Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The door clicked shut behind James. A deafening silence followed as Daphne’s gaze stayed fixed on the spot where he’d stood seconds earlier. The comforter curled softly over her bare shoulder, the pillow sank gently beneath her cheek, the smell of sex clinging to everything surrounding her.
He’d dressed in the dark, but it was only half past eleven, and this was New York City: Lights from the streets below danced across the ceiling in a kaleidoscope of color.
Seven floors below her, life went on. Young people headed to the bars, people her age headed home after a meal, the unhoused started settling into their spots for the night.
Five hours. That’s what the FBI anticipated. Five hours to travel to Sweet Dreams and execute the raid they’d planned. It would take longer than that to clean up, but James’s part should be over by then.
She rolled onto her back, then glanced out the window.
No rain tonight. She wondered if that was a good or bad thing.
It would make moving through the forests in New Jersey easier, but rain muffled sound.
On a night like tonight, she imagined that the crack of a twig or the rustle of a branch would carry through the unfettered air.
The first rumbling of unease slithered through her.
The danger hadn’t suddenly become real; she’d just suddenly let it seep into her mind.
Until now, she’d been choosing to think about James, about the potential aftermath on his psyche of confronting his siblings, of how her life would change if she bought a house in Mystery Lake and moved permanently.
The future. She’d been conveniently thinking about the future, as if tonight was like any other, with the singular exception that they’d wake up tomorrow and no one would be trying to kill James.
But with him gone, the reality she’d been keeping at bay didn’t so much as break through like a battering ram, it scratched and scraped and slowly ate its way through the false, and flimsy, barrier she’d put in place to hold it back.
Tonight, James was going to confront his siblings.
More to the point, though, he was going to walk into a room filled with four people who trafficked humans and, in all likelihood, were responsible for at least one murder, the real Nicole Monroe.
Probably more. His mere presence would be a threat to everything they’d built.
He was not someone they’d welcome with open arms.
And he was facing them all without any protection—not for his body or his mind.
And while the former gave her pause, the latter made her heart hurt.
She’d agreed with his decision not to walk in armed, understood that if he had a weapon, they’d be more likely to shoot first and ask questions never.
But what would protect him from the assault of his past?
From the lies, the pain, the fear, the helplessness, that seeing his brother and sister might bring up?
Her childhood had been hellish, too. A very different kind of hell from James’s, but not one she’d wish on anyone. She’d always had Callie, though. They’d always had each other.
Thinking of a young James—a victim of his mother’s neglect and abuse, a punching bag for the men she brought into his life, and a target of his brother’s and sister’s jealousy-fueled hate—her heart ached.
An isolated island of a boy who’d somehow managed to break the unholy trinity of drugs, violence, and poverty.
Only tonight, he’d be revisiting it. He wasn’t that same boy anymore.
And while he must have been extraordinary even then, as a man he was…
astonishing. She had no illusions that he was perfect or even anything close to that.
But that was exactly what made him so remarkable.
The flaws, the chinks, the cracks, the chips, they made him unique, they made him a testament to strength.
Like something unearthed from centuries ago, his survival alone an aspect of his beauty when so many of his contemporaries had been ground down until nothing remained.
Unbidden, the image of him as a lonely boy came to mind again.
Sports and his athletic prowess had made him popular; he’d said as much.
But being popular didn’t mean he had friends, didn’t mean he felt connected or supported or safe.
He’d never said, but she suspected he hadn’t felt that until he’d landed in Mystery Lake.
He’d probably seen glimpses of it while serving with his brothers, but not enough to bring him directly to them when he’d discharged.
It hadn’t been until after he’d tried to find that connection, that belonging, with Daisy, that he’d sought his brothers out.
Another wave of admiration washed through her. He wanted connection, he wanted family, he wanted so many things he hadn’t had growing up. And he’d had the courage to reach for it not just once, but twice.
Snagging her phone off the side table, she stared at the wallpaper photo that came to life with the movement.
Conscious of both her and Callie’s privacy, she never used one of the hundreds of photos she had of the two of them together.
Instead, a generic picture of the Eiffel Tower, pretty but unremarkable, looked back at her. One she’d taken when she first moved.
What did James have as his wallpaper? She’d seen it, surely, but in the dark of the hotel room, she couldn’t recall. Would it be a picture with his brothers? Or maybe, like hers, an image of his now-hometown?
As she pondered the possibilities, then pondered why she found the question so interesting, the screen flickered back to dark mode. The sudden absence of the glare shot through her like a light switch, both blinding and illuminating.
Bringing the device back to life, she tapped a couple of buttons, and in seconds, the call connected, the digital ringing of the phone discordant in the muted sounds of her room.
“Daph,” Callie answered.
“I need to be there with him,” she said without preamble.
She didn’t want him to face his past alone.
She might not be one of his brothers, but she was important to him.
Maybe important enough to remind him of everything he’d built, every connection he’d forged in his life.
An anchor to the life he had the courage to create when his siblings would, without question, be intent on dragging him back into the darkness.
Callie sighed. “You’ve spent time with all sorts of interesting people, including spies and cops and Special Forces folks. I’ll give you that, Daph. But this isn’t a research project. These are real people with real guns who will really kill you.”
“If Gabe was walking into a room to confront his mother and father, would you want to sit that out? Or would you want to be by his side?” Gabe’s mother had abandoned him and his brother to their alcoholic, abusive father at a young age.
He’d stepped in to protect and care for his brother, taking more than a few hits, both physical and emotional, along the way.
