Chapter 3
LOFTON
It had been utter chaos since everything went down the night before.
Brooke thankfully hadn’t returned to the rental until after the cops had arrived and secured the scene. I’d never forget for as long as I lived the fear—or relief—on her face when she spotted Zoey sitting on my lap in the back of an ambulance.
She cried.
Zoey cried.
And I sat there so damn numb I wasn’t sure I was even breathing.
I was transported to the hospital where it took six stitches to close the gash in my forehead.
Then I spent hours being questioned by detectives, which honestly was far longer than I would have assumed—or preferred.
There were only so many ways I could say, “I didn’t see anyone.
I simply heard the gunshots, scooped up Zoey, and ran. ”
Once the cops were satisfied that I had nothing to give, they used the cloak of darkness to move me to a hotel.
Beyond my phone, I had nothing. My bloodied clothes had been thrown in the trash.
A kind nurse had given me a pair of scrubs, but by the time I got to the hotel, they too had a streak of crimson on them.
No matter how many times I washed my hands, I couldn’t get all the blood from under my fingernails.
After my fourth shower and an epic meltdown, Brooke produced a pair of children’s nail clippers from her purse and cut my polished French manicure down to nubs.
I wished like hell that she had been able to clip away my memories as well.
It was finally past three in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten or slept. It seemed the only thing I could do was stare at the wall or fake a smile so Zoey would stop watching me.
My phone had been ringing nonstop. Brooke fielded what she could on the business front. But when my sister called for the millionth time, answering was my only option.
“I’m alive, but it might be a while before I come home,” I stated rather than bothering with a greeting.
“What the fuck?” Jenn breathed across the line. “How long is a while?”
Yeah, because that was the part that mattered.
Wrapped in a hotel robe, I padded down the penthouse hallway.
It was the definition of opulence, with marble floors polished to a mirror, an obscene chandelier in the foyer, and lavish floral arrangements in crystal vases on every surface.
Two men had died protecting me; luxury felt wrong on every level.
Come to think of it, maybe that was why I’d finally caved and picked up Jenn’s call. Arguing with her was at least a comfortable distraction.
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks, a month…maybe longer,” I added just to poke the bear.
“I have a family, ya know?”
Ah yes. Her favorite blade, sharpened by travel sports, carpool lines, and bedtime routines. Meanwhile, I was the Beck family Cinderella: untethered, childless, selfish for having a career despite all that it provided.
“Based on the amount I pay for your kids to go to private school and attend every volleyball tournament in the northern hemisphere, I am well aware of your family.”
“Don’t you dare throw that in my face. You pay for those things so you don’t feel guilty abandoning me here to shovel literal horse shit and cook cream of wheat and bacon three meals a day while my kids grow up without their mother.
Fifty-fifty. That’s what we agreed on. But this year alone I’ve been here close to eight months.
Jesus, Lofton. Terry and I have a cruise booked with the kids next week. ”
“Gee, I’m sorry that me almost getting killed has inconvenienced your vacation plans.”
I startled as the bedroom door opened. Brooke tiptoed out, her face as haggard as I felt. As she silently pulled the door shut, I caught sight of Zoey napping under a plush white duvet, one tiny foot sticking out.
That poor, traumatized baby. I couldn’t imagine how this kind of trauma was going to shape her future. I was a thirty-two-year-old woman and knew it was going to be a long time before I felt any semblance of normalcy again.
In silent question, Brooke narrowed her eyes at the phone.
“Jenn,” I mouthed.
“Hang up,” she snapped. And it should be noted, she did not mouth this response, but said it at a decibel that guaranteed Jenn not only heard it, but felt every drop of her disdain too.
“Fuck off, Brooke!” my sister shot back, also spoken loud enough to render me a completely unnecessary participant in the conversation.
Brooke leaned into my side, putting her mouth near the phone. “Tell me, Jenn, does Terry have a job yet? Or is he still cool with Lofton paying for his toilet paper?”
