Chapter Sixteen
Charlie
Lucas was driving my car when he pulled into the circular drive at Winters House. My sedan wasn't small, but Lucas's tall frame filled the driver's seat so thoroughly I was certain he had to be uncomfortable.
I thought about offering to drive back, then changed my mind. I didn't have to ask to know that Lucas was one of those men who didn't like anyone else to drive the vehicle he was in.
I hadn't spent my life surrounded by overbearing men without learning to pick my battles. I didn't wait for him to knock before opening the front door.
"Hey," I said. "Thanks for coming to get me. Sorry I took so long."
Lucas bent his head, his lips gliding across mine in a kiss that held more affection than passion. "No problem," he said. "I had a job I was trying to wrap up, anyway."
"Did you get it done?" I asked, linking my arm through his as he led me down the steps. Looking back over my shoulder at the door I'd left half open, I said, "Oh, wait. I have some stuff for the house in the front hall. I should grab it."
"You can get in the car. I'll get your stuff."
Lucas opened the passenger door and stood over me as I sat and fastened my seatbelt. It's not that I didn't appreciate his protectiveness, but he seemed edgier than usual, his eyes scanning the courtyard and the closed gate, alert for any threat.
Assured that I was safely strapped into the car, he went back in the house for my loot. I'd raided the attics for some extra things no one needed.
Not much. Furniture would only get in the way of the renovations. Just a card table and three folding chairs, plus a few camp chairs—the kind that folded out into a lounger with a footrest.
Not having anywhere to sit except the futon was getting on my nerves. Lucas loaded the trunk and joined me in the car, starting the engine and pulling out of the courtyard.
"Did you get your job finished?" I asked, feeling oddly domestic. Lucas looked over at me and grinned, his green eyes lighting up even as shadows lurked in his face.
"I did," he said. "Closed it out with the client right before you called."
"Good timing," I commented.
"Yeah," he said. He fell silent, drawing in a half-breath like he was going to speak, then letting it out in a whoosh.
"What?" I asked. Something was bothering him.
"Your brother came to see me," he said finally, shooting me a quick, worried glance before focusing again on the winding road through Buckhead.
"Which one?" I asked, torn between dread and exasperation.
"Aiden."
"Was he awful?" I asked, bracing for the worst.
Lucas surprised me. "No, he was cool. He tried to hire me to be your bodyguard."
"Okaaay." I drew out the word, inviting an explanation. None was forthcoming. Finally, I asked, "What did you tell him?"
"Are you pissed?" Lucas asked.
"I don't know yet. How much did he offer to pay you?"
"We never got that far," Lucas said. "I told him I already planned to keep you safe. You're not a job, Charlie."
"Okay," I said again. "Then I guess I'm not pissed."
"Not pissed at me or not pissed at Aiden?"
"Definitely not at you," I said. "I appreciate your telling me and not letting me find out on my own. Did Aiden ask you to keep it a secret?"
Lucas's silence was its own answer.
"Harrumph." The disgruntled sound rumbled in the back of my throat, drawing a laugh from Lucas.
"So, you're still pissed at Aiden?" he asked, still laughing.
"Mmm. Maybe. I don't know."
I was and I wasn't.
It was hard to be angry with someone who loved me so much. I remembered the cool, calculating look in his eyes when he said, "You're fired."
No, I was still pissed.
"Yes and no," I explained. "I'm not mad at him for going to see you. I'm still furious with him for firing me."
"I would be too," Lucas said.
"You're not going to try to convince me to forgive him?" I asked.
"No. He loves you and you love him. That doesn't mean you don't have a right to be pissed. I wanted to beat the shit out of Gunner half the time. We didn't agree on anything. Doesn't mean I didn't love him."
"That pretty much describes my relationship with all of my male relatives."
"I figured," Lucas said, laughter still in his voice.
"Does he know we're . . . involved?" I asked carefully.
"He does. Does that bother you?"
Without thinking first, I reached out and lay my hand over Lucas's where it rested on the center console. His fingers curled around mine with a light squeeze.
"No, of course not," I said. "Does he know we're not . . . that it isn't . . ."
I stopped talking, feeling childish for being unable to articulate our relationship. Calling us fuck buddies out loud sounded so much cheaper than it did when I said it in my head. Lucas squeezed my fingers between his and let out a low chuckle.
