Chapter 15
Battle Plans
Cam
“Pull up the footage.”
Tara’s voice snaps through the loft, crisp enough to leave the air stinging. She stands in the doorway, arms locked across her chest, jaw set, eyes bright and unblinking. I feel her restless fury that somehow makes the sunlight gleam fiercer behind her.
Whatever relief I’d carried from breakfast with my family is gone—replaced by a jolt of adrenaline and the certainty that something has gone badly wrong.
There’s no mistaking it—whatever she’s about to drop will hit harder than anything my family managed over breakfast.
“The footage of what?” My heart’s climbing my throat. “Tara, what happened?”
‘The fire.’ Her voice goes higher, words tumbling out fast. ‘Home security. From that day. Pull it up—now.’”
“On it.”
The air bristles. Then, she digs through her bag with barely-checked impatience and pulls out her phone. For a blink, I catch a glimpse of her screen:
Oh, I forgot—next time I’ll make sure the fire spreads.
The words hit like a fist to the chest.
She practically spits, “Cam, Lucien paid for our breakfast with your family! And then he sent this text!”
Her breath shakes, her composure cracking at the edges.
“I don’t even know if it’s him in person or one of his goons. But the server came to me with that family photo. Me—six years old! It’s intimidation, Lucien-style.” Her voice falters, but I can hear the scream inside.
A cold, electric fury rush into my chest. I take her phone, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
I push my own nerves down, smooth out my voice. “All right. Sit. I’ll pull up the files from three days ago—every angle.”
Perched on the edge of the couch next to me, she’s bouncing her heel, twisting her rings. Her nerves are loud enough I can hear them in my own bloodstream.
The security app loads on my laptop. I glance at Tara—seeing the stubborn set of her chin, the faint sheen of sweat on her hairline. This isn’t just about smoke and flames anymore. This is Lucien reaching through time, ripping the scab off her oldest wound, and I can feel the sting like it’s mine.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as the first camera loads, not really knowing what I’m apologizing for—a fire, a threat, her battered faith in me—or maybe for everything she’s about to see.
She shakes her head, eyes never leaving the screen. “Don’t be. I just... I need to see what actually happened."
I pull up the exterior camera first. The timestamp shows 2:47 PM—about two hours after Tara left for her shopping trip with Vicky.
"There," I point to the screen. "That's me leaving for my run."
We watch my figure jog down the street, disappearing from frame. I fast-forward, looking for anything unusual.
"Stop," Tara says suddenly. "Go back. There—do you see that?"
I rewind, and there it is. At 3:02 PM, fifteen minutes after I left, a figure appears at the edge of the frame. Tall, dark hair, moving with purpose toward the house.
"Can you get a better angle?"
I switch to the front door camera. The image is crystal clear—a man in a blue hoodie, face partially obscured by the shadow of his hood, but not enough to hide his features completely.
"That's him," Tara breathes, her voice barely audible. "That's Lucien in the flesh!"
We watch in horrified fascination as he approached the front door, produced what looks like professional lock-picking tools, and gains entry in under one minute.
"Unbelievable!” I curse, switching to the interior kitchen camera.
The footage that follows is surreal. Lucien moved through the kitchen like he owned it, lifting pot lids, examining the gamjatang I'd been so proud of. Then—and this part makes my stomach turn—he served himself a bowl, sat at the kitchen island, and ate.
"He's actually tasting it," I say, incredulous.
"Look at his face," Tara whispers. "He just spotted the camera! He’s doing all this for a show! Cam, the reason why he sent the text was to make us watch this!"
On screen, Lucien nods appreciatively like he's a food critic sampling fine cuisine instead of a psychopath breaking into someone's home.
Then he smiled at the camera, walked back to the stove, and deliberately turned the burner to high.
"There," Tara says, her voice tight with vindication and rage. "There's our proof."
We watch him replaced the pot lid, checked his watch, and then—in a move that makes my blood boil—he helps himself to another spoonful before walking out.
The timestamp shows he left at 3:18 PM. At 3:21, smoke began to appear in the frame. By 3:25 PM, when I return from my run, the kitchen was filled with gray haze.
"I came back just in time," I realize, watching myself rush in with the fire extinguisher.
"You think he’d timed it?" Tara's voice is hollow. “So you come back to find the fire, and blame yourself."
I close the laptop, my hands shaking with rage. "That calculating piece of—"
"Cam." She turns to face me fully, and I can see the war playing out in her expression. Fear, guilt, determination. "This is my fault. He did this because of me."
"Like hell it is." I glare at her, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This is on him. Only him."
"But if it wasn’t for my—"
"Stop." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "You didn't ask for this psychopath to fixate on you. You didn't ask for him to break into your house. None of this is your fault."
She melts into my touch for a moment, eyes closing.
"Tara, we need to take him down first."
