Uncovered: The Untangled Series, Book Three

by Layne, Ivy

  Axel had gone back to Las Vegas, but Evers and Knox could handle things for a while. Lily had been coming by each day for an hour or two and Petra had taken to her right away. She wasn’t attached to Lily the way she was to Cooper and me, but when Lily was at the door Petra ran to her, laughing, arms raised for a hug. Soon enough she’d be ready to spend half days with Lily, then full days, and we’d transition to the next stage of normal.

  The first two weeks after that awful night were anything but normal. It took a while for the FBI to finish with our place, then for the doors to be repaired. We’d spent that time as guests of Winters House.

  Cooper had practically grown up in Winters House and took the move in stride. I think after losing his father it was comforting to re-live the best parts of his childhood surrounded by friends who were as close as family.

  I won't deny it was pretty sweet, a lot like living in a luxury hotel except without any strangers around. Gourmet meals, housekeeping, a pool and tennis court. Sophie and Aunt Amelia taught us to play croquet. The Winters household welcomed me as if they’d known me all their lives.

  Once he was released from the hospital, Griffen joined us at Winters House, though he wasn't quite a ray of sunshine. In pain, refusing to take his meds, and frustrated at the extent of the damage to the ligaments in his shoulder, he growled as often as he used to smile.

  He had reason. Griffen had been lucky, considering all the ways a bullet to the shoulder could go wrong, but he’d never regain full use of his arm. If he were a normal guy, he’d never notice the lack. For someone who depended on split-second reaction times, the loss of function was devastating.

  Sophie Winters—one of the kindest, most patient people I’d ever met—had offered to oversee his recovery. Gage’s wife and Amelia Winters’ nurse, she was qualified and didn’t mind putting up with Griffen’s crankiness. Griffen said he was sick of the hospital, sick of being treated like an invalid, but I think what he wanted most was to hole up in his house and brood. None of us were willing to let him.

  Sophie kept reminding us that acting like a prickly bear was par for the course when a big strong guy had his shoulder blown open and refused to take his pain meds. We knew she was right, but it was still hard seeing the normally sunny Griffen so far off his game.

  He was better now that we’d all moved home. Mostly. We all knew that unless a miracle happened, his shoulder would disqualify him from most field work. For now, everyone was tiptoeing around the topic.

  Griffen’s arm was still in a sling. We had time before anything was official, but Griffen knew what was coming. I couldn’t blame him for being a miserable grouch. If it were me, I’d probably be worse.

  The two weeks at Winters House were fun, but the second the FBI said we could go home, Cooper wrangled a bunch of the guys and they moved me into his place for good. Since the furniture stayed with the apartment, it took only a few hours.

  Before I knew it, I was fully ensconced in Cooper's apartment, now our home, and my old place had been converted back to the secondary safe room. Cooper had taken advantage of the re-construction of the doors to have the crew create a secret access from the back stairwell to my old apartment so that if anything ever happened again we wouldn't be stuck with the storage room as our only bolthole.

  Personally, I thought it was overkill. With Tsepov out of the picture, it was unlikely we’d face another invasion, but if being overprotective helped Cooper sleep at night, I wouldn't argue. Cooper had lost his father, had almost lost his mother. Anything that eased him through it all was okay in my book.

  It didn't take the FBI long to determine that Tsepov's remaining men had scattered to the winds, all looking for a better payday now that Tsepov was gone. We weren't in any danger. Agent Holley had rounded up everyone he could get his hands on and was making a case against the remaining players, none of whom had the slightest interest in the Sinclairs.

  In the ultimate irony, the ballistics report confirmed that while the bullets that killed Maxwell came from Tsepov’s weapon, Tsepov had been killed by his own men. In the end, Andrei Tsepov had enough money and ego to wreak havoc in all of our lives but not enough skill to hold onto the top-notch men his uncle had commanded.

