Chapter 6
Ziggy and Noah had spent Saturday night at her place, and when they woke, they’d decided it would be a nice day to go for a walk since the sun had made a rare appearance.
But it rained before they’d gotten out of the neighborhood.
And it hadn’t been that light mist the Sound was notorious for.
It actually required an umbrella—which, of course, they didn’t have because no one in Seattle carried one.
They got soaked.
After that, they thought they’d do some research for a story—until the internet went out. So, they gave up and went back to bed.
That was the good part of Sunday, and she’d been basking in the afterglow of being in Noah’s arms again.
She’d even pinched herself three times to make sure it was real, choosing to ignore the tiny little voice in the back of her head that warned her Noah would run.
That just because he told her he loved her and that things were different, didn’t mean he’d stick around.
But her enjoyment was squashed when her brothers and another man showed up on her doorstep with serious expressions. Now, she was back to where she wasn’t so sure she wanted to participate in what these twenty-four hours might bring.
She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. The sky over the Sound had been cycling between gray and something almost blue for the last half hour, and Ziggy's living room buzzed with the kind of energy that swirled around her family when half of them wanted to say something, and the other half wanted to keep it quiet.
Jag had his elbows on his knees, and his coffee mug sat on the table in front of him—untouched—because it was late, and his wife had told him he needed to cut back. Jag always listened to Callie—mostly.
Troy sat in the armchair by the window with his ankle crossed over his knee.
He had a way of looking relaxed, even when things around him weren't. She’d always resented that about Troy, the fly boy.
The man who could fly a jet with his eyes closed while getting shot at and not worry about where he might have to land it if his engines failed—which had happened to him more than once.
Noah sat on the couch next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, in a way that made being with him steady and real.
Cormac O'Mallary stood near the kitchen island like a man accustomed to rooms that weren't quite big enough for him.
Troy had introduced him as a former Green Beret, Whidbey born, which had landed hard in Ziggy's chest.
She recognized Cormac’s name from when the island had gone quiet one summer, after a drunk driver killed his half-sister.
“…Cormac is one of the first of my new team for the Cascadia Division of the Aegis Network,” Troy said.
He’d been talking for the last five or ten minutes, but that was the first thing Ziggy latched on to because the rest was more about this new job Troy was starting when his contract was up with the Navy and some other light banter between her brothers and Cormac.
“He’s getting things set up at the office the owners purchased.
” Troy leaned back. “And since the Navy still owns me for another six weeks, he’ll be keeping an eye on you and Noah. ”
And there it was. The thing that had been bugging her more than how her brothers had come into her home was “I want to talk about that." Ziggy set down her mug and rolled her shoulders. She and her little sister had been dealing with Troy and Jag their entire lives. Both her brothers were kind, loving, sweet men. But they were also men who carried themselves with a bit of bravado. They had big egos and loved to puff out their chests. But taking on the role of protector—even when it wasn’t necessary—was their specialty. Not that she was implying this situation didn’t call for a little help.
“Who's watching Noah when we’re not together? "
“I’ll be fine,” Noah said.
“Right.” She glared. “You’ve been threatened more than I have.
" She kept her voice even, which took some effort because this part of the conversation could be tricky with Noah. He wasn’t that much different from her brothers, except that he was better at keeping people out.
“Noah’s the target. I’m adjacent.” She looked at her brothers, then at Cormac, who watched her with steady attention, but he didn’t move a muscle and was impossible to read.
“Adjacent?” Noah shook his head. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“I’m not the one on television. I don’t have a face that's plastered on a nationally syndicated show. The world knows where they can find you every Thursday night. Me? Most people don’t even know my name.”
“But someone knows your name and where you live. They made that perfectly clear when they sent you flowers with my name signed to them,” Noah said with a low tone.
The one he rarely used. The one that made her wince.
But she wasn’t backing down, so she turned her attention to the one man in the room who didn’t know her well. She might have some luck with him.
"Noah might own a gun. And he might even be a good shot. But he's never been law enforcement. He's not a bodyguard. He's a journalist."
