by Elaria Ride
Oh. I pinch the bridge of my nose. We must be less discreet than I thought.
“I just...” Emmett trails off with a sigh. “It’s not my place to say this, I know. But we’ve known each other basically our whole lives. Please trust me when I say you’re one of the few people who works better when he’s emotionally invested. As such, I strongly recommend getting your shit together with her, sooner rather than later. So you can help catch this psycho and move on with your life. Ok?”
I smile at the seat back in front of me. For once, I’m two steps ahead of him.
“Ok.”
An hour later, my shaking hand keys in the digital padlock code of Mariah’s penthouse apartment. They’ve changed it. Again. I read Earl’s text on my phone screen to get the combination right.
I provide the two hallway patrol cops with a firm nod as the door swings open, but before I take a single step, there’s an explosion of movement all around me. I stiffen for just a second — my mind inexplicably wandering back to Kashfar — before I realize it’s just them. It’s just the Matthews.
And they’re hugging me.
Mark’s voice is the first one I discern. “Fuck, man,” he mutters, pulling away to clap me on the shoulder as the crowd of siblings breaks. I can’t help but notice Mariah isn’t among them. “We needed you.”
Emmett — clad in a tuxedo, just like everyone else — snorts from a few feet away. “Pretty sure anyone could have performed an extraction during a gala. Even little old me!”
Russ and Earl aren’t here, but they’re the only missing components. The Matthews siblings, plus Emmett and Sabrina, have assembled accordingly.
Mike rolls his eyes at his cousin. “Yeah, whatever. You did good, Em, all right? You were the prettiest girl at the ball!” He bats his eyelashes dramatically, and I snort into my hand. I’m suddenly reminded of why the family refers to Mike as Mariah’s personality clone.
And speaking of Mariah… my eyes pan the room, but my heart rate doesn’t slow until I see her. I swallow. Emmett hadn’t been lying. Mariah’s ok, in the strictest technical sense. She’s sitting on the couch, her complexion as white as a sheet. She’s still wearing this flowing ball gown with off-shoulder sleeves… a gown that doesn’t shy from accentuating her perfect cleavage. I’m so caught up at the sight of her that it takes me a second to realize Sabrina’s at her side, coaxing her into taking generous sips of tea.
“How is she?” I murmur, my eyes never leaving her.
Miles sighs beside me, his dress shoes squeaking on the hardwood. “Not great. She knows what happened, but she hasn’t really… responded. Or talked about it.” He shrugs. “I just think it’s been a lot to process over a weekend.”
Malachi barks out a humorless chuckle. “It’s a lot for me to process over a weekend. I can’t even imagine.” His eyes flit to the carry-on clutched in my right hand. “Why don't you go unpack and get settled? We’ll stay here as long as you need. Ok?”
I salute him and turn to the guest room. I don’t know exactly what happened at the gala, but her brothers are uncharacteristically shaken. I hope I’ll get the chance to read the file tonight. Maybe Mariah will go to bed early. Lord knows I’d like to.
I emerge from the bedroom a few minutes later to see that Mariah’s speaking. “I’m fine, everyone,” she explains, a hint of resignation in her voice. “Please. Let me just go to bed. Ok?”
Sabrina gives her an uneasy look, but then Mariah’s face splits into a yawn so sudden and wide I know she’s not faking it.
“Honest,” Mariah adds, downing the rest of her cup of tea. “I’ll sleep like a baby.” She raises three fingers. “Scout’s honor!”
Miles snorts from the loveseat. “You were never a Scout. You wouldn't have made it through the Respecting Your Elders badge. Or within a hundred feet of a tent.”
Mariah purses her lips and raises a different finger. I laugh, shoving my hands in my pockets. The sound draws the attention of everyone in the room. Most of the Matthews family smiles at me, but Mariah greets me with a scowl. Can’t say I don’t deserve that.
“At least let me help you get into the shower,” Sabrina soothes, rubbing her arm. “Ok? You’ve got a small army of hairpins tucked into that updo, and you’re gonna require some backup.”