  The second-rate team of goons backing him up had been a disaster and ultimately, his demise. I felt badly for Agent Holley—all that time building a case and all of his witnesses ended up dead—but the Tsepov empire was dust. This time, the good guys won.

  Cooper hovered over Petra and me even more than usual those first few weeks after Maxwell and Tsepov died. We both hovered over Petra, bizarrely relieved the first time she shoved her dinner off the high chair tray and pitched a fit, demanding cookies. If she did that every day it would get old, but it was reassuringly normal to see a three-year-old turn up her nose at vegetables.

  Petra asked for Maxwell every day. We’d followed the guidance of the company therapist and told her Maxwell was dead and she would be staying with Cooper and me. I’m not sure exactly how much she understood about Maxwell, but her eyes had lit up at the news that she was staying with us.

  It was a lot of change—for all of us—but the good far outweighed the bad. The good was better than just good, it was the best. Our nap-time sparring sessions case in point.

  I got to my feet on the mat, dusting off my rear end, and threw my shoulders back, lifting my chin in Cooper's direction with a cocky toss of my hair. “You're not going to do that again.”

  “You want to bet, pixie?”

  “I'm not a pixie,” I said without heat. I'd never admit it, but I secretly liked it when Cooper called me pixie. Next to him, I felt like a pixie.

  We squared off against one another, balanced on the balls of our feet as we waited for my signal. This time, I remembered a move he’d showed me the day before and somehow managed to execute it perfectly. I stepped into him, pressing my knee into the side of his, gripping his forearm and counterbalancing exactly right until he fell on his back and I landed on top of him.

  Straddling his waist, I shook my hands in the air, wiggling my hips and singing Another One Bites the Dust. Silly, considering it was the first time I’d taken him down, but I was celebrating anyway. Who knew when I’d manage it again? Probably never.

  Cooper’s grin stretched wide, his hands closing over my hips as he flipped me on my back, settling between my thighs and rising over me. I had a feeling the sparring part of our session was over. Fine by me.

  Raising my legs, I hooked my ankles behind his back and settled into the mat. I could stay like this all day, Cooper’s body covering me, damp with sweat, strong, and vital, and mine.

  There was a part of me that still couldn't believe it was Cooper between my legs. Cooper looking down at me.

  Cooper. I’d never imagined I could be this happy. I was holding onto it with everything I had.

  Cooper's eyes were blue flame as he lowered his head, his lips brushing mine, raising to skate across my cheekbone, the hollow of my neck, butterfly kisses so light they set a fire everywhere they touched. Teasing, building the need inside me until I was squirming beneath him, my mouth seeking his.

  I reached for him, letting out a growl of frustration when he caught my wrists and held them over my head, pinning me motionless beneath him.

  “Cooper,” I breathed, “stop teasing.”

  “Never,” he rumbled, balancing his weight on an elbow as he reached with his free hand and pulled something from his pocket. He settled himself back between my legs, his weight comfortable against me, never too heavy. Just enough that I felt connected to him, like I was exactly where I belonged.

  A black velvet box loomed in front of my eyes.

  He'd had that in his pocket? Sneaky, sneaky man.

  I saw the box, should have known, but I still wasn't expecting it when he flipped it open and the icy fire of diamonds hit my eyes.

  The ring held my
gaze like a magnet.

  “Are you serious?”

  He pulled the ring out of the box and pressed his lips to mine in a hard kiss. “I've never been more serious, Alice. I told you, this is forever. I want to make it official. I want you to be my wife.”

  “Are you sure?” I didn't really need to ask. This was Cooper. I'd stopped wondering if he meant it when he said he loved me. I knew he did, knew that this man meant what he said, and he would love me forever.

  “I've been ready to make you mine for ten years, Alice. I don't want to wait any longer.”

  “I don’t want to wait either, Cooper. Let’s get married.”

  I held up my hand and he slid the ring on my finger. Of course, it was a perfect fit. This was Cooper. He knew everything about me right down to my ring size. The ring was gorgeous, sparking fire on my finger. Not small, but not so big it would overwhelm my pixie-sized hands. “You have good taste, Cooper Sinclair.”