“And who pays your bills?” Jenn retorted.
“Me. By working. You should try it sometime.”
Shaking my head, I ducked away from Brooke, knowing all too well how quickly this conversation could escalate into World War Seven. We were only six months removed from World War Six, so I wasn’t eager to dive back in.
“Stop. Please,” I begged. “The last thing I want to do is fight right now. I’m sorry, okay.
Trust me, I don’t want to be here anymore either.
” My voice cracked and Brooke’s head snapped up, no doubt ready to catch me if I were to crumble—again.
Avoiding her scrutinizing gaze, I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
LA was sprawled out beneath us. From that height, the city was gorgeous, but I’d never hated it more.
“Then just come home,” Jenn said.
“It’s not that easy. This is the second time someone has broken in. It’s no coincidence. Someone is after me and they don’t care who they hurt in the process. If they got through Marty and Derrick, what do you think they would do to Dad?”
“Shit,” she breathed.
“Exactly. A new security team is coming today. Collin didn’t have anyone who could replace Marty, but he swears these guys are the absolute best when it comes to a stalker—or whoever this is. I’ll talk to them and see what they think about me coming home.”
My sister sighed, her frustration softening. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. This is just… a lot.”
“Believe me, I know.”
“Dammit, this isn’t why I called. Are you okay? Your manager told me you were okay, but then I saw a report online that you had been hospitalized with a gunshot wound.”
“Stop believing the crap you read online. I’m fine. I got a few stitches in my forehead and a scar that will hopefully end my career.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Oh, I’m not just saying that. After last night. I’m done. You can go home and raise your girls. I’ll take care of Daddy and spend the rest of my life in hiding. It’s a win-win.”
“Yeah, except for the tiny little detail that you love acting. You haven’t missed so much as a school play since you played baby Jesus in the nativity when you were six months old.”
I nervously twisted the ends of my damp hair. “Yeah, well, things change.”
“You don’t. But we’ll see. Listen, I’ll call Terry and have him reschedule the cruise. It’s going to cost a small fortune, but—”
“I’ll cover it. Whatever it costs. Just use my credit card to rebook.” Brooke coughed her objection behind me, but cruise fees were the least of my worries. “And pay for an upgrade too. I promise, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I know you will. You may not be punctual, but you always come home, eventually. Anything I can do to help you from here?”
Ignoring her backhanded compliment, I shrugged and wiped a rogue tear on the sleeve of my robe. “Maybe find me a time machine?”
“I’ll see if I can get in touch with Orwell. Until then, please stay safe. I really don’t appreciate you trying to beat me into that plot next to Mom.”
I half-laughed, half-cried. “You foiled my plan.”
“I knew it,” she teased. “Being buried next to her is the only perk of being older than you. It sure as hell isn’t the saggy tits.”
I shook my head, an unlikely grin sneaking through my grief. “Only you could weave your tits into a conversation like this.”
“What can I say? You aren’t the only talented member of the Beck family.”
I grinned. “So, how’s Daddy?”
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. He called me a shitty bitty when I refused to tack up Salty the other day. The man is seventy-three and still thinks he can ride with the best of em.”
“Sad thing is, he probably could. Physically, at least. Is he still taking his meds?”
“Yeah. Mostly. He’s stubborn, but nothing that can’t be remedied by hiding them in his orange juice.
” She paused as there was a rustling on the other end of the line.
“Speak of the devil. I gotta go. I’m about to get yelled at for not bringing him the newspaper in time for his lunchtime potty break. I love you. Please stay safe.”
Another tear rolled down my cheek.
It was a lie that I only answered her call for the distraction. Jenn and I had a mountain of differences, but she was my sister—my biggest critic and supporter. “I love you too. Give Daddy a hug for me.”
“Will do.”
We said a quick “bye” and then I hit the end button, severing our connection. For a second, I curled the phone against my chest, clinging to a warmth I’d been so desperate to escape as a teen.
A time when life was easy.
A time when my father was kind—greeting everyone with a smile and a hug.