Mariah provides a reluctant nod as her sister-in-law escorts her to her bedroom, but I don’t miss the final contemptuous look she shoots my way before closing the door behind her.
Malachi lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Carter, what d'you do to piss her off?”
Mark guffaws. “You mean, aside from splitting the second before a gala — one with her ex-boyfriend in attendance, by the way — and leaving her to find a dead fetal pig in her SWAG bag instead of a piece of cake?”
Wait, what? I stare at him in horror as everyone shifts uncomfortably.
“To be fair,” says Emmett, shoving his hands in his tux pockets, “I was the one who found the piglet — but I also have the dubious honor of screaming like a sissy when I saw it, thus blowing the whole attempt at her not noticing.”
“Dude,” interjects Miles, throwing his hands in the air. “You can’t possibly blame yourself for that. Literally none of that was your fault. It’s the goddamn stalker. Again.”
My head’s still reeling from what they’ve shared. A fetal pig… in a bag just for her. That’s a new level of creepy. The haunted expressions around the room seem to agree.
“And lemme guess,” I mutter, running a hand down my face. “No leads, no—”
“No nothing,” sighs Mike. “But we can’t give up hope, ok?” His eyes flit to mine. “Dad and Russ are working their asses off to take care of this. They’re still down at the station, interrogating everyone at the gala. Russ seems to think there’s a connection to Brannon. Dad thinks it’s Chase Harlan. All in all, no one knows…” He trails off with a sigh.
Speaking of Russ… I pull out my phone and shoot him a quick text, mostly out of a desire to feel useful right now. He’s never come forward with all the blueprints for Mariah’s locations. The least I can do is ask.
Mark strides over to me, his face drawn and serious. “More than anything else? We can’t let this affect her safety.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Remember our little chat about trust. I have no idea why she’s mad at you — and to be frank, I don’t give a shit. But if she doesn’t trust you, we’re all screwed. Ok?”
I spread my palms, relenting. Ok. I’ve already made a vow to fix things… to make things better. It just looks like I’ll have to do it sooner than I thought. My phone chimes a second later, and I glance down at the screen.
It’s from Russ. The text reads:
I gave Rod prints. Hope things are ok over there.
I reply with a hasty confirmation as Sabrina emerges from Mariah’s room. “She’s asleep,” she whispers, closing the door softly behind her. “Somehow, she’s asleep.”
“Oh, the second cup of tea always pushes her over the edge,” I explain, putting my phone back in my pocket. To me, her habits are the most obvious thing in the world. “And based on how much she was yawning, that’s what, a double dose?”
Sabrina gives me a surprised smile. “Yes, actually.”
“And did you turn on her nightlight? The one in the corner? And her white noise machine?”
Sabrina cocks her head, that smile still on her lips. “Yeah — she gave me those instructions. I just helped get her settled.” She pauses. “Wow. You really do watch her all the time, don’t you?”
I shrug uncomfortably. “Just doing my job.” I clear my throat, looking around the room. “She won’t wake up until at least 4:30 or so. But don’t worry, I’m on it.” I nod to the folded cot in the corner. “Already have plans to scoot this bad boy to her door, just in case.”
I’m met with appreciative gazes. Ugh. I swallow, looking away. I hate it when everyone stares at me, even if they look pleased. I’m about to note that I only follow strict observation techniques, but Mark gets there first.
“Well, the least we can do is get the cot to her door. Ok?”
There’s a murmur of agreement from around the room. Emmett flashes me an impressed smile, cocking his eyebrow. I roll my eyes, but his words from earlier play in my head: I need to get my shit together with her. Now.
Everyone disperses pretty quickly after that, leaving me alone with my thoughts. It’s then that I finally get a glimpse at the file to get the full scope of what happened. I let out a low whistle as I flip the pages. Holy shit, they weren’t kidding… a fetal piglet, stuffed inside the insulated SWAG bag intended just for her.
Luckily Emmett got there first. I can only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if she’d opened the pig here at the apartment. Alone. A shudder rips through me as I toss the file on the coffee table.
