42. Chapter 42
SEAN
LONDYN'S APARTMENT LOOKS LIKE a hurricane blew through.
Clothes are scattered across the bed, books are stacked in towers, and there's a half-empty suitcase gaping open like a hungry mouth.
The closet has been turned inside out, its contents now blown across every available surface in what I can only assume is a very strategic packing method.
I lean against the bedroom door frame, watching her dart back and forth between piles with the focused intensity of a general planning a military campaign.
She's beautiful even in chaos. Maybe especially in chaos.
There's something about the way she moves that commands my attention, like she's the only color in a black and white world.
But her anxiety is radiating like heat waves, matching mine. The flight to Australia doesn't leave for two days, but my internal clock is already ticking down. It's been clock-watching hell. Every minute we stay is another minute we're vulnerable, but there were no earlier flights.
The plan is to pack the essentials of what Londyn needs, donate what she doesn't want, and store the rest. She said her lease is up in three months, so it's good timing; she can break it and save some money.
I'm glad we're getting out. Alan may be in Hollywood now, but I've learned never to underestimate a motivated asshole. Everything is radio silent, but I don't like when things are this quiet.
Londyn glances at me and flashes a smile before rummaging through her closet.
She's doing her best to pack essentials while also selecting those items she can't leave behind.
I watch her glance between two photo albums, finally deciding which one moves to storage and which one goes with her.
She drops the winner in her suitcase but her shoulders hunch in defeat.
The constant line between her brows tells me she's still processing what's happening.
I get that. Last time she fled like this, she had a moving truck and a city she could settle in.
This time, she's condensing her existence into two suitcases with no guarantee of where we'll be in the future.
The stuff she'll put in storage can be shipped, but there's still enough uncertainty to drown a person.
She shoves the losing photo album in a storage box and then releases a puff of air.
Her words come out fast, tumbling over each other.
"Last time, I could take furniture, my TV, kitchen stuff.
Now it's just… gone. All of it. Again. I don't care about furniture, just the tiny things I don't have space for.
I have some minor props from the sitcom and a few of Dee's outfits.
It's not practical to take them but I don't want to lose them forever. Will they be okay in storage?"
I push off from the doorframe and cross the room. My hands find her shoulders, steadying her. "Yes. We'll triple padlock them." I feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest begin to slow at my touch. "Just breathe."
She nods, eyes closing briefly as she pulls air deep into her lungs.
"We'll figure it out," I tell her as my thumbs trace small circles on her collarbone. "Right now, just focus on what's irreplaceable. What you absolutely can't live without. I got some extra room in my suitcase. We can put some of that TV set memorabilia in mine."
Her shoulders drop a fraction, some of the tension bleeding away. "Thank you. You're right. I know. Just the essentials. And… stuff isn't as important as us. I can buy new stuff."
I pull her against me, and she melts into the embrace like she's finally found solid ground. Her body fits against mine perfectly—the slope of her back, the curve of her hips, the way her head tucks just under my chin. Like we were designed as matching pieces.
"It's going to be okay," I say into her hair, and I think I'm telling myself that more than her.
But I know we're doing the right thing. The decision to leave feels right in my bones.
"Come on," I say. "Let's take a break from packing. We've been at it for hours."
I lead her to the living room, and my eyes fall on her collection of candles scattered across the coffee table. There must be at least twenty of them in various sizes and scents.
She follows my gaze and gives me a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'm a candle hoarder," she says as she perches on the edge of the couch. "They're all getting donated."
I sit beside her and smirk. "Poor babies."
That wins me one of her laughs. She's gorgeous, like some wild untamed beauty lounging in the midday light. I feel an unfamiliar ache in my chest as I think how I never want her to lose this peace. After everything she's been through, I want to keep her here forever, in this moment, safe. With me.
My Londyn.
She leans forward and starts rearranging the candles by size. "I really have too many. Instead of donating, we should go out into the alley and have a giant bonfire people can smell from seven blocks away."
I snort and then can't stop myself from gathering her up in my arms. I kiss her. "I love your sense of humor. Are we going to dance naked around it?"
She rolls her eyes playfully. "Is there any other way to enjoy a bonfire?"
I kiss her again, longer this time. Deeper. But those candles are really eating at her, so she pulls away, sighing as she glances at them again.
"Can we light some?" she asks. "You're okay with candles?"
I nod and get off the couch. "Pick a favorite," I say over my shoulder as I stroll to the kitchen. I open some drawers and find a small matchbox. Then I return to the couch, handing the matches to Londyn.
"Tha—" she starts to say but then freezes. She flips the matchbox over a few times like she can't understand what's on it.
It's just the logo for some steak restaurant. "What's wrong?"
