Chapter 10
NOELLE
By the time we get back to Webb’s apartment, I’m more than a little overwhelmed.
The first time I came to Blade and Arrow, it just felt like going over to someone’s house to hang out with their friends. A giant, eight-thousand-square-foot house, but a normal house, nonetheless.
Yes, I noticed the tall black fence stretched around the property with a biometric keypad at the gate, but I didn’t give much thought to it. I was more concerned with how the night would go—would I like Webb’s friends, would they like me, and would I be glad I agreed to the date or regret it?
And once my initial jitters wore off, it really did feel like an ordinary barbecue.
There were jokes, delicious food, a cornhole tournament with strange rules like tossing the beanbags with your eyes closed or spinning around in a circle six times before throwing, a very enjoyable walk through the woods with Webb, capped off with another kiss at my door at the end of the night.
I knew Webb’s friends were all former Special Forces, but they just seemed like ordinary guys. Very muscly and unusually good-looking guys, but not the intimidating men I’d imagined before arriving.
But on my second visit, my experience has been dramatically different.
First off, as soon as we pulled through the gate at the base of the long driveway, Webb explained, “It’s an unscalable fence, and reinforced, so nothing short of a tank can get through it.
We have motion sensors and night-vision cameras all along the top, and they can distinguish between human and animal figures.
So if an intruder approaches, we’ll know right away. ”
Then, with a grim smile, he added, “Assuming anyone’s stupid enough to try to get in, they’re in for a very unpleasant surprise.”
Once we got inside, Webb took me on a full tour of the house, rather than just taking me through the communal living room and kitchen.
On my last visit, he’d explained that while everyone has their own space, sometimes they like to gather for special events or to share a meal.
“We do Christmas Eve together,” he explained.
“And monthly team dinners. Plus, if someone’s celebrating, like when Rafe and Eden got married… it’s a nice spot to gather.”
Which it is. The living room is huge, with two-story windows and a vaulted ceiling, and it flows into an expansive kitchen and dining space. I can almost picture the Christmas tree in front of the window—a tall one, of course—all aglow with lights and a twinkling star at the top.
But today, he took me everywhere. Down to the basement, where there’s a fully equipped gym and an actual shooting range for training—“I can teach you to shoot,” Webb offered—and then over to the fun side of the basement, which has a home theater and a two-lane bowling alley.
While we were down there, he made sure to show me the safe room with an underground passage out to the detached garage, explaining that the walls were blast-proof and how I’d be safe in there even if the rest of the house exploded.
“The ladder goes up to another safe room on the first floor, in the dining room,” he told me.
“So if you hear an alarm go off in the house, head to one of them right away.”
After that, he took me on a quick tour of the second and third floors, where all the apartments are. “You’d be in the apartment across from mine,” he said. “So if you need anything, I could be there in seconds.”
When Webb first brought up the idea of me staying here versus in my own apartment, I wasn’t sure.
I kind of hedged and said I’d think about it.
But as intimidating as all the security measures are—did I mention all the cameras and alarms installed all over the house, plus the windows, which are apparently bulletproof?
—after spending the last three months jumping at shadows, they’re reassuring, too.
Although I’m not super thrilled about the cameras in the client apartment. Webb saw me staring at one in the living room and quickly reassured me, “We keep them off, Noelle. The only time we’d ever turn them on is in case of an emergency. No one will be recording you. I promise.”
And because I trust Webb, and because I really do feel safer when he’s around, when he asks me about staying at Blade and Arrow again, I think I’ll say yes.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m definitely feeling off balance and a little shaky after my official meeting with his team.
They were all nice, of course—not that I expected them not to be. But the smiles and jokes and easy-going demeanors were gone, replaced by grim expressions and tense postures and questions about things I was embarrassed to answer.
I understood why they were asking. Like Webb explained before we walked into the conference room, “We have to ask a lot of questions, Noelle. Some of them aren’t going to be pleasant. But the more information we have, the faster we can put an end to this.”
Still, understanding didn’t make it any better when I had to explain about the times I felt Ken’s gaze on my butt. Or how I could pinpoint the date a video was recorded from the bra I was wearing that day.
