up the engine of the black Porsche. He screeches off fast, wheels spinning, the back end of his car swaying all over the road, looking as panicked as its driver.
Allowing the fog of purpose to clear, I take in the damage I’ve done, seeing four of the five men rolling around, groaning. The fifth meaty fucker—the sensible one—is nowhere to be seen. If I were the compassionate type, I’d feel a little sorry for them. They should have had a little more information on who they were apparently going to do over.
I straighten my jacket and turn, set on getting Camille in my car and out of here before the police turn up.
I locate the table where I left her.
And my knees give.
She’s gone.
* * *
I’ve never felt a panic like this. I’ve been so numb for so many years; the barrage of emotions striking me relentlessly now are enough to make me go on a killing spree until she’s safe in my care again.
What have I done?
I turn on the spot, frantically searching the surrounding area. “Camille!” I roar.
This is my fault. I’ve failed her.
“Camille!” I run over to where we were sitting, finding her phone still on the table and her bag where I left it on the seat next to us. “Fuck!” I snatch up her bag and phone and pelt toward my car, throwing them onto the passenger seat and racing off down the road like a madman.
I drive up and down the street—scan every person, look down every alley, zoom in on every car.
Nothing.
I grab my phone and call Lucinda, not even giving her time to greet me before I bark my instructions down the line. “Camille’s gone. Call Logan, call the police. I have her phone and bag. There’s a CCTV camera on the building opposite the café on Stretton Street. Get me the footage from the last hour.”
“Got it,” Lucinda answers, cool and collected. “Where are you?”
“Looking for her.” I hang up and punch the steering wheel, taking a hard right and racing to the main road. I don’t know where I’m heading, just driving randomly, up and down road after road, searching for her. I’ll kill myself. I swear, if anything happens to her, I’ll slice myself to pieces. This will be a mistake I’ll never forgive myself for. This will be the nail in the coffin for me and my black soul.
The small light I’ve found in my blackness is fading by the second.
* * *
It could be one hour, could be two, three, or a whole fucking day. I don’t know. I lost all concept of time the moment I noticed she was gone. I pull into the underground car park of her apartment block and screech to a stop by her car. Something immediately catches my eye. An envelope on the windscreen of Camille’s Merc. I’m at the foot of the shiny red convertible in a heartbeat, and a second later, I’m staring down at more pictures of Camille. There are two words printed on one of the pictures.
Time’s up.
“Fuck, no!” My fear and worry multiply by a million, and so does my anger. The photos in my grasp crumple under the force of my clenched fist, my teeth ready to crack from the force of my bite as I stomp my way through to the lobby and into the elevator, dialing Lucinda as I do. “I found a note on Camille’s car. It says time’s up.”
“Shit,” she curses. “The camera opposite the café has been out of order for over a month.”
“Fuck!” As the doors open, I step out and pace in a haze of ruin down the hall. “Logan? The police?”
“On their way to her apartment.”
“Good.” I round the corner, Camille’s door coming into view, and I jolt to a screaming halt.
Because slumped against the wood on her arse is my angel.
I grab the nearby wall to steady myself, relief making me dizzy.
She looks up, eyes overflowing with tears, her face red and blotchy. But she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “I couldn’t get in,” she chokes, sniffling uncontrollably. “My keys are in my bag. And my mobile.” She sniffs. “I was going to use my neighbor’s phone.” She points across the hall. “But he’s not home. And I don’t know your number.”
Relieved air pours from my mouth and I let my back meet the wall opposite her, my legs finally giving up on me. My arse hits the carpet with a thud as I vaguely hear Lucinda calling my name. I bring my phone to my ear. “I’ve got her. Call off the police. And Logan.”
“What?”
“Just do it, Luce. She’s safe. I’ll call you soon.” I hang up and drop my phone to the floor by my thigh, along with Camille’s bag and the envelope. I can’t hide my emotion and I don’t want to. I allow a tear of relief to trickle down my cheek and drop onto my suit jacket. It’s too much. All of these feelings and need and the fucking fear.
“I thought you’d been taken.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I thought I’d lost you, Camille.”
“I couldn’t watch.” She sniffs and coughs over her words. “I don’t like seeing you like that. You frighten me.”
I shake my head, feeling so remorseful, but only for putting her at risk, for making her feel like this. I was so lost in my mission to wipe out the ex-boyfriend and his posse, I lost sight of my true mission. I struggle to my feet and walk over to her, dropping to my knees before her slumped body. I take her hands and find her eyes, hoping she sees the regret and guilt that are blinding me. “I’m so sorry. I saw red, Cami. What he did to you, I can’t…” I clench my eyes shut, struggling to finish. “I can’t bear it.”
She uses my hands as an anchor, pulling against them to haul herself into me. I catch her and squeeze her warm body against my chest, hoping to fuse us together, whispering my apologies in her ear and vowing to never let her leave my sight again.
