Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
brOOKS
I hear the water start running and breathe a sigh of relief.
She’s changed so much…but at least one small thing is the same.
She can’t resist the allure of a bath.
I slump, leaning back against the wall, dropping my chin to my chest.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
But I only give myself a moment to let the guilt run free and slice at me.
Then I’m shifting, pushing off the wall, and going down the hall to my office. I need to figure out who the fuck is doing this to us—no, to her.
Because I haven’t had a single note, a single threat, not in the five years since I gave them what they wanted.
Not since I left Briar.
Because they had her to do their dirty work.
I exhale as those lashes of pain slice through my middle again.
Then I lock it down and get to work, sitting at my desk and pulling out my phone. It’s beyond late to be calling in favors, but I can’t just do nothing.
I’ve done that for five years.
And what did that get me? Get Briar?
But it wasn’t until I was living out of my car that things got really bad.
I still don’t have the full story, but I know that bad—really bad—in Briar’s book is—
“Fuck,” I whisper again.
Really bad.
I close my eyes and try to think.
Try to plan.
But I’m not any better off today than I was five years ago.
How can I get rid of a threat that seems to have eyes everywhere, that can penetrate any line of defense?
The estate has guards and cameras and security layer upon security layer—
That Briar seemed to penetrate without a problem.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, my lips turn up at the corners.
She’s always been tough, a survivor. But the core of her is sweet and kind, so fucking kind that when she smiled at me, when she touched me, cared for me…it was like I was the only one in the world the sun was shining on in that moment.
I vowed to protect that core.
Now I’m wondering if it’s been dimmed forever.
“The extra security is already on its way.”
“You need to make sure they blend in. I’m fairly certain they’re surveilling the building.”
“We’re good at moving in the shadows,” Pascal says.
“Considering how much you cost,” I mutter. “I fucking hope so.”
“This one’s on the house.”
My eyebrows fly up.
“I fucked up.” His voice is even, but I can see the rage under the surface. “I should have kept eyes on her.”
“We thought I was the one putting her at risk.”
Removing myself from her life should have fixed everything.
Instead, it just made everything so much worse.
“Another mistake,” he growls. “But I’m going to fix it.
” A breath as he tucks his anger away and gets down to business.
“The security at the estate hasn’t been upgraded since I was working for you full time”—before he left to start his own security company—“but clearly I’m not happy with the group we subcontracted to run it day-to-day.
I’ll get my team to coordinate the move to someone who’s actually competent.
” He scowls. “There was an accident the morning that Briar broke in—a drunk woman crashed her car into the front gate—”
I frown.
I hadn’t heard that.
“Rookie shit,” he mutters, shaking his head. “The woman didn’t even hit the gate hard enough to dent it, but she was certainly ‘drunk and disorderly’ enough to serve as a distraction to give Briar time to work.” A sigh. “They should have known better and responded by following procedure.”
We talk about how she got in, about the window and the safe, and make some notes to change codes and procedures and replace the window altogether—if Briar knew the security, someone else might too.
“I’ve learned a lot in the last five years,” he says. “And now I have some guys on my team who excel at finding security holes and plugging them—”
“How’s that?”
His mouth curves up in the barest hint of a smile. “They might have had a little practice exploiting them before coming to work for me.”
Despite the circumstances, I chuckle.
“I’ll get those guys on reviewing the system and strengthening it.” He stands up. “In the meantime, we’ll be in touch regularly, and I’ll also send someone to Briar’s apartment to see what we can find there.”
That’s a good idea. “I’ll get the address from her when she wakes up and pass it along.”
“No need,” he says. “I have it already.”
I blink.
Then feel a tiny bit of the weight that’s been steadily settling on my shoulders over the last hours, the last years lift.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
“It’s our job—or it should have been.” His jaw flexes then he exhales. “Right. We’ll get the preliminaries in place, start investigating, and report back to you once I know something. In the meantime, try to keep your normal routine as much as possible.”
“I’m not sending her home.”
He pauses, but only for a second, and when he speaks, there’s a hint of steel in his words that both lifts the hairs on my nape and calms the twisting, painful maelstrom in my gut. “No, you’re not. You’re keeping her with you and we’re going to make sure she’s safe.”
We exchange our goodbyes, and he leaves.
The silence that surrounds me is heavy, as is the darkness.
Pieces in place.
A plan to move forward.
And not one fucking thing resolved.
So much for the tornado of guilt and regret, yearning and rage being calmed.
Groaning, I rub my hands over my face and lean back in my chair—
The same moment a piercing scream echoes down the hall.
I’m up and moving before the sound cuts off, rounding my desk, pounding out of my office, lurching for the door to my bedroom—because I wouldn’t put her anywhere else, because I had no intention of letting her sleep anywhere but my bed, my space, my arms.
And because the guest bath doesn’t have a tub.
I shove through the door, race across the carpet to find…
My bed empty.
Heart pounding, mind racing, I spin, thinking that somehow someone got in, that someone got her…
That the nightmare is happening all over again.
Then I see her.
Curled up in the corner of the room between the dresser and the wall.
The rage ramps up as I move closer, as I see a pillow and blanket from the bed tucked behind and around her, respectively.
She whimpers and I tamp it down, crouching.
Her eyes are closed, her head thrashing from side to side, hair tangled, hands clenched on the edge of the blanket, knees tucking up tighter and tighter.
A nightmare.
The rage flares again, but I force myself to move carefully, slowly, to speak calmly, softly.
“Briar, baby,” I murmur. “Wake up.”
She whimpers again and I brush her hair back.
“It’s just a dream,” I soothe. “It’s not real, and I’m here now. You can wake up.”
Another whimper. “Br-Brooks.” She thrashes, dislodging my hand. “No. Don’t— Please, I need you.”
I rock back as the impact of that hits, eyes sliding closed.
I hold myself still for a long, long moment, trying to contain all that I’m feeling, wishing with every cell in my body, I could turn back time.
That I could give it all up, make it so I never ruined her life.
So I never knew her.
Never brought my stain to her world, never caused her pain, never—
Soft fingers on my cheek startle me and my eyes fly open.