"Um… I just remembered something."
"What is it?"
She flips the matchbox over and over, her movements jerky. "I'm so sorry. I should've remembered earlier. I just had those headaches so my head was fuzzy, and being with The Director was so terrifying. I'm sorry."
"What did you remember?"
"Well, these matches were here when I moved in. Just something left behind. The number on it is a three-one-two area code, which it says is in Chicago. And The Director… I saw his phone in the SUV. He was texting someone. He was telling them to get a room ready, that… that 'he' wouldn't know."
My skin prickles. "He who?"
"I don't know. But the number on his screen had a three-one-two area code.
I remember because it made me think of The Director's birthday.
March twelfth. I hate that I remember his birthday.
" She wrings her hands. "It just came back to me now.
It felt like… like he was coordinating with someone else.
Someone who wasn't supposed to know about me.
Or almost like someone else made him release me six years ago. I know it sounds crazy."
"It's not crazy. Every detail is important. I'm glad you remembered." I kiss her temple, trying to radiate calm so she doesn't worry.
But inside, my nervous system is firing off missiles.
Chicago brings back a flood of bad memories.
Back when Sienna was kidnapped by her ex, Anthony Russo, I went undercover as part of an extraction mission.
I fucked up and she got kidnapped under my watch, and Declan was going to attempt to rescue her without me, so of course I stepped in.
Declan would've gotten himself killed, and I needed to fix my own mistake.
It was a clusterfuck from start to finish. Declan and I had gone in with a half-assed plan: me playing the part of a gun for hire, someone Anthony could use in his operation. It was a long shot, but it was all we had.
When fucking Jeremy brought me to Anthony's location, I'd put on my best mercenary face, spinning some bullshit story about being out of a job and needing work. Plus, I had the right skills.
The whole thing was a trap so Declan and I could find an opportunity to rescue Sienna from Anthony's house.
It seemed to be working, but Anthony had been a few steps ahead and must've known somehow that I was a spy.
Once Declan and I were in his house, Anthony surprised me from behind like the house had a maze of hidden rooms. I swear he jumped out of the wallpaper.
He knocked me out and busted some ribs. When I woke up, Sienna and Declan were helping me to the car. And Anthony was dead.
A lot of help I was… but Sienna was rescued, so that's all that mattered.
Regardless, before that shit show, I got a glimpse into Anthony's operation.
Anthony was primarily involved with weapons smuggling and some smaller drug operations.
That seemed to fit his M.O. but what caught my attention was how often his men mentioned someone else.
Someone higher up the chain, like Anthony was just an underdog.
The man on top seemed to run a lot of illegal branches.
And all those big branches had smaller ones.
Victor was the top dog's name. I don't know why this guy is in my thoughts now—who knows who Miller's Chicago contact is. I doubt it'd be Victor, but when I think of Chicago, that's always who comes to mind.
I never met Victor directly—no introductions—but I was in the same room once while he met with Anthony about business. His eyes landed on me for a half-second and my body felt like it'd been injected with darkness.
That man is the fucking devil.
"Sean?" Londyn's voice pulls me back to the present. "What is it?"
I decide not to share that snippet of my past right now; it's not relevant. Just one of those memories that likes to pop up to haunt me. I'm definitely never setting foot in Chicago again.
"Mike and I have both had our concerns about another person in play. Something about those guys in baseball caps felt off."
Londyn sucks in an alarmed breath. "I thought they were the men who attacked me in California. You think they're two new men?"
"I'm not sure. If someone's watching Miller, it's possible that person sent those men to your apartment.
And the person may also be behind the Navy Caps.
But there's no clear motive, so I don't have any answers.
" She opens her mouth to speak, but I shake my head.
"We'll be gone in two days. We're getting out, so just focus on that.
The cameras are still set up. And Mike is still here as back up. "
She glances at the candles, tears building in her eyes. "So I have two stalkers now? The Director and some unknown person?"
I want to lighten the heaviness for a moment, so I say, "Three if you count me."
Thankfully, she smiles.
"Sorry. That was some dark humor," I add.
"No, it's cute. You're the only stalker I want. The others can go to hell."
"That's exactly how you should feel about every other man in the world."
That gets a laugh but then the softness somehow triggers more tears. She leans into me, letting me wrap her in a hug. "I'm scared, Sean. I don't like this."
"I know, beautiful. I know." I stroke her hair, feeling the slight trembling of her body against mine. "But we're going to Australia, just like we planned. Two more days. We'll get somewhere safe, regroup, and figure this out."
She nods and I hold her until she stops sniffling. Then she pulls back and says, "I guess, let's light some candles. Then I should get back to packing."
"Sounds like a plan."