Ruined With You

by J. Kenner

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “Well, actually, that’s going to be a problem. Xena’s gone.”

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of a revving engine startles me awake, and I leap out of bed, terrified that they’ve found me. I scramble for the gun I keep in my purse, then glance at the digital alarm clock by the bed. Two in the morning.

  Shit. I’m in a tiny mountain cottage on a dead-end street with no other houses. So this really isn’t good.

  I remind myself that there’s no way they can know I’m here. I came by the craziest route imaginable, and I’m confident that I covered my tracks. There’s no car outside to suggest I’m here, and the interior of the house is completely dark except for the glowing blue light of the various pieces of electronic equipment that Ella keeps running even when the house is closed up.

  Besides, it’s quiet now. Probably nothing. Just a coincidence. Someone who got lost and was turning around at the dead end. No big deal.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself as I tiptoe through the house in the yoga pants and tank that I’d slept in. Usually, I sleep naked, but tonight I’d been too nervous, and wanted to be ready to bolt. I check the doors and carefully peek out the windows, trying to see something other than shadows from the trees. But there’s nothing. No cars, no anything.

  I tell myself that’s good, and go with my lost driver theory. No big deal and I should just go back to sleep.

  Instead, I put on my slip-on sneakers, just in case, then start to do another circuit around Ella’s private getaway. A place I know she holds dear, and that I’m so, so grateful she’s entrusting to me despite everything.

  I’ve been here twice before, both times after our working relationship turned friendly. Even a little sisterly. I’d loved the place then, with its amazing refurbished bathroom and rustic back patio.

  Tonight, I love it even more. It’s my hideaway, and considering what I’m hiding from, is it any wonder I’m being paranoid about street sounds?

  But is it paranoia if they’re really out to get you?

  I scowl, and tell myself that no one but Ella knows I’m here. For that matter, only a handful of Ella’s closest staff and advisors even know the cabin exists. It’s owned by a shell company in a shell company. She wanted a getaway. A real getaway. So she had someone buy it on behalf of a pretend rental company, and she keeps it empty. It’s watched over by a caretaker who comes in once a month and whenever she calls to say she’s coming.

  It’s her sanctuary. Her happy place.

  I love her for letting me stay here. And all the more for swearing that she understood why I had to leave.

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, forcing myself not to cry. I hate that I have to run. That I have to hide. I loved my job, and I feel like I’m letting her down.

  I’ve made the circuit twice now, and I don’t see anything that suggests someone is out there. I double-check the alarm, and it’s set. I disarm it and then re-arm it, just in case.

  That’s another reason I love Ella. She told me how to reprogram the system, and even told me not to tell her the code. That way, I’m the only one who knows it. “You’ll tell me when you come back,” she’d told me.

  “What if I don’t come back?”

  “In that case, we both have bigger things to worry about than dealing with the damn alarm company.”

  A twig snaps at the back door, and I swallow a yelp. This time I’m certain I’m not imagining things.

  With shaking hands, I hold the gun in front of me. “Go away,” I call. “I’m armed. And this is private property.”

  “Xena, it’s Liam.”

  Liam? My pulse picks up tempo, but this time it’s not in fear. Relief? Hope?

  Or maybe something much more complicated.

  I put the gun down on the table by the door. My hands are still shaking, and I’m not taking any chances.

  “Xena,” he presses. “Open the door.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You know how,” he says, his voice both firm and matter of fact.

  I do?

  Yes, of course I do. “Ella told you.” I hear the accusation in my voice. She promised to keep it a secret. From everyone.

  “Ella sent me.”

  What the hell? “Well, I didn’t ask her to. And I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter. And I don’t—I don’t want her in the middle of my problems.”

  “Considering she was mugged because of your problems, I’d say she already is.”

  Anger flares inside me, cold and biting. “I mean it. Go away.”

  I hear him sigh. “Xena, please. Ella’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. And I saw your face when she told me about the wig, so I’m pretty damn certain that you’re worried about you, too.”

  I say nothing. He’s right, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

  “Xena, please. It’s the middle of the night.”

  I suck in a breath, punch in the code to disarm the system, then open the door just long enough for him to swoop in. Then I set the code, wait for the green light to show the system’s engaged, then turn around and study him.

  He’s wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sport coat, and he looks just as sexy and commanding as he had in the tailored suit he had on when I saw him last.

  Weirdly, that gives me confidence. I wouldn’t open that door to just anyone, but a guy this pulled together? A guy that Ella trusts? Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having that guy watching my back.

  Except, of course, that it might get him killed.

  “Xena?” He reaches out and gently strokes my hair.

  I flinch away, hugging myself, and he backs off immediately, then says, very gently, “Go sit down.”

  He nods toward the sofa in the small living room. I take the chair, curling myself up into a ball under the soft, purple blanket.

  “What do you want?” he asks, and before I can ask what he means, he’s continuing. “Water? Wine? Something harder?”

  “Definitely something harder,” I say, running my hands over my newly cut hair. “Coffee.”

