A Deeper Fear

by Allison Brennan

  “Sean went through hell and he won’t talk about it. That’s fine, to a point. But I think you’re coddling him.”

  She frowned, shook her head. “I’m not coddling him.”

  “He knows you’re not going to push him, and neither is Dillon—which is why Dillon wanted me to talk to him. But I can’t—I tried. It’s not who I am. I can, however, get him to work. I can piss him off, make him angry, and maybe he’ll finally talk about what’s really bothering him. Or maybe he won’t. But RCK is a business, and I can use that to push him out of his head.”

  Lucy didn’t know the right answer, but she didn’t have a better idea.

  “I trust you.”

  “Just be there when he falls.”

  When, Jack said. Lucy thought Sean had hit bottom last month when she found him locked in a cage, beaten, bloodied. How much did he have to suffer before he was healed? It hurt not to be able to help him, to fix the problem.

  Lucy looked over Jack’s shoulder when a familiar face entered. “Excuse me,” she said to her brother.

  “Abandoning me?”

  Lucy gestured to where Megan was watching them. “I think Megan wants you to rescue her.”

  Jack looked over and grinned. “Should I?”

  “Of course.”

  Lucy left him and approached Nora, Duke’s wife and also an FBI agent in the Sacramento office. She looked like she didn’t want to be there, either. Lucy didn’t know her well, but when they had spent time together, Lucy appreciated Nora’s down-to-earth common sense.

  Nora looked relieved when she saw Lucy. “I didn’t want to come, but Dean said I needed to show my face tonight. One hour is all I promised.” She looked over to where Dean and Megan had drawn a much larger crowd than when Lucy had left them. They were both extroverts and used to socializing; Lucy preferred the one-on-one conversations.

  “Wine?” she asked Nora.

  “God, yes.” They walked over to the cash bar and waited in the line. “I assume Megan told you about the party on Saturday.”

  “She did.”

  “I don’t generally like parties, but this one will be fun, and I haven’t seen their house since we helped them move in months ago. I know they’ve been doing a lot of work.”

  “It looks great,” Lucy said. “The kitchen still needs updating, but Jack said they were going on vacation this summer and letting the contractors rip everything out.”

  Nora laughed lightly. “Jack? Vacation? I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.”

  “That’s why Megan is good for him.”

  They reached the front of the line. Nora ordered white, Lucy stuck with her preferred red, and they moved away from the crowd.

  “How’s Molly?” Lucy asked. “I hope you’re bringing her on Saturday.”

  “Of course, she’s the joy of my life,” Nora said. “I love my job, but I hate leaving her every day—though Duke is a terrific dad. He’s now working from home almost every day, and when he has to go downtown to RCK he takes her, or we have a terrific babysitter we can call. I can’t believe she’s already two years old.”

  “JP—my nephew—will be two next month, and Carina had a little girl last week. Grace. Sean and I are going back to Texas by way of San Diego on Sunday so we can see her.”

  “I don’t think a second baby is in the cards for me—but that’s okay. I didn’t even expect to have Molly, considering I was forty when I got pregnant.”

  “I’ll bet Duke and Sean are having fun with her.”

  Nora tilted her head. “Sean?”

  “Sean said he was going over to your place. Maybe you missed him.”

  “Duke is at Fort Bragg working on a security fix for one of their systems. He won’t be back until Friday. It was last-minute—they called this morning. I had our sitter come over for a couple of hours so I could show my face here. If I’d have known Sean wasn’t coming tonight, I totally would have tagged him to babysit.”

  Lucy was speechless. Why would Sean lie to her? Or maybe he didn’t know . . .

  He would have called Duke before he went over. He would have known Duke was out of town.

  She didn’t say anything, and fortunately at that moment a colleague of Nora’s walked over and started talking to them.

  Lucy couldn’t focus on the conversation. All she could think about was why Sean had lied to her and Jack about his plans tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Pride Tactical owned a state-of-the-art van that rivaled most law enforcement tactical vans. Ellen used it for demonstrations because she could also use it as a command center, of sorts. She had permission to park outside the convention center for the duration of the law enforcement conference. It looked official, though there was nothing that screamed police on the outside. It was black and sleek with the Pride logo discreetly painted on the doors.

  She finished checking the drone—twice—and did a trial run without the camera to make sure everything worked before Marc knocked on the rear door.

  She opened up the back. “When I said nine, I meant nine.”

  “I texted you that I would be late.”

  “A few minutes, you said. It’s well after.”

  She knew she sounded nasty; what she’d told Jack earlier was mostly true. She and Marc did get along better now than they had before the divorce, but the things that had irritated her when they were married irritated her as business partners, too. Marc could not be on time to save his life. She was punctual even before she enlisted in the army. She had to be, taking care of her two little brothers because her parents were too lazy or wasted to do it themselves. She was running the house by the time she was thirteen.

  “I’m sorry, babe.”

  “Don’t.” She hated being called babe even when they were together. He knew it.

