Chapter 26 Luke
LUKE
The morning brings soreness in every one of my limbs.
Moving feels worse than death. I finally roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as the light begins to pour through the window.
This house usually fills me with peace, but after the events of yesterday, I can’t shake the tension in my bones.
I slept restlessly, checking on Kate multiple times to make sure she wasn’t still bleeding.
I groan as I roll out of bed, making my way to the en suite bathroom to shower. The master bedroom and bath are enormous, all white and cream furnishings and paint.
My face is hideously bruised, but some of the swelling has gone down. The steaming hot water helps marginally with the discomfort in my muscles. I pull on a pair of worn jeans I left here before walking out onto the balcony overlooking the back gardens.
The luscious greenery from the Bells’ care forms a weaving path throughout the vegetable plants.
On a bench in the center, Kate is sitting with Tommy.
Their heads are leaning close together. She pulls away, tossing her blonde hair back in a laugh.
Her smile is blinding, even from here. A tiny white furball is curled up in her hands.
My chest squeezes as I watch them interact.
Tommy’s story is tragic. Walter found him cowering in the barn during a thunderstorm a few years ago.
He was bruised and bloodied with rope burns around his wrists and ankles.
He sees a therapist once a week, but they haven’t made much headway in getting his story.
Jackson came out for months, searching for where he had come from, but he never found anything, not even records of his birth.
Kate’s laughter drifts toward the balcony, and her eyes catch mine as she looks up. Her smile fades as she sees my shirtless torso. I cross my arms, staring right back at her.
If the attack was staged and she is with Tycos, I’ll have to sell the farm.
I bought this house and land immediately after I made my first billion. No one knows about it, and it’s been my safety net for a while. I’m thankful I never told Fallon now that she’s with Garrison. My jaw clenches at the thought of losing it.
I’ll find out soon if she’s innocent. I have no choice.
I turn away from the balcony, finding a T-shirt to wear before I walk through the winding hallways and narrow staircases built in the 1800s.
“You’ve looked better,” Walter greets me as I enter the kitchen.
His back is bent over the built-in breakfast nook by the massive bay window facing the gardens. White hair and a worn blue gingham shirt are all I can see. His face is buried in a thick book, most likely about the Vietnam War.
“Looked worse too,” he tacks on.
I step up to the coffeemaker, pouring myself a cup of the thick sludge he always makes. He pours in double the grounds any barista would normally use.
“Farm looks good.” I turn back around while sipping the hot liquid. I try not to wince at the intense flavor.
His head tilts up, surveying me. “Who’s the girl?”
Right to it, I guess.
“Trying to figure that out.”
“Hmm,” is all I get in response.
If there was a person on this earth I could confide in, it would be Walter. Aside from Kate, my instincts are usually spot-on, and I’ve always known I could trust him.
“I met her in a bar, and I took her home. Two days later, she miraculously became my new assistant.”
He barks out a laugh at that.
“I did a sweep through of my penthouse and found out it was bugged the same day she started working for me.”
His smile fades. He knows the FBI and the Russian Mafia have been watching me after what happened with Steelhart in Dubai.
“What else?”
Walter was a fighter pilot in Vietnam. He was forced to land in enemy territory after losing one engine to a blast.
“Background checks out. No links to anything concerning. She’s underqualified for the position. She shouldn’t have gotten it. I was on my way to look into my chief of staff when I was sidetracked and found Kate being attacked in her apartment. She . . . plays the part well.”
My mind travels back to the fear in her eyes and how she lost consciousness. Could that really have been faked? Was the stabbing not a part of the plan, and it just happened?
“Women are harder to read than a coded message in the back of a newspaper. If she’s making you think with your dick, you’ll never be able to figure her out.”
So, basically, I could be very off here . . .
“I haven’t, not since that night.”
He narrows his pale grey eyes at me. “I saw her. I doubt that.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Just because you haven’t used it since then doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking with it.”
He’s almost always right. I blow out a breath. He slowly stands from his chair, the wooden legs creaking. Every time I see him, he’s a little more bent over.
“She’s just . . . not like anyone I’ve met before.”
He’s shuffling toward the coffeepot, so I pull it out to refill his mug.
He slurps it loudly before responding. “That complicates things.”
