Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2)

by Marie James

  I shoot off a silent text to Braden, but even after he assures me all is quiet and safe around my apartment, I can’t stop the regret of being here instead of there. I text Whitney a meme I found earlier, afraid actual words would betray my anxiety, but she doesn’t text back. She’s probably asleep on the couch. The woman has been through hell the last couple of days.

  I fist my hands in my lap, bending at the waist and trying to get the memory of Jones coming into her apartment mere seconds after she left out of my mind. He was there to murder her, and I can’t express how grateful I am for the stars lining up that day.

  Commotion sounds from the other side of the door, and like a coward, I flinch with each grunt and thump. I don’t charge out of the bathroom and distract BBS while they stop the man who wanted to hurt my woman. I cower because I’m only a fucking warrior when I have a screen in front of me and a keyboard at my fingertips. I’ve never felt more like a failure before in my damn life, and I can’t even look up when the door opens and Flynn tells me it’s over.

  Some fucking hero I am.

  “Is he still here?” I snap, my bravado somehow finally deciding to show up.

  “FBI has him,” Flynn says. “Let your girl know she’s safe.”

  My hands move immediately to my phone and I fire off the text message I know Whitney has been waiting to receive.

  My apartment calls to me with a need like I’ve never felt before. I’m able to picture the things I plan to do to her later in celebration as I follow the guys out of the shitty hotel room. We all pile into the SUV.

  “Swing me by my place,” I tell Brooks who’s in the driver’s seat. “I’ll grab my car some other time.”

  “Eager little beaver aren’t we,” Flynn teases from the passenger seat. “We have to go straight to BBS.”

  “What?”

  “Paperwork waits for no man,” Ignacio says with a clap to my damn back.

  “It’s on the fucking way,” I argue. “Just slow down and I’ll roll out of the motherfucker.”

  Everyone laughs then, but Brooks doesn’t slow down. Hell, he drives right past the front entrance of my building.

  “Fucker,” I mutter, my eyes scanning to the top in hopes of finding her looking down even though my apartment is on the backside.

  Gaige tries to tie me up in conversation the minute the SUV is in park back at the BBS building, but I just flip him the bird and climb in my car, ignoring the hoots and hollers at my back as I walk away. The whistles seep into my soul and I’m humming along to a tune only I can hear when I climb off the elevator on my floor.

  I don’t engage with Braden as I pass. Flynn assured me he’d call the guards off just as soon as Jones was booked into the jail. Whitney doesn’t greet me at the door on her knees with her mouth open and willing like I’d let myself imagine on the short drive back here.

  I wasn’t much of a hero tonight, so I don’t really deserve a hero’s welcome, but I decide not to let the disappointment cloud my happiness. She’s safe, and that’s all that really matters. The finer details aren’t important at all. All I care about is working on building this amazing relationship with her.

  Simon doesn’t come running with his tail crooked, so he must be passed out on my bed again. My smile doesn’t falter when I find the living room and the kitchen empty. If anything, it gets wider when I find the guest bedroom empty too. Anticipation is thrumming under my skin. If this woman is naked in my bed, I’m going to have to worry about her sore pussy later because there’s no way I’m going to be able to turn down her willingness.

  My bed isn’t empty, but rather than a gorgeous naked purple-haired goddess, a lone box is all I find in the center.

  My heart stops. It doesn’t skip one but many, many beats as I stand in the doorway with my eyes glued to the noxious box. It’s in no way different from any other delivery box, yet this box just dropped a bomb right in the middle of my life.

  She’d asked for blankets, and in my distracted state as we were going over the final plans for tonight, I just mentioned they were in the closet. Of course, they were in my closet. Right where this fucking box was.

  Fear and the evil side of adrenaline replaces the sexy anticipation I was feeling since Jones was taken into custody.

  I don’t have to look at the shipping label on that fucking box to know my world just imploded, but I must be a glutton for punishment because I inch closer, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to make the impossible possible. I fail because right there where it’s always been is the evidence that I’ve had this fucking box for months without a mention of it to Whitney.

  On slow, weighted-down legs, I make my way back to the guest bedroom, only noticing now that all of her things are gone. The clothes are no longer in the dresser, shampoo no longer along the side of the tub. Even Simon’s food and water bowls are gone. The litter box is missing, the bathroom pristine, making it seem like she was never here, like she was somehow a figment of my imagination. I know better, however, because if I breathe deep enough, I can still smell her on my skin.

  Shame like I’ve never felt before sinks deep inside of me, but rather than fall to my knees and sob about the shitstorm I’ve caused, my legs move toward the front door of my apartment and then to the elevator. The FBI must move at lightning speed because Braden is no longer taking up space in the hallway, and for that I’m grateful. At least he doesn’t have to see my walk of shame to beg Whitney to forgive my misdeeds.

  My hand stops on the panel because I’m making uninformed decisions right now which is something I never do. Heading back to my apartment, I fire up my computer, pulling the video feed from the front of my door and following her all the way back to her apartment. Timestamps tells me she was out of my place mere moments after I texted her to let her know that Jones was no longer a problem for her.