  Except . . . this was Marc. For him, it was an endearment.

  He ran a finger down her arm. Sometimes, she missed him. Really missed him. They’d been through so much together and it wasn’t all bad.

  “I was meeting with Steven at the bar,” Marc said.

  “What?” She jerked her hand back. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Hear me out.”

  “No! I told you we’re not selling.”

  “Just listen.”

  “Pride is my company. I love this company. We’re doing great.”

  “That’s the best time to sell—and this new drone technology you’ve developed is going to double our worth.”

  “I’m. Not. Selling.”

  She couldn’t believe what Marc was saying. Marc had wanted to sell the company when they divorced, but she’d talked him out of it. She couldn’t afford to buy him out at the time. The company had grown since, and he was right—the drone tech was going to catapult them to the top. They had five full-time staff members that handled contracts, programming, working with vendors on production, shipping—and everyone was overworked. With this tech they could double their staff and give everyone raises. All they would need were a few contracts and they’d be set for years.

  “You work more than eighty hours a week. It’s why we divorced.”

  “No, we divorced because you fucked our accountant. Literally. Then I fucked Steven. Then you fucked—”

  “Stop.”

  “And then you meet with the guy who’s trying to steal our company?”

  “Hey, you slept with him!”

  “Screw you.”

  Marc grabbed her arm, and she karate-chopped his wrist and walked to the other end of the van and sat in her chair. She needed to breathe. This was her baby. Her company. She wasn’t selling. She liked working eighty hours a week. What else was she supposed to do?

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I miss you, Ellie.”

  “You miss a fantasy.”

  “It was real. We had a great marriage for years. But then all you cared about was this company. And I went along with it. I thought it would be like this for a while, we’d build it, then hire others to run it. But
you have to do everything yourself. You’re a fucking control freak. I knew it marrying you, it’s one of the reasons I loved you, but it’s one of the reasons I ended up hating you. Because you can’t control everything.”

  That was true. So damn if she was going to give up the one thing she could control.

  “I want what we once had,” he said.

  “That’s long gone, Marc.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. Steven is making a huge offer. A preempt. You like him. You trust him. Hell, the fact that the three of us are still friends even though you slept with him shows we get along.”

  She rolled her eyes. Yeah, she and Marc had a really unconventional divorce. It almost made her smile. Instead she said, “He’s our competitor.”

  “He has a plan to keep the Pride line in his company as high-end tactical equipment. Our logo, our designs, our vision—his company. And if you want to work for him—”

  She spun the chair around. All humor she might have felt disappeared. “Work for Steven?”

  “He has ten times the staff and resources. And we—I don’t know. I’m not saying we can get back together, but dammit, I want to try.”

  She couldn’t be hearing him right. “What?”

  “I love you, Ellie.”

  “You’re living with another woman.”

  “Monica moved out two months ago because she knew that I still loved you.”

  Why hadn’t he told her? Two months? And nothing?

  “So you negotiate to sell our company behind my back? You love me so much that you’d hurt me like this?”

  She was angry. And bitter. And sad. But mostly confused.

  “I wanted to hear what Steven had to say. We’re equal partners, Ellie. He offered to buy out my half. I said no. I wouldn’t do that to you. I want us to sell.”

  “Why—how—do you think we can make marriage work? We failed before.”

  “Not marriage, unless that’s what you want. I want you back. But we’ll take it slow. Because the one thing you haven’t said, every time we argue, is that you don’t love me anymore.”

  “I . . . no. I mean . . . shit! Shit, shit, shit.”

  She paced, but the van was small. Two steps toward Marc. Two steps back to her chair. She wanted to get out, because she couldn’t think, but Marc was blocking the exit. She’d have to touch him to get by him . . . and touching him might be the worst thing right now because she still found her ex attractive. Super hot, sometimes, because he knew her, knew what she loved, knew how to set her off in bed.

  But she didn’t want this conversation, now or ever. Things were good, right? Yes, she worked her ass off, but she liked it. And Marc knew she liked working. That she liked developing new products. He handled the finances and contracts and detail work and staff issues because she wasn’t good at that. She could see a need and fill it; he made sure they got paid.

  They’d hurt each other. When she found out he’d had an affair with their accountant, she’d slept with Steven Decker out of anger. And lust. Steven knew it, she knew it, and she regretted it because they had been friends, and sex put a big wedge in their friendship, even though they’d gotten back to where they’d been before. She knew immediately that what she felt with Steven wasn’t what she’d felt with Marc, so she called it off pretty quick.

  But could they even put all that behind them and work together? Maybe. Probably. It was sex, not love, and they both knew it. And Marc was right. They were all relatively friendly.

  Yet . . . her business. What would she do with her life? She didn’t relax well. Especially . . . well, what was she supposed to do? Retire at forty-five?

  “Why now, Marc? We’re introducing our biggest product in a year and you want to talk about our relationship?”

  “Yeah, my timing sucks, I get that.”

