Chapter 2 #2
Picking up my pace, I continue down the hallway. On my left, a bronze sign on the wall declares, Meeting Rooms A - G, with an arrow pointing forward. Just below that is another sign that says, Rainier Room, Puget Sound Room, with another arrow pointing in the same direction.
As I head that way, I check my phone again, just in case I somehow missed a message from Yara. But still, nothing.
Just as I reach the first of the doors, marked Meeting Room A, my phone vibrates with an incoming text. It’s not from Yara, but Tyler.
Found out who the guy is. Camden Winthrop. Lives in Tacoma, works for the family’s company, Winthrop Consulting. Still looking into his background, but found a dropped charge of assault from five years ago. I’ll let you know when I find anything else.
I pause to send a quick reply.
Okay. Still investigating. Hang tight.
Then I pocket my phone and continue on my way.
Fortunately, the hallway is empty except for me, so I’m able to stop by the first of the doors to listen. As I lean my ear close to the wooden door, I send up a silent plea that I don’t end up overhearing something I shouldn’t. Like kissing, moans of pleasure, cries of—
Nope. Just, nope.
I do not want to think about Yara making out with some guy. It doesn’t matter if she and I are just friends. It’s still not something I want in my mind.
After I’m met with silence at the first door, I move on to the next. I’m well aware that if someone comes along right now, I’m going to have some questions to answer. But without hearing from Yara, there’s no other choice.
Outside the first three doors, there’s nothing.
But at the fourth door, I hear them. Or rather, him.
Winthrop.
At least, I’m assuming it’s him. I suppose it could be someone else, but—-
“Your tits are gorgeous,” he says. Through the door, his voice is slightly muffled, but clear. “Did you know that, Yara? Not too big, but just the right size. And I bet your nipples are just the prettiest little things. I can’t wait to see them. Touch them.”
I freeze in place.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Clearly, I fucked up. Yara doesn’t need my help. Whatever mission she was talking about, this isn’t it. And now I feel like a total ass, eavesdropping on her private moments like a creeper.
I’m about to back away from the door when Winthrop speaks again. “Yara, dear, why don’t you lay down? You’re looking a little pale.”
She doesn’t respond.
There’s a rustling sound. Then a low chuckle. “Hmm. Maybe I gave you too much.” He pauses before adding dismissively, “Oh, well. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Wait. Gave her too much of what?
Winthrop says, “You look uncomfortable, Yara. Maybe it’s your dress. How about if I help you out of it?”
All at once, the situation becomes clear.
He tried to drug her. Or, fuck, maybe he did.
And Yara being the intelligent, observant woman she is, figured out something was up with him. Did she know exactly what? Or was she following a hunch?
Did she know he gave her something? Or is she inside the room, incapacitated, with this piece of fucking shit about to take advantage of her…
Fumbling for my wallet, I take out the tiny set of lockpicks I never go without. Not since I joined the Shadow team two years ago, after the founder of Blade and Arrow Security, Cole Mitchell, explained how sometimes they have to work outside the law to protect the innocent.
“It’s not required to be on the team,” Cole explained when we initially spoke about me joining the new branch of Blade and Arrow. “But we’ve had times where we needed to get to someone right away and couldn’t afford to wait for the police.”
He didn’t have to convince me. I’ve seen enough in my life to know that sometimes the law isn’t enough. Sometimes we have to act on our own to keep the innocent safe and ensure justice is served.
Before I start in on the lock, I shoot off a quick group text to my team.
Need backup. North wing. Puget Sound room. I think Winthrop drugged Yara. I’m going in.
Rafe’s reply is the first to come in.
On the way.
Backup taken care of, I set to work on the lock. As I wriggle the tiny pick in the doorknob, Winthrop’s voice filters through the door again. “Don’t be scared. I’m just going to help you get more comfortable. No need to tremble like that.”
Rage erupts inside me.
Urgency forces my fingers faster. It’s hard to concentrate on the tiny clicks of the internal mechanism of the doorknob when my heart is racing from adrenaline.
I briefly consider kicking the door in, but it’s not as quick as the movies would like it to look. Solid wood doors like these won’t just pop open in one blow. It’ll take time. And it’ll give Winthrop a warning, which I don’t want him to have.
Hurry, the voice in my head urges. Get to her. Now.
“Oh, Yara,” Winthrop purrs from inside the room. “Why don’t you lie back. It’ll be—”
A moment later, a loud gagging sound comes through the door, followed by a gasping wheeze.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Panic threatens to overtake reason.
