’m going to be fighting traffic as it is.”
At that moment, a sleepy-eyed Sam walks into the kitchen, his red hair mussed from sleep, hanging loose from his usual topknot. He’s dressed in a pair of red plaid flannel sleep pants that hang low on his lean hips. He winces at the bright kitchen lights. “Why is everyone up so early?” he grumbles.
I chuckle at his pouty expression. “I have an early meeting at the office. You guys have a good day.” As I pass Sam, I pat his shoulder. “Take good care of my wife today.”
“Always do,” Sam says as he continues on toward Cooper, who’s holding out a cup of coffee for him.
Sam is Beth’s full-time bodyguard—has been ever since the Andrew Morton incident some years ago. He accompanies her everywhere she goes, and I rest easy knowing she’s in good hands.
Just as I reach the door to the garage, I pause to glance back at the two men who are as much brothers to me as my own siblings. “By the way, I think you guys should know, Beth’s period is overdue.”
“How long overdue?” Cooper asks, suddenly showing concern. He’s like a mother hen the way he fusses over her.
“She’s a few weeks late,” I say. “She’s still nursing, so it could be nothing.”
“She hasn’t tested?” Cooper asks, scowling at me like it’s my fault.
“She wants to wait a while.”
“Wait for what?” Cooper shakes his head in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye on her. Her appetite is always the first thing to go. That’s how I could tell before when she was pregnant.”
I open the door to the garage. “Don’t tell her I told you. She’ll want it to be a surprise.”
Sam salutes me. “My lips are sealed, boss.”
* * *
I back my vintage 1969 silver Jaguar out of the garage and head down the street to the secured gate leading into our small private development. Whenever I drive somewhere alone, I take the Jag. I purchased this car as a reward for myself the first year the company was profitable. It’s my baby.
I roll to a stop at the security station and wave at the guard on duty. “Good morning, Tony.”
“Good morning, sir,” the young Hispanic man says through an open window. “Have a good day.”
He opens the gate for me and nods as I drive through.
A couple of years ago, I purchased a section of a new housing development in Lincoln Park that had just broken ground.
They hadn’t started selling lots yet, so I was able to buy the entire cul-de-sac.
It’s now a private, gated community for my family, completely fenced in and secure.
My sister Lia calls it The McIntyre Family Compound.
The name has sort of stuck because now everyone, including the grandkids, is using it.
Traffic is heavy as I head toward downtown Chicago to my office building located on N. Michigan Avenue. I arrive a few minutes before eight, park in my reserved spot in the underground parking garage, and take an elevator up to the 20th floor.
Diane Hughes, my long-time administrative assistant, is already at her desk.
In her eighties and still sharp as a tack, Diane keeps my office running smoothly.
She’s a tiny thing, barely five feet tall, with short white hair and pale blue eyes.
I keep expecting her to retire—with a significant retirement bonus that will outlast her—but when I ask her about it, she tells me to mind my own business.
“Good morning, honey,” she says when I walk into the executive suite. “You’re here early.”
“Troy’s coming to meet with me at eight.” I pass her desk as I head to my office. “Please send him in when he arrives.”
“Will do.”
Once I’m in my office, I switch on the lights and boot up my PC.
While it’s coming online, I indulge in one of my favorite pastimes—looking at photos of my family.
My desk has become cluttered with picture frames of all sizes, featuring photos of me and Beth, our wedding, Beth and our kids, and the four of us.
Maybe soon to be five?
I hope so.
I grew up in a large family—I’m the oldest of seven kids.
I want that for my kids, too. And, if I’m being honest, I want that for myself.
Beth seems happily on board with the idea.
She is one of only two kids, and when she was born, her brother was already an adult.
Because of their age difference, Tyler was more like a parent to her than a sibling.
After having grown up essentially an only child, and having seen my big, boisterous family in action, she welcomes the idea of us having a big family, too.
We’re not the only ones with that idea. My brother Jake and his wife, Annie, are expecting their fourth child.
Jamie and his wife have two kids now. My sister Sophie and her husband, Dominic, have one, and they’re working on another one.
The more, the merrier. That’s my motto. None of my three youngest siblings have kids yet, but give them time.