“She’s out there with Tommy right now, cuddling a baby rabbit. She draws cartoons, has a pet turtle . . .” I run a hand through my thick hair. “She’s so . . . genuine. If she hadn’t turned up in my office that day, I would’ve taken her out on a real date.”
He’s listening to me ramble, and I honestly don’t know why I’m babbling on. Now that it’s out in the open, I’m starting to realize I like her much more than I was acknowledging.
A lot more.
Holy shit, am I . . .
“If she is working undercover, would that change anything?”
I stare at his wrinkled face, thoughts churning.
“You mean . . . if she was here to spy on me, would I still care about her?”
He nods, watching me.
He’ll know if I’m lying to him.
“It would make it hard to trust her.”
“That’s true.”
Silence envelops us for the next few moments. The realization that I might actually forgive her for something like that is . . . unnerving.
Where the hell are my allegiances if I’m even considering this?
Unease is crawling around in my gut. Footsteps sound in the hallway before Linnet appears in a bright yellow shirt.
“Well, everyone is up before me, I suppose. You want some eggs and bacon, sugar?” She smiles at me, pouring herself a mug of coffee and adding almost just as much cream.
“No, thanks. This sludge will keep me full until noon.”
Walter chimes in, “That sludge will give you some hair on your chest, like a real man.”
I smirk at him, thankful to be back here and experience a taste of the slower side of life. My phone starts to buzz, Jackson’s name on the screen jerking me back to reality.
“What?” I answer, exiting the kitchen to meander down the hall.
“You put a knife through his ribs, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then, it wasn’t Stephen Rail. Last night, I watched him tear his shirt off up onstage after his set.”
“Fuck.” I step out through the side door, trailing around to the truck.
“Yeah, not a scratch on him. Nothing left behind at the apartment either.”
“Did you talk to the roommate?”
“Uh, yeah, she basically attacked me with a stiletto when she got home and saw me.”
“She what?”
“I was snooping through everything when she walked in, and instead of running, she came at me with a heel. Shit hurt too. I bled. She thought I was robbing her.”
The image of Jackson being injured by a female with a stiletto heel is definitely something I’ll bring up to embarrass him in the future.
“So, where does that leave us?”
“You gotta crack Kate Dawson. She’s the only one we have who could be in on this. If she is, whoever she’s working with is still in the dark. We need to draw them out.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Maybe you should bring her back. They obviously want to kill her—or at least pretend to. We could use her as bait.”
My pulse skyrockets at his suggestion. My grip on the phone is in danger of cracking the screen.
“Go to BE,” I grit out. “Look through everything in Georginne’s office. She hired Kate the night after we met.”
“Will do.”
I end the call more forcefully than necessary for a touch screen.
Using Kate as bait is a logical plan, but there’s no way in hell I would ever go through with it.
So, you’re going to protect the woman who could be working for people trying to kill you? Or trying to kill you herself?
If Kate is an innocent civilian in all of this, why would they go after her? It doesn’t add up.
I refuse to dwell on it anymore, and I stalk back into the house.
The day is irritatingly enjoyable.
We gorge ourselves on peach ice cream and Walter’s shrimp kabobs.
Kate calls her roommate to explain her unexpected absence, spending over an hour on the phone. I hear a few snippets, but nothing sounds like code. Then again, she’s good.
Fred, the man with a public indecency charge, has texted her a few times, asking for a date. Well, he’s tried to. I had Jackson redirect all of his messages to my phone . . . in case he’s more than just a potential suitor.
She’s like a long-lost granddaughter to the Bells, and quickly becomes Tommy’s best friend. When he finds out she’s an illustrator, he refuses to allow her to do anything other than sketch every image that pops into his mind.
One of his best depictions that she scratches onto paper is a baby chick teetering on the edge of a cliff, where it befriends a mountain lion, who at first tries to eat the chick but ultimately helps him to safety.
They’re both doubled over with laughter by the time night falls. Linnet and Walter have long retired to bed, and I suspect Tommy could keep Kate up until the early morning hours with outlandish tales of animals all around the world.
“Okay, Tommy, I think it’s about time for you to hit the hay.”
He doesn’t argue, crushing Kate into a tight hug, forgetting about her wounded shoulder.
“Ah!” she cries out at the contact, but he doesn’t register the harm done.
“See you in the morning! Good night, Luke. I like your girlfriend.”