Chapter 18
CAMI
I didn’t mean to send him to hell and back. I didn’t mean to scare the ever-loving shit out of him. I just needed to get away from the fight, and in my desperation I didn’t consider the risks. I didn’t consider Jake’s worry.
I staggered to the roadside and threw myself into a cab, blubbering my address as the cabbie drove away. I didn’t consider the fact that I had no money until he pulled up outside my building. He took pity on me. I was grateful, insisting on taking his details so I could forward the fare. He refused, passing me a tissue before demanding softly that I vacate his cab.
The violence in Jake is potent. It defies the control he usually exudes. Yet it’s like he’s planned each and every one of his moves without needing time to think. He’s like a machine.
I didn’t run away because Seb was there, or because I couldn’t watch Jake potentially get hurt. There were five of them after all, excluding Sebastian, all big and menacing, and I knew what was going to happen. I knew Jake would cut through them like a hot knife through butter. I ran away because I couldn’t watch it. He’s ex-SAS. A trained soldier. A trained killer. Why he joined the forces is understandable, given what happened to his parents. But he’s a natural warrior, even if his fight was personal.
What I can’t figure out, though, is why he’s no longer serving. He’s only thirty-five, so definitely not old enough to be retired. His gunshot wound hasn’t hampered his ability to fight, therefore I can’t imagine his aim has been compromised. There’s more to it; I just know there is. I know he has no family. But friends? I don’t even know where he lives.
I need to find out what makes Jake Sharp tick. The woman in that picture. The anxiety attack. The deep-seated hurt that he can’t hide. The mystery is growing each day. I pull away and he cups my cheeks with his palms, looking so relieved. “Come,” he says, standing and pulling me to my feet.
“What’s that?” I ask, watching as he collects a crumpled envelope with my bag and his phone.
“Nothing. Just some paperwork from the agency.” He scoops me up and lets us into my apartment. Carrying me into my bathroom, he sits me on the edge of the bath, fetches a cloth, and damps it under the hot tap. He kneels before me and starts to gently wipe at my tear-stained face, watching each
of his light swipes as he does.
“How long have you been a bodyguard?” I ask quietly, starting with an easy question and one I hope will break him in gently before I try to delve further into that mind. Now that he’s given me something, I want more. I want everything that’s weighing him down.
He answers quickly and easily, still cleaning the dried tears from my face. “Four years.”
A quick mental calculation makes me more curious, because I know for sure no one would retire from the forces at thirty-one. Maybe they’d get promoted or move regiments, but not retire. There would have to be a reason, and a bullet wound that he seems fully recovered from couldn’t be it. “Why do you do it?”
He’s not so quick to answer this time, his hand definitely faltering as he glides the washcloth across my cheek. He seems to be thinking hard about how he should answer. “To feel useful.” He frowns, looking a little bewildered.
“Like you did when you served your country?” I ask.
He smiles a little, his eyes flicking to mine. “I guess so.”
I purse my lips, studying him, trying to keep the suspicion from my face. He’s agreeing with me, and my instinct is telling me he’s doing that because it’s easier than disagreeing and risking having me press him.
He once told me that he needs a purpose. His purpose was war, fighting the evils of the world. Something stopped him from being able to do that, something major, and now he finds his purpose in personal protection. It all makes me suspect that he would still be serving if he could. So why can’t he?
Whatever demons Jake has, he isn’t going to be free of them unless he wants to be. He’ll be held prisoner by them forever, and it’s infuriating that he seems okay with that. I’ve been in the deepest depths of hopelessness. I thought there was no way out. It was hard, but I found my way out. So can Jake.
“Tell me why you stopped serving.”
His motions falter briefly before he quickly gathers himself and continues to clean me up. It was just a split second, but I caught it, and I also saw the flash of pain in his eyes. “I’d served my country. Time to move on.”
I don’t believe him, and he’d be a fool to expect me to. That pain is still lingering deeply in his dark eyes, no matter how hard he’s trying to conceal it behind his tough front. His evasion angers me, and I push his hand away from my cheek, ignoring his worried look.
“I need to get ready,” I say, standing and leaving him crouched before me, looking up at me. I pass him and make my way into my room, hoping he takes the initiative to vacate my bathroom so I can shower.
“Camille?” he calls, his footsteps padding on the carpet as he follows me. “Why are you walking away from me?”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere. I’m not stupid, Jake. There are things you’re not telling me. I need to get dressed for the party.”
I pull a floral oversized T-shirt dress down and lay it on my bed before heading to the shower, leaving Jake standing like a spare part in the middle of my bedroom. Shutting the door behind me, I flip the shower on, strip down and step in. The hot water feels divine, and as I absentmindedly soap down, staring at the tiles, my mind starts running away with me.