"A journalist who gets death threats for a living.” Noah stood and inched toward the window. He ran his hand across the top of his head and glanced between the view, and her, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to focus on.
"That's not the same thing and you know it,” Jag said.
Go Jag. She’d remember to thank her brother for that backup later.
“She makes sense,” Cormac said. “But also, high visibility is easier to work with than you'd think." He moved away from the island and came further into the room, which she'd noticed he only did when he was committing to a conversation. “We don’t want to leave Noah unprotected, and this isn’t about whether or not he can defend himself. It’s about priority and what we know.” He glanced between the two of them. “Granted, objects have been sent to both residents and to your place of work. That alone says something. So, when possible, it’s best that you remain in the same space. But we can coordinate options when you’re not.
I’ll just need you to communicate that with me. ”
“Okay, but still, no one has ever threatened me and it’s obvious those flowers were meant to scare him,” she said.
Noah returned to the sofa, sat down, and took her hand. "But the way to get to me isn't to come after me directly. It's to go after the people who matter. Targeting you is one way to make me stand up and notice.”
Shit. She was going to have some explaining to do before she was ready.
This time, she hadn’t told him she wanted to keep it quiet.
And she wasn’t going to. Secrets had torn them apart five years ago.
But she had wanted a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, to enjoy this before her family came at her like a tornado.
“Most people don't know how much I matter.” She heard how that sounded the moment it left her mouth and pushed past it.
"I'm your producer. That's nothing special, but it's not—I mean…” She let out a long breath and looked down at her hand in Noah’s. “No one knows that we ever dated or that we’re together…”
"I'm sorry," Troy said with way too much amusement in his tone. "Did you just say what I think you said?"
“I hadn’t finished my statement.” She lifted her chin, catching Troy’s gaze, refusing to let her little brother rattle her.
“I think she said something is going on with her and Noah.” Troy made a circular gesture with his hand that encompassed the couch, the distance between her and Noah, and approximately five years of unresolved tension. "And then she tried to backpedal.”
Noah chuckled.
“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “You’re just giving them ammunition.”
Noah cleared his throat. “Maybe we should continue with the security—”
“No, I think Jag and I need some clarification.
" Troy leaned forward with both elbows on his knees.
His brow creased, and his lips tipped into a slight grin.
That look meant only one thing. Troy was worried enough to mean it and amused enough to enjoy it.
"Because my sister just used the word together, and that's worth a pause in the security briefing.
" Troy shifted his gaze to Noah. "When did this happen? "
“The specifics are none of your business,” Noah said, turning his gaze toward her. “But I don’t want to keep us a secret this time.”
“I don’t either, but I wanted to tell my family on my terms. Not like this.”
“I already knew,” Jag said, without looking up from his coffee.
Troy pointed at his brother. "You knew, and you didn't tell me? That’s just rude, bro.”
“How did you know?” Noah asked, jerking his head in Jag’s direction.
“We practically live in the same neighborhood, and I took the kids for a walk.” Jag shrugged. “I saw you kissing on the back deck. I had to cover poor Stephanie's eyes.”
“Now, you’re being dramatic.” Ziggy shook her head.
“I don’t know. That was a pretty wild ki—”
She elbowed Noah. “Stop encouraging them. Because this might be relatively funny, but you wait until my mother hears about this.”
“Fair point.”
“So, I’m guessing you two got together Saturday morning?" Troy looked between them. "Like, Saturday morning-Saturday morning, or Friday—"
“This discussion is over,” Ziggy said.
"We're a little bit discussing this." But Troy was grinning now, the big smile that had driven her insane for thirty-something years and that she'd missed more than she'd ever admitted when he'd been stationed away.
"All I want to say is that it took you two long enough.
Also, I had twenty dollars on this happening before the end of the year, and I'd like to collect from whoever I made that bet with. "
"That was me," Jag said.
Troy held it in his hand. “Pay up.”
“I can’t believe I’m related to you people,” she muttered.