Her sister didn’t respond right away, and Daphne remained silent. She wanted to put forth more reasons—there were several as to why James shouldn’t be alone—but she’d long ago learned that Callie needed time to think. And the more Daphne talked, the less time Callie had to think.
“It’s interesting that you compared your relationship with Lovell to my relationship with my husband.”
“It is, but I’m not going to examine that right now,” she countered. Of course, her sister pulled at the one thread Daphne hadn’t considered when she’d spoken. She’d been impulsive in her approach, but didn’t regret it. Not if it got Callie’s attention.
“How do you propose for this to come about?” Callie said.
Daphne glared at her phone. Callie was the smartest person she knew; surely she had an idea or two. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not privy to how these things work. Maybe the same way you got James in? Bring me on as a consultant to HICC, then farm me out to the FBI?”
Callie chuckled. “As brilliant and as talented as you are, I don’t think you’d pass even the most basic requirements we have for our operatives.”
“Rude,” Daphne said, but couldn’t help an answering laugh.
“Accurate,” Callie countered, then followed the statement with a sigh. “I understand why this is important to you, I really do. But making it happen is a whole other ball of yarn.”
“He shouldn’t be alone,” Daphne said. The idea had come swift and unformed moments ago, but as she talked with her sister, it solidified into something real and urgent.
“He’s strong, Callie. So strong. And getting tossed back into his past won’t break him, I’m not worried about that.
Well, not much. But he doesn’t need to do this alone.
He has people who love and care for him now, people who not only can, but will, stand beside him. ”
“Are you one of them?”
Daphne didn’t pretend not to grasp what her sister really wanted to know.
“It’s too early to talk about love between the two of us.
Hell, I’ve never been in love before, not the romantic kind, so what do I even know about it?
But I’m not shutting down the possibility that there could be a future, a real one. A good one.”
“The label feels awkward, but the feelings feel right?”
Daphne considered those words. She hadn’t thought about her feelings for James in that way—or in any way, really, other than to acknowledge she had them.
But the question rang true: Saying she loved James felt clumsy and uncomfortable.
But picturing them together in a year or two or more? That didn’t feel so difficult.
“Maybe,” she said, wanting to roll that thought around in her head a little more before committing.
“It will be dangerous, Daph.”
“I know.”
“He won’t like it.”
“Not at first,” she said. “But when it’s over, and he’s had a chance to calm down, he’ll appreciate it. Appreciate that he wasn’t alone.”
“These men are a little protective of their women. You might be underestimating how long it will take him to calm down.”
Daphne smiled. “Probably. Fear will do that to people. But I have faith I can convince him to move on to the appreciation phase reasonably quickly.” Or, if not, she had a pretty good idea of how James would want to work out his fear and frustration, and she had no problem with that approach.
“I don’t want to know,” her sister said.
Daphne laughed. “You already know, you just don’t want to talk about it.”
Callie huffed. “Fact.” She paused, then sighed. “Superman will be there in forty-five minutes to pick you up.”
Daphne sat up, the comforter falling from her chest, baring her skin to the cool air. “What?”
“You didn’t think I’d not know you’d make this call, did you?” she asked. Daphne could practically hear her sister roll her eyes.
“Uh, actually, I did. Or didn’t?” she added. She hated double negatives. “I didn’t know I’d make it, so no, I didn’t think you’d know I’d make it,” she clarified.
“I guess sometimes other people know us better than ourselves, then.”
Daphne’s gaze fell on the bedside clock. “Forty-five minutes?”
“Dress in a way that it’s obvious you aren’t carrying any concealed weapons.”
“Leggings, a fitted shirt, puffer vest, hat?”
“That works. We’ll have a vest for you, too. You can wear it under your puffer.”
“Superman?”
“You aren’t the only one who thought Lovell should have a reminder that he’s not alone anymore. Mantis convinced Stella to bring him in. Stella convinced Hershorn. Well, she convinced her enough that they’ll let the two of you through. Not happily, but they will.”
“What’s his real name again?” she asked, throwing back the covers. He’d mentioned it the first time they met, but she couldn’t remember.
“Most of the guys shorten it to S-Man, but his name is Marcus. He was one of the army’s top snipers back in the day. He got his name because he can see an ant move on a hill half a mile away.”
“An ant?”
“Okay, a slight exaggeration, but you get the picture,” she said. “Stick close to him. He’ll read the room better than either you or Lovell, and if he gives you an order, I expect you to obey.”
She’d never been good at obeying orders, not since she’d left the modeling industry when obeying her agent, photographers, designers, etc., had been her ticket out of hell. Well, those orders and the orders James issued. She didn’t mind those.
“Daphne, I’m serious,” Callie said, sensing her hesitation.
She rose and walked toward the bathroom. She needed a quick shower before Marcus picked her up. “I promise,” she said.
“And that sounded sincere,” Callie replied, sarcasm cutting an edge through the words.
Daphne started to snipe back, then paused.
Her sister had gone to the mat for her. Daphne was stepping into a world she’d never set foot in before, one that, presumably, Callie, Marcus, and James knew all too well.
And she had a niece or nephew she desperately wanted to meet in six months.
She wasn’t a spoiled child; she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone.
All she needed to do was be there for James.
“I promise,” she said, meaning it.
Relief threaded through Callie’s exhale. “Thank you.”
Love for her sister flooded through her, drawing the pinprick of tears. “I really did win the lottery the day you were born,” she said.
Her sister sniffed. “So did I,” she countered. “Now get this over with and come home tomorrow. We have a nursery to start planning.”
Daphne’s thoughts flickered to the houses she’d inquired about. They might have a home to furnish, too.
“I’ll be there,” she said, hoping that saying it would make it so.