"You mean, did I tell him I wasn't your new boyfriend, and that we're just fucking for fun?"
My cheeks burned. "Yeah. That."
"No. We didn't get into specifics."
I let out the breath I'd been holding and relaxed, absently stroking my thumb over Lucas's fingers.
Were we holding hands?
I looked down at the center console and Lucas's much bigger hand wrapped around mine, his fingers curved over mine protectively.
This was weird.
So far, we'd had a lot of sex, a few arguments, two major crises, and he’d helped me strip some paint. The closest we'd come to doing normal couple stuff was the night we went out and got dinner together.
Holding hands was a tiny, unimportant thing. It should be. Shouldn't sex be the thing that made the difference?
It wasn't with us. Sex had been easy. If I were lucky, it would continue to be easy, because God knew, sex with Lucas Jackson was fucking phenomenal.
But this?
Holding hands was something entirely new. He wasn't comforting me after I was attacked or got a threatening note. This wasn't a crisis. This was just Lucas picking me up at my brother’s house and driving me home while we talked about our days.
Normal stuff. Couple stuff.
I should put the brakes on right now. I should pull my hand back into my lap. We weren't a couple. Lucas wasn't my boyfriend.
The fact that I was kind of sort of starting to hope that he might be . . . that wasn't optimism. That was me heading straight for a broken heart.
As if that weren't bad enough, the next thing Lucas said told me that if I thought I was headed for a broken heart now, it was about to get so much worse.
"Aiden and I didn't talk about you and me," he said, glancing at me as if to gauge my mood.
"But we did talk about your security. After that note, you've got two options.
Everyone agrees you need someone with you twenty-four seven until this is resolved.
Your choices are someone from the Sinclair team or me. "
"What if I choose not to have anyone watching me at all?" I asked, already knowing what he would say.
"Don't go there, Princess," Lucas said calmly.
"Be smart. My guess is that Hayward hired someone to go after you.
The FBI is watching him too closely for him to be doing this himself.
He's alibied for everything. Brennan's theory is that whoever was leaving those pictures has escalated.
He could be right, but my gut tells me this isn't about your family. This is about you."
"And you're sure I need to be watched around-the-clock?" I asked.
I wanted to be safe. I really, really didn't want to get hurt. Still, constant supervision sounded extreme. And annoying.
Lucas shot me another quick sideways glance.
"Yes. Here's the thing about stalkers. They always escalate eventually.
But it's not a stable escalation. We don't have a flowchart to say that after a certain thing happens—a note, a phone call, sending you flowers, whatever—after that thing happens, now it's dangerous.
This guy started with physically attacking you and then sent you a threatening note.
Most of the time, it's the other way around. "
"Do you have a theory on why he's coming at me backward?" I asked, curious.
I'd spent too much time being scared or ignoring the problem to think about the psychology of my stalker. Mostly, I just wanted it to stop.
"I have some ideas. I want to get a better picture of why Hayward is focused on you rather than your brother or someone else at the company.
But as far as his approach being upside down, I think he saw all the security go in and realized it wouldn't be as easy to get to you as he planned so he dialed back his approach.
That doesn't mean he's not waiting for an opportunity.
The whole idea of constant protection is to keep him from finding that opportunity. "
"Okay," I said." I'd rather have you than one of the Sinclair guys. But don't you have work? I don't want to get in the way."
I didn't. Watching over me instead of working was a massive intrusion into his life. I was going to wear out my welcome with Lucas Jackson, and when this was over, he'd be so eager to get away from me I'd never see him again.
The thought was depressing.
"It's not exactly a sacrifice, Princess," he said with a quirk to his lips.
"I can pay you for your time while you're guarding me," I said, wincing when his fingers closed tightly over mine, then let go as he yanked his hand back and dropped it into his lap, leaving my fingers cold.
Dammit.
"What is it with you Winters’?” he demanded. "Do you always throw money at your problems until they go away?"
"Yeah, because that works so well on most of our problems."
If I sounded bitter, it's because I was. Money doesn't erase problems. For every problem you get rid of when you throw money at it, another springs up in its place.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciated all the benefits of being a Winters. It was nice not to have to worry about bills or tuition. But money wouldn't bring my parents back. It wouldn't heal our damaged souls or mend our broken hearts.