A time when my mother baked our birthday cakes because it was cheaper than going to the bakery.
A time when we ate every meal as a family, welcoming any neighbor or farmhand who happened to find a seat at our dining room table.
A time of happiness, love, forgiveness…hope.
But just like Marty and Derrick.
It was all dead and gone.
A loud knock on the door snatched me from my memories—full fight-or-flight mode activating.
“Easy,” Brooke said, already rising from the cream leather sofa. “The cops texted and said someone from Guardian Protection was on the way up.”
I nodded, but my chest remained tight.
Marty had been with me for so long that the idea of someone new felt…
wrong. He’d taken sick days and vacations, but even then, he’d always called to give me a personal endorsement of whoever was stepping into his place.
In a town where security seemed like a revolving door, I’d always known how lucky I was to have him.
But as Brooke reached for the door handle, I just felt unprepared.
Especially when she opened it, revealing six-foot-plus of irritation standing on the other side.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he muttered. “How does it keep getting worse?” He dragged a hand down his face before his dark gaze locked with mine. “Rule number one. Don’t open the door unless you are certain who’s on the other side.”
“The cops told us you were on the way up,” Brooke defended.
His words were aimed at her, but his eyes never left mine. “We aren’t trusting the cops anymore. That’s rule number two.”
I stared at him, a strange sense of recognition tugging at the edges of my memory.
From his close cut, brown hair to his clean-shaven jaw that was all sharp lines and angles, I would have guessed he was someone who worked in front of the camera, not hiding in the shadows.
His broad shoulders strained against the confines of his white button-down, and navy slacks clung to his muscular thighs.
I had no idea when or where I’d seen him before, but it was easy to see why I would remember him.
Muttering curses under his breath, he turned sideways and slipped through the doorway. It had been a long time since I’d taken a geometry class, but the way he maneuvered his hulking body through the doorway without touching Brooke felt mathematically impossible.
“Shut it and lock it,” he ordered over his shoulder, long strides carrying him inside.
I waited for him to stop in front of me. To introduce himself. To acknowledge why he was there. Offer condolences. Reassurance. Hell, I would have taken a cold, dead-fish handshake.
Instead, he blew past me.
He moved through the penthouse like he’d already memorized it, his long legs eating up the space.
He inspected the balcony lock, then moved to the bar, crouching to peer into the cabinet beneath it.
“The cops already did a search,” I said. “Zoey’s asleep in the bedroom, but nobody else is here.”
Slowly, he straightened and turned toward me, tilting his head just enough to make his stare feel like a reprimand. “It took less than three minutes for me to get up here.” The calm in his voice was worse than shouting. “A car horn and a library card rendered the gate guard useless.”
My head snapped back. “What?”
“While he was distracted, I ducked under the gate and then walked through the garage until I found a valet. He opened the door for me after I told him I’d forgotten my room key.”
Brooke let out a quiet string of expletives as I felt the blood drain from my face.
They had assured me that the hotel was secure. They had promised that we’d be safe.
“After that,” he continued. “I took the stairs, read the fire exit placard, made an educated guess about which elevators would lead to the penthouse, and only then did I run into two police officers.”
My skin prickled as fear slithered up my spine and wrapped around my throat.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, reading my horror.
“So then I showed my Illinois driver’s license and a Guardian business card to the cops by the elevator.
They didn’t validate either. Both could’ve been forged by any schmuck with a printer.
” He shook his head and planted his hands on his hips.
“Hotel security scanned a keycard in the elevator for me to access this floor, then stepped out and told me to call if I needed anything. No escort. Nothing. Short of offering me his weapon, they handed you to me on a silver platter.”
My vision tunneled as the room suddenly tilted. I caught myself on the arm of the sofa, fingers digging into the leather as my head swirled.
He didn’t move or rush toward me the way Marty would have. He just watched, utterly unfazed. “So yeah. Rule number two.”
“We don’t trust the cops,” I whispered just before the dam inside me broke all over again.