Nope. Telling my new boyfriend’s closest friends slash coworkers about my itchy blue bra was definitely not something I’d ever imagined doing.
“Noelle, are you okay?”
Jerking my attention in the direction of Webb’s voice, I find him watching me with concern from halfway across the living room while I’m still standing by the front door of Webb’s apartment.
The front door we came through I’m not sure how long ago, since apparently my brain decided that now would be a good time to take a vacation.
But considering what I’ve been through the last few months, it seems fair. My poor brain—and rattled nerves, for that matter—deserve a break.
Taking a few hurried steps away from the door, I meet Webb where he’s standing. He slides his arm around my waist and gives my hip a little squeeze as I say, “Sorry. I just zoned out for a second. But I’m fine.”
His forehead creases. “Are you sure?”
I work my lips into a smile. “Yup. I’m sure. Everything’s good. Nothing to worry about.”
In a low, doubtful tone, he says, “Noelle.”
Hmm. What’s that saying from Shakespeare? Methinks thou doth protest too much?
And didn’t I decide, just a few hours ago, that I was going to be upfront with Webb about everything that’s going on? If I’m sticking to that, I should probably tell him how I’m feeling instead of trying to hide it so he doesn’t worry.
“Okay,” I concede. “Maybe not fine. But I’m not bad either. I guess I’m just… somewhere in the middle.”
“Somewhere between fine and bad?” Webb frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Bypassing the couch in the living room, he leads me into the kitchen and over to one of the stools set around the island. “Take a seat,” he urges when I don’t immediately sit down.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “What if I don’t want to sit?”
Don’t ask me why I’m being difficult. I couldn’t explain it, aside from guessing that it stems from feeling off balance and anxious.
“Then you don’t have to,” he replies calmly. “I wasn’t trying—shit. Was I being bossy again?”
Guilt presses down on my chest. Despite being a little bossy at times, Webb’s done everything he could to help—racing to the diner after Doug called, bringing me home and taking care of me, listening to my awful story without judgment, setting up an impromptu meeting with his team, and arranging for me to stay at Blade and Arrow.
And what am I doing to thank him? Giving him a hard time about something as insignificant as asking me to sit down?
Plonking my butt on the closest stool, I swivel so I’m facing him. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re not being bossy.” At his skeptical expression, I amend, “Maybe a little. But I get it. You’re worried.”
Webb slides onto the stool beside me. “I am. After everything at the diner, and then the meeting…” His hand covers mine. “I know it’s tough. All the questions, discussing logistics, having to talk about how things can escalate… I wish you didn’t have to go through it.”
Though my instinct is to jam my feelings down deep again, I remind myself that keeping things a secret didn’t help anyone. With that in mind, I reply, “It was tough. I mean, I didn’t think it would be easy, but it was different talking to your team about it than just telling you.”
Webb nods. “That makes sense. You know the guys, but not well. And it’s one thing hanging out with everyone for a barbecue.
But when you’re in the conference room for an official meeting…
” He flashes me a small smile. “If it makes you feel better, when we sat down with Eden and Bea for their”—he uses his fingers to make air quotes—“official meetings, they were nervous, too.”
Curiosity makes me want to ask why Eden and Bea needed Blade and Arrow’s help.
If I knew Eden and Bea better, maybe. But having only met them at the barbecue, and once in the diner when I’m pretty sure they came in specifically to see me…
I’m not sure that qualifies me to ask about such personal things.
“Eden had a stalker,” Webb says, anticipating my question. “It ended up being more complicated than that, but that’s why we got involved.” He pauses. “Actually, that’s how the Shadow Team came together.”
“Really?” Interest shoves my other worries to the side. “How?”
He pushes his hand through his hair. “Eden called Rafe for help first. Rafe is Indy’s best friend, so Eden had known Rafe for years.”
“Why didn’t she call Indy, then?” I ask. “Since he’s her brother.”
Webb’s expression turns solemn. “I’m sure you noticed Indy has a prosthetic arm. Transradial, so it’s below the elbow. It happened while he was overseas. After… he had a hard time with it. Eden worried about him. She didn’t want to worry Indy if it was nothing.”
“But it wasn’t nothing,” I say. “Right?”