  “Obviously. I fell in love with you, didn’t I?”

  Tears pricked my eyes. This man. How could he be so arrogant and so sweet at the same time? Because he was Cooper, and he was all mine.

  “Soon, Alice,” he ordered. “No June wedding. We can do it at Thanksgiving when everyone is here.”

  My family would be in Atlanta for the holiday along with his and the entire Winters clan.

  Perfect.

  “Whatever you want, boss,” I said, and sank my fingers into his thick, silky hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

  The first kiss of the rest of our lives.

  The first kiss of our forever.

  Epilogue Two

  Griffen

  I hated my desk. This office had been mine for the better part of a decade. It should have felt like home, but I’d never been a desk kind of guy. Any excuse to get in the field. I did my job, didn't slack on the paperwork, but I never felt truly alive sitting behind a desk. Now it looked like I’d be stuck here for the rest of my life.

  Fucking Andrei Tsepov and his fucking idiot goons. I should be glad it was just a bullet to the shoulder. More than a few men had died that night. I could have been mowed down by one of the AR-15s they were using. If a bullet from an AR-15 had hit my shoulder I would have lost my arm.

  One shot from a handgun and I’d been down. Shoulder wounds are a lot more complicated than people think. The bullet had nicked an artery and torn through ligaments and tendons, breaking bones along the way. Hours of surgery, weeks in a sling, followed by months of physical therapy. I was almost as good as new. Almost.

  For a guy with a regular job, almost would have been good enough. For me, almost meant the end of my career. It had to be my right fucking arm, didn't it? My brain might have the reaction time I needed, but my right arm would always be a fraction too slow.

  No matter how much I wanted to be in the field, wanted the adrenaline and the danger, I wouldn't risk a client's life to soothe my ego.

  I was grounded. I’d have to find a way to live with that.

  I'm not a brooder. I grew up in a family of volatile personalities, surrounded by rage and betrayal, malice and grudges. I'd walked away when I was twenty-two, resentful and angry, but once I’d tasted the freedom of life away from my family I’d made a decision.

  I wasn't going to let the bullshit get me down.

  There’s always a bright side, always a reason to laugh. I'd never give in to hate. I'd seen what happened to people who did that, seen the way it sucked the life from them, leaving them dried up, bitter husks.

  That wouldn’t be me. That would never be me.

  For fourteen years, I'd managed to hold on to that, always ready with a smile, always looking for the silver lining. And now this. Holed up in my office during the day, hiding in my house at night. Grumbling, growling, and snapping at my friends, the friends who’d become my family.

  I knew I was being an asshole. I tried to smile, to laugh, tried to pretend everything was great, but we all knew it was a lie.

  Everything wasn't fucking great. Everything was all fucked up.

  A buzz sounded on my phone. Alice at the front desk. I picked up the handset and winced as I heard myself bark, “What?”

  I was being a bastard. Alice was like a sister, now married to my best friend. She was family. She deserved better than me being a dick.

  Before I could apologize, she let out her sparkling pixie’s laugh and said, “Hello to you, too, sunshine. You have a visitor. Says her name is Hope Daniels. Should I bring her back?”

  Hope Daniels?

  Not possible.

  What were the chances the name could be a coincidence?

  None. No chance.

  I cursed the universe. Kick a man while he's down, why don't you? Whatever dark force had brought fucking Hope Daniels to Atlanta, it could just take her back.

  Twenty-year-old Griffen would have welcomed her with open arms. The Griffen of six months ago would have at least been curious. Me now? With this fucking bum shoulder aching like a rotten tooth, I wanted to tell Hope to fuck off and get out.

  No good could come of Hope Daniels walking back into my life.

  “Griffen? You want me to just leave her standing here until she gathers dust?”

  I couldn't help the tiny smile that spread across my face. I shut it down. Might as well get this over with. I’d find out what Hope wanted and get rid of her. No big deal.