Mariah’s going to have nightmares tonight. There’s absolutely no doubt. She has them at least twice a week — not that I’ve felt comfortable interrupting her. Or even telling her I know. But by now, I’m so finely attuned to every noise she makes that I know when they stop and start. She always lets out a high-pitched scream (her door is always open, remember?), and thankfully, that always wakes her up.
Until tonight, though, I guess I hadn’t realized just how much I know about her. Even if she hadn’t provided me with a non-stop running dialogue, I’ve spent nearly a month studying her mannerisms. Watching her all the time. And if I’m being honest, I’ve spent far longer studying her body. When I took this job, half the work was done for me.
I groan, rising to change into something more comfortable. Mark and Emmett are right: working relationships are only built on trust. And right now? She doesn’t trust me. Not that I blame her, after pushing her away the other night…
I change into sweatpants and a pajama shirt, two articles of clothing I’ve never let her see. I always rush to change before she sees me in anything but jeans and a flannel. Now, though, things are different. I turn off the overhead lights and sink onto the cot outside her door.
When she has a nightmare tonight, I’ll ask her what she needs. I’ll see what I can do to help. I’ll provide her with the emotional support I’ve been afraid of. And when tomorrow dawns?
I’ll finally be vulnerable with her… because she deserves it.
17
Mariah
I knew the night would be hellish.
It’s like my mind is seeking vengeance for the time it spent without nightmares. My dreams come in waves of pain and terror, each more excruciating than the last. I watch as each member of my family is murdered, right in front of me… their eyes going as vacant as the pig’s in my dressing room as life leaves their bloody bodies.
Suddenly, warm arms wrap around me, pulling me from the recesses of hell. “Princess,” soothes a deep, familiar voice. I’m so entrenched in the dream that I don’t remember at first that it’s not ok to cling to him… not when he’s just my bodyguard. I nuzzle my face in his chest, trying my hardest to focus on the sandalwood of his cologne as I re-center myself in reality.
“You had a bad dream,” he croons, pressing me deeper against his chest. “You’re ok, Princess. I’ve got you.”
Then I freeze, recent events swimming past my eyes. The horrible interview. The pig head. The blood. The SWAG bag. Luke, being hard… and not wanting me.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, pulling back. I roll over onto my side. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t your job, and—”
“—No,” he interrupts firmly, brushing my hair away from my face. “You are my job.”
I give a tiny whimper of assent but find the spindles of sleep are whisking me away too quickly to fight him. The last thought before I slip under is that I don’t think I’ll have another nightmare… not when Luke’s big, strong hand is massaging my back.
“Morning, Princess.”
Luke’s voice startles me awake. I moan, running a hand down my face. God, I feel awful… exhausted and confused and — I blearily blink open my eyes. Oh, that’s right, Luke’s here. Just like he was all night.
I bite my lip. “Good morning?” I ask tentatively.
“Wakey wakey,” he says with a dazzling grin. “Your breakfast is getting cold. And besides that, it’s past 10. I know you love your eleven hours of beauty sleep, but even for you, this is a bit much.”
I give him a plain stare. “Can’t imagine why I’m having a tough time right now. Hottie Guard.”
Luke just laughs good-naturedly and reaches for my bathrobe as I rise from the bed. “I made your favorite. Blueberry waffles with sausage links.”
I turn to him uncertainly as he strides into the kitchen, gesturing to the plate of food on the counter as I follow. “How did you… know that?”
He shrugs. “You always smile the widest when you serve me blueberry waffles and sausage links. I took a lucky guess.”
I smile and settle onto the stool. I still haven’t decided if I’m touched or confused. “I didn’t know you could cook,” I note, bringing the fork to my lips. Wow. He’s made them exactly right… the berries aren’t soggy. A perfect balance of syrup and fruit.
Luke chuckles and tucks in, himself. “Well, my mom died when I was eight, and after that, my dad kinda lost it. I had to learn to cook for myself, or I wasn’t getting fed. Pop-Tarts can only sustain a kid for so long.”
I take a sip of my coffee. He’s never mentioned his family before… not once.