Once my computer is up and functioning, I check the work e-mails that came in overnight—status reports from operatives working the overnight shifts, mostly performing protection duties or surveillance. Fortunately, there’s nothing urgent I need to attend to.
Right at eight, there’s a knock on my open door. I glance up to see Troy Spencer standing there, a black leather briefcase in hand. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark Armani suit.
“Troy.” I smile as I wave him in. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until lunch?”
But Troy isn’t smiling this morning. There’s a grimness to his expression that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Nothing ever fazes Troy. He’s cool under pressure and rather unshakable, which makes him a fantastic corporate lawyer. And a good friend.
My attorney—because that’s who he is right now, not my friend—steps into my office and quietly closes the door behind him. Then he takes a seat in one of two black leather chairs facing my desk. His dark eyes lock onto me, and for a long, heavy moment, he just stares at me.
My skin tightens. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry this isn’t a social call, Shane. I’m afraid we need to talk.”
“About?”
He pulls a manila folder out of his briefcase and lays it on my desk.
“Enough with the drama, Troy. Just spit it out.” I smile despite the growing knot in my stomach. The longer he’s silent, the more worried I become.
He lets out a heavy breath. “I received an unexpected e-mail last night from the parole board governing the psychiatric hospital where Andrew Morton is incarcerated.”
Everything in me stills.
Andrew Morton.
I haven’t heard anyone speak that pyscho’s name in nearly five years.
Andrew Morton nearly killed my wife. If her office mate, Mary Reynolds, hadn’t come upon them when she did and interrupted his assault on Beth, he might have succeeded.
At the time of the attack, Andrew, then a first-year medical school student, was deemed mentally incompetent by a judge and remanded to a psychiatric hospital for treatment. He must be around twenty-nine years old now. The same age as Beth.
Troy opens the folder and pulls out a printed e-mail. “The psychiatrist who’s treating Andrew says he’s responding well to therapy and medication, and she is recommending that he be released into his parents’ custody.”
I can barely hear Troy over the ringing in my ears.
He watches me and frowns. “Shane? Did you hear me?”
I shake my head. “That’s impossible, Troy. He can’t be released. He nearly killed Beth.”
“The psychiatrist—”
“No!” I shoot to my feet, looming over my desk and my friend. I lean forward, my gaze zeroing in on Troy. “Hell no, he can’t be released! He nearly killed her!” I’m shouting loud enough to be heard two floors down, but I don’t give a fuck.
“I’m sorry,” he says gently. “Shane, believe me, I understand and I hate being the bearer of bad news. But we need to face this. There’s going to be a hearing next week—”
“No! No fucking hearing! This isn’t up for discussion, Troy. You’ve got to do something to stop this.”
“There’s nothing I can do to stop the hearing, Shane. But I will be in attendance.”
Images of Beth lying bruised and bloodied in a hospital bed come rushing back. Her arm broken because he stomped on it with his boot. Her ribs cracked. Her lip split open, swollen and bloody.
I run a rough hand through my hair as I try to think through this. “Beth will be devastated.”
“It goes without saying, Shane, I’ll do everything in my power to prevent him from being released.”
“He’s still a threat to her, Troy. I know he is. He was like a rabid dog that day when he came after her—all in retaliation against me. It’s my fault he attacked her.”
“It wasn’t—”
“Yes, it was! He was pissed because his father took away Andrew’s car and credit cards as punishment for the way he acted toward Beth at the children’s hospital event.
” I rest my palms on my desk and lean forward.
“How in the hell am I going to tell her? She won’t be safe with Andrew on the loose.
And our kids! They won’t be safe either.
She’ll have to stop working. She and the kids will have to be confined to the house for their own safety. That’s no way to live.”
Troy raises his hand. “Slow down, Shane. This isn’t a done deal. We have a hearing to get through first. We’ll argue our case to the parole board. Maybe you don’t need to say anything to Beth about this until we know for sure he’s getting out. The parole board might deny the request.”
“When’s the hearing?”
“Thursday at ten.”
“How in the hell am I going to keep this from Beth?”
“There’s no point in upsetting her until we know if he’s being released or not. Unless you think she’d want to be at the hearing.”
“I have to tell her.” I resume pacing. “I think she’ll want to be there, and she has every right to.”
“I’m sorry, Shane. This is the last thing I wanted to tell you.”