  “I don’t want to sell, Marc. I need something to do with my life, and you know it. You don’t love me as I am, you love me as you want me to be.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. Because if you took me as I was, you’d accept me as a workaholic. You’d see that I love this company because I don’t have kids to love. I don’t have . . .”

  Tears burned.

  “Oh, baby, I love you so much. If you don’t want to sell, we don’t sell. But we have to make this work. We have to because I love you so much—and I know why you work eighty hours a week.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

  She didn’t want to think about her five miscarriages. Five. Five over eight years. They nearly killed her. Physically, emotionally, and yeah, she put everything into this business. Everything because this was something she could control. The more she worked, the better they did. Every product was like a child to her, her creation, and they didn’t die.

  The last time was the worst. Her baby survived . . . for sixty-three minutes. One hour of bittersweet heaven. And then she died in Ellen’s arms. They called her Em because they didn’t have a name picked out. No name because Ellen hadn’t wanted to jinx anything.

  After that, yes, she pushed Marc away. Because after Em, the doctor took her uterus, too. So even if she wanted to try again, she couldn’t. Ever.

  It wasn’t Marc’s fault . . . it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Except her. She couldn’t carry a baby to term. She hadn’t even wanted kids until she found out she was pregnant that first time. And the first miscarriage? It hurt . . . but that was when she realized she wanted a child, that she would make a great mother, that Marc would make a great father, so she was happy to try again.

  Until.

  Again. Again. Again.

  Death. Nothing. Emptiness.

  “I fucked up, Ellie,” Marc said. “I fucked up big time and I don’t blame you if you never forgive me. But I miss you, I love you, there will never be anyone for me except you. And I want us to make it work. Screw marriage. I just want you back in my life—and if I have to watch you kill yourself working eighty hours a week, so be it. I’ll do that. Because my life sucks without you.”

  Ellen didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t think. This was coming out of nowhere. She didn’t doubt that Marc believed every word he said, but for how long?

  She’d been an emotional basket case after losing Em. She needed the company. And . . . fuck.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “I don’t know that I can fix this. I can’t let go . . .” She didn’t know if she was talking about her company or her grief.

  Grief. Could she really have been grieving for the last five years?

  “The biggest mistake I made was not seeing your pain, not knowing that letting you go was the worst thing for both of us,” Marc said. “We’ll find a way. Please.”

  She didn’t know. “I need to do this test.”

  “Okay, let’s get it done. What do you need from me?”

  “I’ll do it myself.”

  “I can help.”

  “I know, but—give me some space, please?”

  He took the two steps toward her, looked in her eyes. She had loved Marc from the minute she’d met him, the day after she got her final discharge papers and they sat next to each other in a computer science class at Sac State. He was five years younger, so handsome, so funny and fun-loving. She was arrogant and jaded. He’d smiled at her and said, “Do you like ice cream?”

  It had been unexpected and she said, “Yeah. I do.”

  “My treat, after class.”

  And that was it.

  Until it was over.

  It’s never been over.

  “I love you, Ellen, now and forever.”

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  Slow, warm, reminding her of everything they had, everything they could still have, if she could get out of this funk, this grief, this pain . . .

  “We’ll talk later,” he said.

  She watched him wait for something, and she wasn’t sure what.

  Then he turned away.

  “M
arc.”

  He looked back at her.

  I love you.

  She couldn’t say it, even though she knew it was true.

  “Tomorrow, breakfast. Our place.”

  He smiled, and his eyes teared up. Our place wasn’t their house—they’d sold it after the divorce, too many painful memories including a nursery that had never been used. But one of their favorite places was a small diner not far away, open only for lunch and breakfast, and they used to go there every Sunday morning when they were married.

  They hadn’t been there in years.

  “Six a.m.?”

  She nodded.

  Then he left and she turned back to the work at hand, trying to push the conversation aside. It was still there tickling her in the back of her head, though, as she tried to make sense of everything. Maybe that was why she worked better with machines and equipment. There was always an answer, a fix, a solution.

  People? Not so much.

  Ellen programmed the drone to recon using night vision, which was built in—enabling the drone to be lighter and use multiple advancements. They had a built-in camera as well, but because sometimes they needed different types of tech, they could add a stronger lens with additional features.

  She attached a high-end night cam so that she could capture the best images when they played this video tomorrow. She’d record now, then edit and narrate at the hotel. She lived only fifteen minutes away, but because she had her equipment here, and she wanted to be accessible for meeting with potential clients, she decided to get a room for the conference.

  Earlier, she’d planted tech in the area to simulate drugs, weapons, and people, all within a quarter-mile radius of the hotel convention center, in order to show how sharp the surveillance could be.

  She manipulated the drone—she had to admit, this was the fun part—taking notes as it moved smoothly, almost completely silent, over the area. There—a light, special paint on a box to simulate the heat signature of a recently fired gun. There were people walking down the street, but they didn’t even look up at the drone. It was that quiet—a huge plus when law enforcement needed eyes but didn’t necessarily want the bad guys knowing.