  Tears mark her beautiful cheeks, and I want to reach out and wipe them away, apologize for being the cause of them, and swear on my own life that she’ll never cry because of me again if only she could forgive me.

  I want to go to her, make her see that no matter how things started between us, we’re meant to be together. She’ll forgive me, right? I could see in her eyes last night how much she wanted to be exactly where she was, and that need only strengthened when I told her I wanted her here even after the coast was clear as far as Jones was concerned.

  Chapter 32

  Whitney

  It takes less than an hour after getting his texts for the banging to start on my apartment door. Forty-three minutes to be exact.

  My doorjamb was repaired when I came down here, my first time in this apartment since right before Jones kicked the door in. There are several reinforced locks that will keep me safe, but that doesn’t keep me from cowering with every noise.

  “Baby.” A soft thud tells me he just tapped his head on the door, but I won’t run to him. Seeing his face would be too much. I’m terrified of the pain I’ll see there which is evident from the sound of his voice, but I’m also scared I’ll forgive him, and he doesn’t deserve that. He could’ve come clean at any point, and he chose not to.

  “Please, Whitney. Talk to me.”

  I snap my jaw closed when I have the urge to tell him he had a million chances to talk and he didn’t. He kept the damn box. That’s what doesn’t make sense. Why stash the evidence in the closet? Why not drop it in the dumpster so it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass at a later date?

  His showing up is actually surprising. I would’ve bet money that he would’ve slinked away like a dirty online snake when he figured out he’d been caught. I didn’t leave any doubt as to why I left because the evidence was there in the center of his bed, right on top of the covers we made love on last night.

  No. Fucking. We fucked last night. Any relationship built on creepiness and lies could never ever have love in the equation. We were dead in the water before we even got started.

  “Whitney, let me explain.”

  His voice startles me, an
d I realize how unsafe it is for me to get lost in my own head right now. My phone rings, only serving to startle me even more and I release a screech before clamping my hand over my mouth. Only it isn’t Wren calling from the other side of the door but Sarah. I’d called her once I returned to my apartment, but I got her voicemail.

  “Hey,” I whisper when I answer if only to silence the noise.

  I know Wren knows I’m in here, but I figure staying quiet will lower his persistence and he’ll just leave.

  I haven’t called her before now because I didn’t want to give half-truths and scare her until I had more information, but even if Jones wouldn’t have been arrested, I would’ve reached out to her. This isn’t something I can navigate on my own.

  “Sorry I missed your call. Where have you been the last few days? You haven’t responded to my texts.”

  I swallow against the tears threatening to render me speechless. How can I confess that I’ve been so wrapped up in Wren Nelson that I’ve let everything else in the world fade into the background? Sarah definitely deserves a better friend than what she’s found in me.

  “Hold on,” I whisper as I scoop Simon up from the couch and head straight to my bedroom.

  Another knock hits my front door, but it’s not a violent one, just loud enough to get my attention. Wren doesn’t deserve another minute of my focus and after I’m done getting advice from Sarah, I plan to eradicate him from my life completely. It’s only been two months of interaction, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

  Without disclosing anything personal, I tell her everything. I leak information about Jones and how finding incriminating evidence on him led me to leaving and how I was prepared to give up my entire life to stay safe. I blame the thought of losing everything for the tears that stripe my cheeks. Then I tell her about my abduction in Des Moines and she chuckles, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all but knowing it’s something I always wanted.

  “You told Wren about that fantasy?”

  Her question stops me cold because I did. That information was something I told him. It wasn’t something I ever put online because that’s the kind of shit that can really get you killed while allowing the attacker sort of an alibi, or at least permission if things went wrong.

  Sarah knew of this fantasy because she told me about several agencies that focused on rape fantasy and such, but I’d never actually go through with something like that with a stranger.

  “I did.”

  “Sounds hot as fuck,” she whispers. “Was it good?”

  “It was,” I confess because I’m not fool enough to discount all of the good stuff even though the bad outweighs it by tons. “But he’s been stalking me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I go into every detail I can remember about meeting him online and meeting him on the elevator and how it all just seemed perfect, and then I drop the bomb about the box she had shipped.

  “He took it.”

  “I didn’t go broke sending the second package.”

  “You’re not understanding,” I argue. “He had the box the entire time. Everything was a setup.”

  “Are you sure you’re not being a little paranoid?” I frown, wondering if she’s playing devil’s advocate right now or if she honestly thinks I’ve blown things out of proportion. “Did you ever get a creepy vibe from him?”

  “Murderers aren’t creepy,” I mutter. “They’re charismatic and charming. They catch you when your guard is down.”

  “Didn’t you say like four or five other guys on his team showed up at the airport to escort you back to his apartment to keep you safe?”

  “Maybe they’re all in on it,” I begin. “Maybe they’re all some gross team of men who like to hurt people.”

  “That’s a little farfetched, Whitney. Even for you.”

  I sigh, my eyes staying trained on my closed bedroom door as if he’s going to bust in at any moment. The thought doesn’t terrify me. Even after finding the box and my heart breaking, I never once thought he would hurt me physically. If anything, I’d prefer to avoid the damn fight, because deep down I know I’ll cave.

