Maeve
Then the memory crashes into me. My house. The security update. Men moving through the rooms with equipment while Ronan explained that the new system would keep me safe.
And him.
I remember passing him in the hallway. He'd barely looked at me. My stomach drops so violently I have to take a step backward.
"You do work for him." The words come out thin and breathless, but the accusation behind them hangs heavily in the room between us.
His entire body goes still. "No."
"You were there."
My heart begins pounding hard enough to make the edges of my vision blur. I look toward the door behind him, then the windows, trying to understand where I am and how far we've driven and whether I could find my way back if I ran.
Back. The thought nearly makes me laugh. Back to where? The house I'd just escaped? The man who'd taken everything away from me? Or had I never escaped at all?
My eyes snap back to the man in front of me. Taibhse. The person I'd trusted. The stranger I'd told things I hadn't even admitted to myself. The man who had gotten me to my parents' house. Who knew when I was alone. Who knew when Ronan left. Who knew when I was sad. My stomach turns.
Oh, God. Was that the point? Had this all been some kind of test?
A way to see if I would betray my husband? A way to prove I couldn't be trusted? Had Ronan known about every message? Every conversation? Had he known when I snuck out to see my father?
I press a hand to my mouth. "I'm sorry."
His brows draw together. "What?"
"I won't do it again." The words begin spilling out before I can stop them.
My chest is tightening, making every breath feel smaller than the one before it, but I need him to understand.
I need Ronan to understand. "I shouldn't have left the house.
I know that now. I understand. Just tell him I'm sorry.
" I take another step backward until my legs bump into the edge of the couch.
"I won't leave again. I won't try to contact anyone.
You can tell him that. Please. I understand now. "
Something dark flashes across Taibhse's face. "No."
The word comes out so sharply that I flinch. His jaw locks. I see something that looks like real anger, and whatever fragile thread has been holding me together begins to fray.
Then his fingers move. Twice against the side of his thigh. A pause. Twice again.
I stare at the movement. He closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply through his nose. Once. Then again.
When his eyes open, the anger is still there, but it feels different now. Controlled. Contained. Not directed at me.
"Maeve." His voice is lower this time. "I do not work for Ronan."
I shake my head because I know what I saw. "You were in my house."
"I was."
"With the people installing his security system."
"Yes."
My laugh comes out broken. "Do you understand how this looks?"
His mouth presses into a thin line. "Yes."
The immediate answer stops me. He doesn't try to convince me I'm wrong. Doesn't tell me I'm confused or that I don't remember what I saw. He just stands there and lets me be angry.
I don't know what to do with that. "Then explain it to me."
He nods once. "I needed a way into the system."
My thoughts stumble over one another. "What?"
"The update gave me access to the house."
I stare at him. "Why?"
Something shifts in his expression. It's small enough that I almost miss it, but his eyes move over my face before settling back on mine.
"To keep you safe."
The answer is so simple that I almost get angry all over again. "From what?"
His jaw tightens. "At first? I didn't know."
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to hold myself together. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know."
"You broke into my security system because you thought I might be in danger, but you didn't know what the danger was?"
"Basically."
I stare at him. He stares back. "That is insane."
"I've been told."
Despite everything, a tiny piece of me recognizes the answer. Not his voice. Not his face. Him.
The ridiculous answers that aren't really answers. The strange logic. The way he somehow manages to make perfect sense while making no sense at all.
My anger doesn't disappear. Neither does my fear. But something inside me loosens enough that I can finally take a full breath.
He watches me for another moment before glancing toward the living room. "Can I show you something?"
Every part of me should say no. I'm standing in an unfamiliar house with a man whose real name I don't know. No one knows where I am. I have no phone, no car, and no idea how far we've driven.
My father would lose his mind. Logically, this should make the decision easy.
Instead, I look at the man standing in front of me and remember a cup of coffee waiting in my car. French vanilla creamer appearing in the refrigerator. Music filling a silent room. A camera nodding at me.
Please don't cry.
I trust my gut. "Okay."
He doesn't smile or look relieved. He simply turns and walks toward the living room, slowing enough that I can follow without feeling like I'm being herded.
I stop in the doorway. "What are you doing?"
He doesn't answer immediately. He walks to the corner of the room, reaches behind a small camera I hadn't even noticed, and pulls the cord from the wall.
The tiny red light disappears. I stare.
He crosses to another camera mounted near the opening to the kitchen and does the same thing. Then another. And another.
I slowly lower myself onto the edge of the couch. I hadn't noticed them. How hadn't I noticed them?
I look around the room again, searching now, and see one tucked high near the hallway.
Taibhse follows my gaze. "I know."
He walks toward it and disconnects that one too. Then he moves into the kitchen. I can see him from where I'm sitting as he reaches above the cabinets and unplugs another.
The realization settles slowly. He's not turning them off through some system I can't see. He's physically disconnecting them. One at a time. Where I can watch him do it.
When he returns to the living room, his gaze lands on the camera pointed toward the front door.
He stops beneath it. "This one stays."
The small sense of safety beginning to grow inside me immediately retreats. He must see it happen because he lifts one hand.
"Only the door."
I look from him to the camera.
"I need to know if someone comes onto the property." His expression is completely serious. "I won't move it away from the entrance. Ever."
My stomach twists as I think about all the cameras in Ronan's house. Taibhse seems to know exactly where my thoughts have gone.
"I won't." Two words. No elaborate promise. No attempt to convince me.
I look at the camera again. Then slowly nod. "Okay."
Something in his shoulders eases. He holds out his hand. I stare at it. Less than an hour ago, I'd taken that hand without knowing anything about the man it belonged to.
Now I know even less. Somehow, I still place my hand in his. His fingers close carefully around mine. Not tight. Not pulling. Just there.