I’m about to give up on the lock when it finally clicks.
“Thank fuck,” I mutter.
As I yank the door open, my breath stalls in fear of what I’ll see inside. Yara assaulted, her clothes in tatters. Yara hurt. Yara traumatized because I failed her.
What I actually see is something different.
Yara is sitting on the bed, her clothes thankfully still in place and intact. A quick scan of her body shows no sign of injury. Her gaze moves to mine, and there’s awareness there instead of the vacant stare I was anticipating.
On the floor in front of her, Winthrop is pushing himself to his feet. His face is bright red and his eyes are watering. He’s coughing and gasping as he tries to regain his breath.
“Yara,” I say roughly. “Are you okay?”
She blinks. Her forehead creases. “Ace?” It’s soft. Shaky. “I—”
Winthrop spins to face me. His features are contorted with anger. “She attacked me!” he blurts. “The bitch fucking attacked me!”
Rage throbs hot and heavy inside me. My body vibrates with anger. In a dark, dangerous voice, I growl, “Shut. Up.”
“What?” he blusters. “She got wasted and attacked me.” Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’m calling security.”
In one stride, I close the distance between us and snatch the phone from his hand. “No. You’re not.” Then I wrench his arm behind his back, twisting it until he yelps. “You’re going to shut your mouth. Or I’ll do it for you.”
I flick a quick glance at Yara. She’s ghost-white. Her eyes are wide, and her pupils are almost completely dilated. Her chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths. She’s trembling all over.
A heavy boot slams into my chest.
A vise clamps around my heart and squeezes.
I’m struck by a feeling more intense than anything I can remember.
No. Not a feeling. A need. A compulsion.
I need to protect her. Comfort her. Find out whatever he did to Yara and somehow fix it.
“How dare you,” sputters Winthrop. “This is assault. Putting your hands—”
I wrench his arm higher as I growl, “Quiet.”
Glancing back at Yara, I gentle my voice as much as I can given the rage pulsing through me. “What did he do to you? Can you tell me?”
In a tremulous voice that sounds nothing like her normal one, she replies, “He tried… to drug… me.” Her gaze shifts to the wine glass sitting on a nearby table. “The wine. But I didn’t. Drink it. I came… to teach him… a lesson…”
“Lies!” shouts Winthrop. “She’s lying!” He lunges in the direction of the table, but my grip is unforgiving. Immobile. “She’s lying!”
“Shut. Up,” I snarl. Then I lean down so my face is inches from his. “Or I’ll do it for you. And trust me. You do not want that.”
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Rafe barks as he enters the room. He’s flanked by Webb on one side and Indy the other. He glances at me, his features hard and angry. “What did he do to her?”
“He drugged her wine,” I answer, angling my chin at the wine glass. “She said she didn’t drink it.”
Indy looks at Yara. “Tink. Did he hurt you?”
After a long silence, she shakes her head. “No. He… just…” Her gaze dips. “We came in here. And… he touched me. So… I punched him.”
“What?” I shove Winthrop against the wall. “You touched her?” Only by sheer force of will do I keep myself from breaking every bone in his body.
But then I look at Yara again.
She still hasn’t moved from the bed.
And though she’s trying her best to hide it, I can tell she’s struggling through a panic attack. I recognize the symptoms because I’ve been through it myself.
Protect her, the voice in my head orders. Maybe she’s not physically injured, but she’s hurting, just the same.
Shoving Winthrop at Rafe, I say, “Take him.”
Once Rafe has a good hold on Winthrop, I hurry to Yara’s side. When she looks up at me, I can see the desperation in her eyes. She’s trying to hold herself together, but it’s only by a thread. I take her hand, wincing at how cold it is. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s get out of here.”
She obeys me wordlessly, which gives me another clue to just how shaken she is.
As I lead her towards the door, I catch Rafe’s worried gaze.
He doesn’t need an explanation. He just lifts his chin in silent understanding.
Because of course he recognizes what Yara’s going through after helping his own wife through her panic attacks.
“Just hold him,” I say. “We’ll be right down the hall. Once the police come…”
Rafe nods. “Of course.” Then he flashes Winthrop a predatory smile. “We’ll just spend some quality time with this one. Chatting.”
“Here.” I pass Winthrop’s phone to Rafe. “Wonder what kind of stuff he has on there.”
The flash of terror in Winthrop’s eyes is all the confirmation I need.
But Yara’s trembling hand in mine is enough to distract me from thoughts of killing him.
Protect her, the voice says. Protect her.
So I do my best.