  Dating is hard. Being a computer nerd who practically isolates herself in her apartment and dating? That’s impossible. I’d resolved myself with becoming a cat lady spinster, and sadly enough I was growing okay with the idea.

  Then the fucking handsome, dominant, and charming Wren Nelson popped up in my life like a miracle sent from the gods of hunks and turned me stupid.

  Fucking men.

  I hate them all.

  “He’s a fucking stalker,” I continue. “I can’t trust a damn thing that happened after that box was delivered.”

  “Okay.” She pauses, probably mulling over thoughts on how to approach this situation differently. My best friend has always been analytical. It’s why we get along so well. “What happened before the box?”

  “Nothing,” I confess. “The elevator meeting, his inclusion into Orc’s Realm, all of it happened after the delivery date on the box.”

  “Well shit,” she sighs.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “Tell me about Blackbridge.”

  “I shouldn’t go digging through their stuff. Wren is the best of the best. There’s no way I can do that.”

  “Because you tried and hit his firewalls.”

  “Exactly,” I mutter.

  “When did you do that? Tonight?”

  I remain silent, my answer evident in my lack of response.

  “Hmm.”

  “Don’t hmm me, Sarah Revone.”

  “Do you honestly think those hot-as-hell commandos would go through the trouble of helping him if he’s a bad guy?”

  “Did you miss the part where I said his friends are probably all involved with hurting people?”

  She sighs again, but I know she isn’t even close to hanging up on me. The woman has the patience of a saint. I mentioned she’s a Domme, right?

  “You know better. Did any of them seem submissive?”

  I can’t help the laugh that vibrates out of my throat. “Not even close, but Ignacio is so damn hot, I think even you would listen to him boss you around.”

  She grunts her disagreement.

  “Can we get back to my life, please? He’s psycho.”

  “You met his nana for Christ’s sake. He’s not psycho.”

  “Then explain all of the coincidences to me.”

  “I can’t. Why don’t you go to his apartment and tell him to explain it all?”

  I wouldn’t even have to go that far. My guess, he’s camped out in front of my door waiting for me to give in.

  “I can’t. I think I’m coming to you.”

  She squeals. “Well, I hate that you’re upset but I’ll take a visit any day! I’ll make some adjustments in my schedule. How soon are you thinking?”

  “I’ll fly out tonight if there’s something available.”

  She’s a happy camper, and just the thought of spending some time at her beachfront condo perks me up a little.

  After getting off the phone with her, silence fills my apartment. A quick peek through the peephole tells me that Wren is gone. Left under the door is a handwritten note, but the horrible handwriting reading, Please, baby, let me explain, only helps me make the decision to pack and head to California.

  Chapter 33

  Wren

  “You’re a damn fool!”

  I grit my teeth and keep my eyes on the computer screen in front of me.

  “An idiot! What would Nana say?”

  I can’t blame Puff Daddy. I mean, he’s a parrot after all, and he’s merely repeating shit I’ve been saying out loud about myself in this office for the last day and a half.

  I pleaded at Whitney’s door, begged her to let me explain the unexplainable. I even left a note. She didn’t come to me. She didn’t knock on my door with tears in her beautiful eyes and give me the chance to beg for forgiveness.

  Hell, she didn’t even stay in Missouri.

  Nope,
that gorgeous woman boarded her cat—don’t ask me how I found that information—and jumped a red-eye flight to California.

  Sarah Revone, her best friend since her freshman year in college, lives there. Flynn spoke with her more than once while all the shit was going down with Jones. I’ve stared at the woman’s house on satellite maps for longer than I think is sane, but my eyes are still there as if my angel will appear in pictures taken probably a year or longer ago.

  “I fucked up,” I mutter, hands scraping over the top of my head for the millionth time today.

  Whitney Nelson is completely offline. Other than the flight manifest—and the video from the LAX airport—she hasn’t been seen in public in thirty-six hours. Believe me, I looked.

  How can one little box of sex toys ruin a man’s life?

  She hasn’t activated any of her accounts, and going by the cell phone towers, she’s left her phone sitting in the middle of her apartment. I’d be afraid for her safety if I hadn’t watched her hug her friend near the baggage claim over a hundred times.

  “What the actual fuck are you doing?”

  I don’t even bother to turn around at Brook’s voice. Nor do I close out the building schematics of the boarding facility where Simon is being housed.

  “Wren?” I growl at the slap that hits the back of my head.

  “Leave me the fuck alone, man.”

  My office door closes, but I don’t have time to feel guilty for being an asshole. Nothing else but her matters to me right now.

  I only get a moment’s reprieve before my office door swings back open.

  “I said—” Spinning around in my chair, my words die on my tongue.

  Brooks is back, only this time he brought reinforcements, and the frown on Flynn’s face and the matching scowl from Ignacio isn’t much better.

  “He’s going to kidnap the fucking cat!” Brooks points to the screen behind my head, but I don’t turn to look at it. I know what it says, and that fucking place is much more secure than you’d think for a damn cushy animal hotel. “He’s going to go to jail over pussy.”