He’s so complicated yet so simple. I’m perplexed by him, but I’m even more perplexed by my need to get beneath the cold, hard front he keeps in place. He’s shown me a soft side. He’s demonstrated that he isn’t heartless and unfeeling, and I’ve seen him spiral into a meltdown. He’s given me scraps of his history. Tiny pieces. But it all feels worthless without his trust. It feels one-sided as long as he decides what I should and shouldn’t know.
And then I ask myself something. Something important.
Why do I need to know?
My hands pause on my stomach as my eyes drop to the shower floor, hating the conclusion that I’m reaching. It has nothing to do with curiosity. I haven’t a burning need to unravel the puzzle that is Jacob Sharp. I want to know so I can help him.
Because I love him.
A single tear falls and mixes with the hot water spraying my face. I can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be helped. I can’t bring him into the light when he’s content residing in darkness. And I can’t let him drag me into that darkness.
I can’t fix him if he doesn’t want to be fixed.
I can feel myself breaking under the pressure I’m putting on myself. I don’t know when this became more emotional than physical, but I do know that I need to disconnect myself before I’m too far into his darkness to find my way out. I’ve been there before and I never plan on going back. Different circumstances, yes, but it’ll be the same outcome.
Hurt. Though I fear the hurt Jake is capable of inflicting on me would be excruciating, and I know I would never recover from it.
* * *
The drive to my father’s sprawling mansion in the countryside is long and painful, both Jake and me quiet and pensive.
The gates to Dad’s estate creak open slowly, and we’re greeted by a sea of luxury cars parked up the driveway. Jake drives unhurriedly toward the house, and the sounds of chatter and laughter get louder as we draw closer. It’s sunny and warm and I’m dreading the evening ahead. There will be dozens of insanely rich men who rub shoulders with my father, in either business or pleasure—all as materialistic and ruthless as he is. And their wives—as shallow as they are glamorous, most just waiting for the younger model to muscle in on their privileged lives and snatch the rug from under their feet.
If Dad even tries to push any potential boyfriend on me, I might scream. It’s hard enough to keep a smile fixed at the best of times. Now, when I’m feeling as hopeless and empty as I do, enduring my father’s intentions will be a challenge I’m not confident of overcoming.
I hop out of Jake’s Range Rover and take the path that leads to the extensive grounds at the back of my father’s home, walking through endless pavilions with honeysuckle waterfalls. When I pass the final archway into the garden, I’m faced with hundreds of people, all sipping Pimm’s or champagne, and I scan the faces, spotting TJ by the pool. I make my way over, smiling when he sees me.
“Little star!” he croons, swiping a glass from a passing waiter and placing it in my hand before kissing my cheek. “Last to arrive, and I bet you’ll be the first to leave.”
I don’t correct him. He knows me too well. “Thank you.” I raise my glass and let him chink it before taking a swig. “Is Heather here yet?”
“Yes, over there.” He points to the other side of the pool, where I spot my best friend with her parents. TJ returns his attention to me. “Still being tailed?” he asks, obviously spotting Jake somewhere behind me.
I don’t look to see where my shadow has taken up position. “Dad said they may have gotten to the bottom of the threats. Do you know anything?” I ask, moving in closer to TJ. He lives in Dad’s pocket. If anyone knows anything, he will.
TJ dips his head, giving me a warning look. “You know I don’t discuss anything I hear within his office walls.”
“Even when it’s about me?”
“Especially when it’s about you.” He laughs as he leans in closer and kisses my cheek. “You’ll be free as a bird again very soon, kiddo,” he tells me, reinforcing Dad’s claim.
He wanders off, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as he goes. I turn and see Jake a few meters away, his eyes fixed firmly on me. I immediately kick myself for searching him out. I’ve managed to evade direct contact since we had words earlier, knowing that refreshing my memory and attraction will serve no purpose at all. He’s kitted out in a dark grey suit, looking perfect but formidable and obscenely handsome. As I glance around, I see the attention he’s stirring with the females in close proximity. My eyes drop to my glass and I level out my thoughts and quash the urge to tell them all to keep their eyes to themselves.
“Cami!”
I look up and see Heather waving me over, and keen to find any type of distraction, I make my way around the pool t
o her and her parents, being accosted by various people on my way.
“Hey.” I reach them and greet them each with a kiss.
“How are you, Camille?” Heather’s father asks, pointing over my shoulder. “Got company, I see.”
I should have made my excuses and stayed away from here. I’m sure the whole of the party must know about my bodyguard, and if they didn’t, it’s not like I can hide him here. He’ll be the talk of the party for more reasons than his official capacity. I spot Heather’s mother eyeing Jake discreetly, an approving smile on her face. Then she looks at Heather and nods. What was that? I look to my best friend, who casually shrugs off her mother’s move.
“I’m fine, Henry, thank you,” I reply to Heather’s father. “How are you?”
“I’ll be better when your father stops playing hardball and accepts my offer on his boatyard in Belfast.”
The Protector Page 19