“Do you remember that?” he asks. “When she passed?”
“Barely. I was young.”
“Fair,” he agrees, taking a bite of waffle himself. He doesn’t seem upset to be discussing this. Just thoughtful. Reflective. “Well, she developed a rare form of cancer at thirty-five. By the time they caught it, they gave her six months.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur, meeting his eyes. Then I laugh, catching myself. “Shit. Sorry. I know better than that. I always hate it when people tell me that.”
Luck chuckles darkly, popping a link into his mouth. “Yeah, it’s… oddly formal. Like you read that on a greeting card and decided it applied to everyone who’s ever died.”
I laugh back. He has a point.
“Anyway,” Luke continues, “after Mom died, Dad couldn’t handle it. Started drinking heavily, getting more and more wrapped up in his cases. Y’all moved away soon after. The Boscos helped when they could, but what can I say?” He flashes me a grin. “I’ve always liked to keep my distance, even when I was a kid. Never get too close to anyone. Move on quickly.”
“Is that why you joined the military?” I ask, hardly willing to believe he’s spilling this much.
“Winner winner, chicken dinner!” he admits with a wink. “But that part comes later. Let’s start with how I’ve been extremely attracted to you for… oh, basically all my life.”
My eyes flit to his. I can’t believe how casually he’s sharing all this. Part of me feels vindicated that I haven’t invented his hungry stares and blatant arousal. Part of me just wonders how full of shit he is.
“I’m… I’m sorry you thought I bullied you,” he says softly, after a minute. “I just…” He trails off with a sigh. “I was this fucked-up kid who thought you were cute. I didn’t know how to process that. I didn’t have anyone there to show me. I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, but it explains it. Just a little.”
I shrug. “You’re forgiven for what you did when you were ten, Luke.” Did he really think I was still mad about that?
His face relaxes into a smile as I take a sip of coffee. “Well, you might not forgive me when I confess that I’ve definitely, definitely jacked off to your modeling shoots for like… years.”
I sputter, covering my face to avoid spraying him with coffee. Fuck, that’s weird. And vaguely gross. I tilt my chin to look at him again. He’s regarding me with that same hungry look, and my breath freezes in my throat.
Because more than any of that, it’s hot.
Luke laughs at the look on my face. “I’m sorry to spring that on you
. Just wanted to, you know… be honest. For once. Oh, and now that we’re on the subject, I’d also like to confess that I’ve thought quite a lot about how you arch your back at those high notes. You know, when your voice goes all high and breathy?” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck, a pink flush spreading to his cheeks. “That’s uh… done the job for me. More than once. A lot more than once.”
Fuck. I squirm again, exhaling raggedly. I’ve never been aroused by anyone talking about that. I guess I just haven’t cared what any man does with himself… until now.
Then he clears his throat and turns to me, his eyes suddenly serious. “Look. I know I’ve been a caveman. And part of that is because I saw some fucked-up stuff last year. Stuff I’m still not over. It almost cost me any chance of a future in this field. My former company still doesn’t think I’m quite ready to get back. But to tell you the truth?”
He stares at his plate. “I seriously underestimated how hard it would be to watch you all day.” A coy smile flits across his lips. “I’m not complaining, granted. Especially when you wear that little nightie. The green one. With the lace.”
I suck in a breath, my pulse quickening. He did notice….
“But I don’t just watch your body, Mariah.” He stares down again. “I love watching you grin for the camera and giggle with your brothers and sing your little heart out — because fuck, you’re so talented, and I hope you know that…”
Luke sighs, slumping in his chair. “Being around my dysfunctional dad this weekend was a warning: I need to take breaks, or I’ll end up just like him. My senior officers in the military were right, even though I didn’t believe them at the time. I need to slow down. Stop obsessing over the job.”
He trails off with a swallow. “In retrospect, I have to admit that this case has never just been professional. I crossed the line with you from day one by calling you Princess. And fantasizing about all the filthy things I’d love to do to you. And trying my damnedest to pretend that you don’t have this… this power over me that no one else has ever had.”