He leads me down the hallway toward the bedroom at the end. I barely make it through the doorway before he releases my hand and moves to the camera mounted in one corner.
He unplugs it. Then the one overlooking the windows. I watch both tiny lights go dark. The bedroom feels different immediately. It shouldn't. They're cameras. Pieces of plastic and wire.
But for the first time in months, I am standing in a bedroom where no one can watch me sleep. The thought hits me so hard that I have to look away.
"I'll be right back." My attention snaps to him. He must see the panic because he pauses in the doorway. "Two minutes."
"Very specific."
"Anything less would be suspicious. Anything more would be inefficient."
A startled laugh slips out of me. He stares at me for half a second, as if the sound surprised him too. Then he disappears down the hall.
The moment he's gone, reality comes crashing back.
What am I doing?
I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed and look around the unfamiliar room. My father taught me better than this. Never get into a vehicle with a stranger. Never go to a secondary location. Always know your exits. I'd failed every basic rule of self-preservation in less than an hour.
I laugh under my breath. "Dad would be so pissed."
The thought of him makes the humor disappear almost immediately. I don't know where he thinks I am. I don't know what Ronan will tell him. I don't know if anyone is looking for me.
Before I can follow that thought into the darker places it's trying to go, footsteps sound in the hallway.
Taibhse appears carrying a plain cardboard box.
I eye it suspiciously. "Is that what you're planning to ship my head and hands back to Ronan in?"
He stops. Completely. The box hits the mattress beside me. Before I can even blink, he's in front of me. His hands cup my face. Warm palms settle against my cheeks, his fingers disappearing into my hair as he tilts my face toward his.
My breath catches. Not because he hurts me. He doesn't. His touch is impossibly gentle. It's the expression on his face that steals the air from my lungs.
"No." The word comes out low. Almost harsh. His eyes search mine. "Statistically, I can survive a lot of things. You getting hurt is not a variable I'm willing to test, because I have no data suggesting I'd remain even remotely functional afterward."
I stare at him. His thumbs rest just beneath my cheekbones. For one strange, suspended moment, neither of us moves. My heart begins beating harder. His eyes drop briefly. Not to my mouth. To his hands. His entire body freezes.
Then he releases me so quickly he nearly takes a step backward. "Sorry."
I blink. He clears his throat and picks up the box. "I shouldn't have touched you without asking."
The place where his palms had been feels cold. "It's okay."
He doesn't seem convinced.
He shoves the box toward me instead. "I brought this."
I take it carefully. It's heavier than I expected. "What is it?"
His expression changes again. Guilt. "I didn't get the first few things."
I frown.
"I didn't realize what they were doing at first."
The room goes very still. "What who was doing?"
He looks at the box. My fingers move toward the cardboard flaps. I open it. For a moment, I don't understand what I'm seeing.
Just fabric. Colors. A soft gray sleeve. A flash of faded green. Then my hand begins to shake.
I reach inside and pull out a sweater.
My sweater.
The old green one my father bought me when I was young. The cuff is stretched because I always pulled it over my hands. There's a tiny snag near the hem from where I'd caught it on a fence after too much wine and an ill-advised shortcut back to the hotel.
I thought it was gone. My breath catches. I set it beside me and reach into the box again. A pair of jeans. My faded band T-shirt. The soft black leggings Ronan hated because he said they made me look careless.
One piece after another. My clothes. Not the dresses hanging in my closet. Not the expensive sweaters chosen for me. Mine.
I pull out an old T-shirt and press it against my chest. "How?"
Taibhse sits in the chair across from the bed, leaving space between us. "They were being removed from the house."
I look at him. "I know that." My voice breaks.
"I found them."
"You found them?"
"Eventually."
My fingers tighten around the shirt. "What does that mean?"
He looks uncomfortable. Actually uncomfortable. "I noticed the pattern late."
"What pattern?"
"Your clothes started disappearing after you wore them." He continues carefully. "At first I thought you were donating things. Then I noticed it was always something you seemed comfortable in."
The room blurs.
I blink hard.
"The first few were already gone before I realized." His voice is quieter now. "After that, I started intercepting them."
I look back into the box. Every piece of fabric suddenly means something different. Not just clothes. Evidence. Proof that I hadn't imagined it. That I wasn't forgetful. That things really had been disappearing around me.
I pull the green sweater into my lap and run my thumb over the frayed cuff. "I thought I was losing my mind."
The confession slips out anyway, too fast to catch. Across from me, Taibhse freezes completely.
"I kept thinking I'd misplaced things." I stare down at the sweater. "Then I started wondering if maybe I remembered bringing them to the house when I hadn't. Ronan kept telling me I had nicer things now, so I thought..."
I trail off. I don't know what I thought. That's the worst part. I'd stopped trusting my own memories. My own eyes. Myself.
A tear falls onto the green fabric. Then another. I wipe them away angrily. "I hate crying."
"I know." I look up sharply. His face changes. "That sounded significantly less creepy in my head."
A wet laugh escapes me. He looks relieved enough that another follows. I press the sweater against my face for a second, breathing in the faint scent of laundry detergent and cardboard.
Home. Not the estate. Not Ronan. Me. When I lower it, Taibhse is watching me. Not like Ronan watched me. There is no calculation in his expression. No judgment. He simply looks like seeing me hurt is hurting him too.
I look around the bedroom. At the dead cameras. At the box filled with pieces of myself I thought were gone. Then at the stranger sitting across from me.
Except he doesn't feel like a stranger. Maybe that's the most frightening thing of all. I still don't know his name. I don't know where I am. I don't know what tomorrow looks like.
But somehow, sitting in a strange bedroom with my old green sweater clutched against my chest, I feel more like myself than I have in months.
And the man who gave those pieces back to me is the same one I was convinced had betrayed me only minutes ago.