  “Bring her back.”

  “Righty-ho!” Alice hung up.

  Hope fucking Daniels.

  Alice was going to want to know who she was. Cooper, Evers, Knox, everyone would want to know who she was. When was the last time a woman had walked into the office and asked for me? Never. I kept my personal life separate from work. Always.

  Hope wasn't personal. Not like that.

  She wasn't a woman, she was a sign of the fucking apocalypse.

  All too soon, Alice swung open the door of my office. My first thought was that she must have made a mistake. The woman standing beside her was not Hope Daniels.

  She was tall and slender like Hope, with the same sandy brown hair and cognac colored eyes, but this was not my Hope.

  With her hair scraped back into a tight knot at the base of her skull, her face pale and eyes flat, she looked more like a scarecrow than a woman. Hope had always been slender, slight of build despite her height, but this woman was scrawny. Brittle. Her face was devoid of makeup. She lacked all ornamentation outside of a simple set of gold studs in her ears.

  The woman who called herself Hope Daniels stood in front of me wearing a beige suit that fit her as if it had been purchased for someone else, the jacket and skirt boxy, overwhelming her frame and hiding any hint of the body beneath.

  Her matching pumps were dull and serviceable. She was neat and clean, but utterly and completely bland. Forgettable. I studied her, searching for any hint of the Hope I’d known so well.

  My Hope had reminded me of Alice. She’d been far quieter than our outspoken office manager, but Hope had the same core of steel and, like Alice, a funky, quirky style all her own. I’d loved keeping an eye out for the secrets she’d hide in her school uniform.

  A headband embroidered with skeletons. Socks with mermaids woven into the pattern. She’d spent her allowance looking for ways to be different despite her guardian’s demand that she fit in. My Hope wouldn’t have been caught dead in beige.

  Alice waited at the door, expectant, her eyes ping-ponging between me and Hope. When neither of us said a word, she raised an eyebrow and offered, “Coffee? Tea?”

  “No, thanks, Alice. Hope won't be here long enough for that.”

  Narrowing her eyes at my rudeness, Alice shrugged a shoulder and excused herself. I had no doubt her next stop was Cooper's office. Whatever. They were my friends, and this absolutely qualified as gossip. If the tables had been turned, I would have done
the same.

  Not only was a female visitor unusual, I was never rude. Well, lately, yeah, but it was only to the friends I knew would put up with my bullshit. Not in the office with a stranger. But then, Hope Daniels was no stranger.

  In a low voice that held no inflection, Hope said, “May I take a seat?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Suit yourself.”

  No reaction from Hope. There'd been a day when an unkind comment from me would make her eyes fill with tears—not that she'd ever been subject to an unkind comment from me. Not until the end. In the end, there'd been tears all around.

  She sat, smoothing her ugly skirt over her legs and crossing her feet at the ankle. It was like the Hope I'd known had been wiped clean, an automaton substituted in her place. This new Hope grated against every nerve.

  Hope had been a girl when I’d walked away from Sawyers Bend. Only a girl, but she’d been the spark that set the fire, the one who’d turned the gears that ended in heartbreak and loss, in a grudge that would last the rest of my life.

  “What do you want?”

  Showing her first sign of weakness, Hope drew in a long breath and looked down at the purse she’d stowed neatly on her lap. When she looked back at me, her eyes held the faintest glimmer of emotion.

  The last words she'd spoken to me had shattered my life. This time was no different.

  “Your father's dead. Ford is in jail for his murder. All the assets, corporate and personal, are frozen until the will is read.”

  I swallowed, fighting the burn of her words. Those people meant nothing to me. Not anymore. Hardening my heart, I forced myself to say, “Then read the will and leave me out of it.”

  “We can’t. Your father stipulated the will couldn’t be read without you.”

  Her words lanced through me, cauterizing the wound as they went, leaving me numb and hollow.

  My father was dead.

  I hadn't seen him in fourteen years. I'd hated him far longer than that.