When she opens her eyes again, there's steel in her gaze. “I know. But this isn't some hockey brawl. This is—"
"This is my fight now too." I push up and pace to the window. "He came to taunt. To prove I couldn’t protect you—or myself—from his reach. To wave the threat in our faces. We’ve gone to the police, but he never leaves enough for them to actually do anything.”
I turn back, heat in my chest, words low and hard. "I'm done giving this clown his spotlight. He thinks I'm stuck in the penalty box—sit, wait, let him dictate the game. Screw that. I'm done being the sitting duck while he writes the playbook."
"What are you suggesting?"
I lean on the window frame, willing my brain to focus. And I don’t sugarcoat it.
"Tara, underneath all this smoke and mirrors, this psycho is terrified of you.
" I meet her eyes. "If I had to guess why he sent you that photo of the princess dress—it's because subconsciously, he sees you as the rightful princess of the Delacroix empire while he's nothing but the court jester.
Loud, desperate, easy to dismiss once the king notices him lurking around. "
Tara eyes grow wide and I can see her wheels spinning.
"He's scared of what you remember. That crown you walked away from in real life? He's terrified you'll pick it up again. That you'll have your father—the king—reinstate you. And then it becomes King versus Jester." I pause, letting that sink in. "We both know who wins that fight."
I step closer, giving her a smirk. "And to be clear—that would make me the knight in shining armor. The one standing beside you when you reclaim what's yours, if you choose to do it."
Tara frowns but I’m on the roll as my mind continues to race.
"You said your father doesn't know the extent of what Lucien's doing."
"According to Max, he doesn't. He thinks Lucien is just trying to bring me home."
"Then you give him the evidence you have, plus this security footage. Let him handle Lucien."
Tara shakes her head. "If I go back, even to expose Lucien, my father will never let me leave again. He'll use it as proof that I need his protection."
"What about your brothers—Laurent and Max? Ask for their help to present the case with all your information."
She considers this for a moment, but I can see the doubt in her eyes.
"Or..." I pause, another idea forming. "We don't go to him. We bring him here."
She stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Bring Julien Delacroix to Cedar Falls?"
"Why not? Your brother said he misses you. That he's getting older. Maybe it's time he sees the life you've built. Sees who you've become."
I move back to the couch, taking her hands.
"Let him choose between you and Lucien, but let him make that choice here, on your turf."
"That's..." She pauses, considering. "Actually not terrible."
"I have my moments."
"But dangerous. If Lucien realizes what we're doing—"
"Then we make sure he doesn't. Maybe with a diversion." I pull out my phone. "I'll text Chief Alvarez, show her the fire footage. It's a chargeable crime—arson, reckless endangerment, criminal trespass, intimidation… even attempted murder. We'll get official protection while we set this up."
"That could work..." She bites her lip, worry creasing her features.
“Cam, I'm also concerned about what he'll do to the residents of Cedar Falls, what if he lashes out at the town just to mess with me or as a warning. Oh! Your folks—he already met them and knows that they are staying at Skyridge Hotel. He knows they're important to us."
"Then we keep them close. They'll want to help. Luke might complain about the stress on my recovery, but Dad?" I grin. "Dad served three tours in the Middle East. He's not going to be intimidated by some corporate psychopath."
She looks at me, searching my face. "You're sure about this? About all of it? Because once we start, there's no going back. Your life, your family, this whole town—it's all going to be pulled into Delacroix family drama."
I think about the security footage, about Lucien calmly eating my food before trying to burn down my house. I think about the text message, the casual cruelty of threatening to make sure the fire spreads next time.
"He made it my business when he broke into my home." I lean forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that's part promise, part declaration of war. "Besides, you're forgetting something important."
"What's that?"
"This is Cedar Falls. We take care of our own.
" I laugh at myself for echoing the small town unofficial slogan.
"And you, Taralyn Delacroix, are ours now.
That means all of us—Mrs. Henderson with her medicinal bourbon, Scott with his firefighter connections, Lily and Levi with their resources.
" I grin, feeling the first stirrings of genuine confidence.
"Your cousin picked the wrong town to terrorize. "
She stares at me for a moment, then breaks into the first real smile I've seen since breakfast.
"You know what? You're right." She reaches for her phone. "Let's call Max and Laurent first, then Chief Alvarez. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."
"What about your father?"
"One thing at a time." She pauses with her finger hovering over her phone screen. "But Cam? When this is over, when Lucien is handled and my family drama isn't threatening everyone I care about?"
"Yeah?"
"Remind me to properly thank you for not running when things got complicated."
Heat flares in her eyes, and despite everything—the threats, the danger, the psychopath cousin—I feel my body respond.
"How properly are we talking?"
Her smile turns wicked. "Let's just say the thank you I have in mind is going to be very... thorough. And might involve some garters."
I'm still laughing as she sets up the zoom call to her brothers, and for the first time since this morning, I'm not thinking about what could go wrong. I'm thinking about what we're going to make right.