  His face lights up with laughter, and I like the sound of it. For such a big guy, he has a very gentle laugh.

  “Coffee sounds perfect. I’ll be right back.”

  He leaves, and for a moment I think I should play hostess and follow him. But I don’t. Despite telling him to go away not five seconds ago, now I want nothing more than to rest in this overstuffed chair and let Liam take care of me.

  I have to fight that urge—I know that. Who knows better than I do the dangers of trusting other people? The only way to stay alive in this world is to watch your own back and not trust other people. And the corollary—let other people into your problems, and they could end up dead. I learned both the hard way, and those are lessons not easily forgotten.

  But the truth is, I bent my own rule with Ella. I trusted her the way a wounded puppy trusts a human with a kind scent. I let her tend to me and take care of me, and although I was terrified for those first few months under her roof, my mind finally came to believe what instinct already knew. That she was a good woman who’d never betray me.

  I trust her. Which means I can trust Liam. Or I can try to, anyway.

  “Cream?” he calls from the kitchen, where I can hear the sound of the Keurig doing its thing.

  “Yes, please.” I hadn’t thought much about the stocked refrigerator and pantry when I first arrived, but now I realize that Ella must have called the caretaker while I was on the road, and I’m grateful for it. I can drink my coffee black, but it’s so much more comforting with cream.

  He comes back with two huge mugs, hands me one, then sits on the sofa opposite me.

  I take a sip, relishing the warmth and the way it gives me strength. “So what now?”

  “Now, we talk.”

  “Right. Okay.” I take another sip, but I don’t volunteer any more information.

  “I like your hair. Had a sudden urge
for a change?”

  I scowl. I’m not naturally platinum, but I’d been uber-blond for the last three years, hiding myself behind a curtain of long, silvery locks. Now, my hair is chin-length and ebony, still a far cry from my naturally warm, golden tones.

  I’d grabbed a bottle of dye from Hair and Makeup before I left Vegas, then used the shower facilities at a truck stop to turn myself into a brunette. As for the cut, I’d popped into a Supercuts in San Bernardino before switching taxis for my trek up the mountain.

  I can’t say I’m crazy about my new look, but with my naturally pale skin, it suits me, though it’s a little bit overdramatic. I feel like a flapper or a silent film star. But none of that matters; it’s not as if I have a photo shoot booked. My only goal is to stay alive.

  “It was the hair, wasn’t it?” he says. “They thought Ella was you because of the hair.”

  My instinct is to deny, of course. But I nod. Ella trusts him, so I’ll answer truthfully. But I’m not going to volunteer information.

  He leans back against the sofa cushions. His dark eyes study me, but I see compassion in them. “What happened, Susan? Who are you running from?”

  I go cold at the sound of that name. “I go by Xena now. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know you don’t. But I need information if I’m going to help you.”

  My body is tense, my jaw so tight my mouth aches. I draw a deep breath and force myself to relax. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “Nonetheless, you have it. Tell me the truth, and I can be useful. Block me, and I might be a detriment instead of an asset. Is that a risk you want to take?”

  “What I want is for you to leave.”

  He studies me, then stands. “Why?”

  I pull the blanket tighter around me. “I don’t owe you an explanation. Why do you want to stay? The world’s a dangerous place. I’m sure someone else will happily pay Stark Security’s hourly rate.”

  “One, the SSA doesn’t charge by the hour. And two, no one is paying me to be here.”

  I blink, legitimately surprised. “Oh.”

  “Xena,” he says gently. “Tell me your story. Let me help.”

  I say nothing, my mind whirring as I keep my lips tight together, afraid if I relax for even a second, then all of my secrets will spill out.

  I watch as his shoulders slump, and I feel a pang in my gut. I’ve disappointed him.

  “You were a runaway,” he says, and since that’s close enough to the truth, I nod. “Tell me how you came to work for Ella.”

  I run the question around in my head, not sure if I should open the door to this man even a crack. But I can’t deny that I do need help, even if only to get away, get a new identity, and get settled. Would he do that for me? I’m not sure—how can I be sure?—but if he’s really here because Ella asked him to help me, then I think maybe he will.

  Even she doesn’t know the real truth, but she knows the essence. She knows I was running. She knows I was hiding. She knows I was afraid for my life.

  And she knows that I have to go hide again.

  “Xena,” he presses. “Tell me about the name. How did Xena end up being a nickname for Susan?”

  “I can’t tell you that without telling you more of the story.”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to be, and I’m not particularly sleepy.”

  “Me either,” I admit. My terror-induced adrenaline rush has faded, but I’m still wide-awake, and not just because of the coffee.

  “Then we might as well stay up and talk.”

  I finish my coffee, then sigh. “Fine. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get rid of you, so I might as well talk to you.”

  “I’ll take conversation with you anyway I can get it.”

  I know he’s just being agreeable, soothing me like a skittish colt, but I still melt a little under his words.

  When I continue to stay silent, he clears his throat. “Why did you run away?”

  I lick my lips, debating how much fiction to mix with my facts. “Things were bad,” I say simply. “Considering how you grew up, I’m not sure you can really understand that.”

  I see his eyes widen and know I’ve surprised him. “What do you know about how I grew up?”

  I shrug. “I looked you up before you came to work for Ella in Los Angeles. I knew the SSA had a good rep, but—”

  “You look out for her.”

  I nod.

  “Now you’ve intrigued me. What did you find out?”

  “That you grew up in a mansion in Southampton. That your mom was the housekeeper for the Sykes family, you moved there when you were a baby, and you were raised like you were part of the family. Oh, and they have more money than God.”

  “I haven’t actually reviewed God’s books lately, but that’s probably a fair assessment.”

  “And I know that Dallas Sykes is your best friend, and that the family sent you to school with him, at least until he went overseas to boarding school. I know you served in the army and that for years you worked as the head of security for the Sykes Department Store chain.”

  I watch Liam’s chest expand as he draws in a long breath. “So that’s all?”

  I grin at his flippant tone. “I couldn’t find as much recent stuff,” I admit. “But somehow you ended up at Stark Security.”

  “Not a bad bit of research.”

  “It wasn’t too hard. You hang around with the Sykes family, and you can’t really stay invisible.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “And while I can tell you my story, it’s not like it matters. It’s not like you’ll get it at all. I mean, I’m so not a Hamptons kind of girl.”

  “No, you’re an Idaho transplant to LA. And your parents are dead, and until Ella you didn’t have a support network. I haven’t had the chance to dig in, but I’m guessing you were a runaway, probably lived on the streets for a while. Maybe even turned tricks.”

  My cheeks heat, because he’s so far from the truth, but also so very close to it.

  “Somewhere along the way, you crossed the wrong person.” He tilts his head, as if examining me from another angle. “Maybe drugs, maybe money-laundering, maybe something else. I don’t know. But it was big enough that they still want to make sure you stay silent, even after all these years.”

  He straightens, then leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “How am I doing so far?”

  “Good enough to prove my point.” My voice is colder than I intend it to be. Deep down, I know he really wants to help me. But despite my fantasies of having someone at my side offering aid, I know that can’t happen. And he has no idea what kind of rabbit hole we’d both fall into if I let him.

  “Your point?” he asks.

  “You can’t possibly have a clue about my life.”

  He studies me for a while, long enough that I start to squirm under his attention. Finally, he says, “You know about the Sykes kidnapping?”

  I nod. “Dallas Sykes and his sister were kidnapped when they were teenagers. Around fifteen, I think. They were both finally released.” I don’t know a lot about it, actually. My research was focused on Liam, not the Sykes family. But Dallas Sykes is a huge celebrity by virtue of his family money, his playboy heir attitude, and the parties he use to throw and attend. I’ve never been much on social media—and for a long time I couldn’t afford a smart phone—but for a while everyone was calling him The King of Fuck, and it would have taken superpowers to avoid the gossip entirely.

  “They were both my best friends growing up,” Liam says. “Dallas and Jane. They’re still my best friends, and I love them like family. I would do anything for them. They’ve endured more than any human should have to endure, and I don’t begrudge them a moment of happiness.”

  I nod, assuming he’s talking about the fact that they’re now married, which is utterly bizarre to me.

  “I told Jane to go to Dallas that night.”

  I shake my head, not following. “What nig
ht?”

  “Outside of London. The night they were kidnapped. Dallas was in boarding school, and Jane wanted to talk with him. She called me before she snuck away from her family in the city, asking me if she should.” He swallows. “I said yes. And that night, they were both kidnapped.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I lick my lips. “But it’s not your fault.”

  “No, but they were still taken. And they were tortured.”

  “Tortured?” I repeat.

  “Horribly, brutally tortured. The worst you can imagine.”

  Considering my own history, I can imagine a lot. “Sexually,” I whisper. A statement, not a question.

  “And there I was safe and sound back in the States, completely oblivious until it was over, then completely impotent after I learned some of the truth. I wanted to make it better. But there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for them.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, there wouldn’t be.”

  “I joined the Army,” he says. “At the time, I didn’t even know why. God knows I wasn’t from a military family. My father died before I was born. A drug deal gone bad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not. I love my mom, and from what she tells me, my father was bad news. The shooting and the pregnancy pushed her out of the city, and she managed to land a job on the Sykes estate even though she had a baby. I still don’t know how, and all she says is that God was looking out for us. But not the point. I ended up in the military.”

  “Because you felt helpless,” I say. “About Dallas and Jane. And maybe even a little about your dad.”

  “Maybe.” He exhales. “Actually, yes.”

  “Did it help?”

  The corner of his mouth curves up just slightly. “No.”

  “You thought it would.”

  He nods. “But I learned skills. I formed friendships. The years weren’t wasted.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re still chasing that guilt. That helplessness. It’s why you work in security.”

  “That’s definitely part of it.”

  “And the rest of it?” I ask.