Unprotected Hearts

by Rachel Kane

  Unprotected Hearts

  Rachel Kane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  The Bonus Chapter!

  Also by Rachel Kane

  Copyright 2016 by Rachel Kane. No portion of this work can be reproduced in any way without prior written consent from the author with the exception for a fair use excerpt for review and editorial purposes.

  Kindle Edition

  DISCLAIMER: This story is intended for mature audiences. All characters portrayed are 18 and over.

  Created with Vellum

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  1

  Trent knew something was wrong when the lights wouldn't come on. It wasn't the switch on the wall. He tried that over and over. The room was still dark. The only light was the dim glow from the streetlight just down the block. In the dark he could hear his own breathing, fast and shallow. He could feel the pulse in his throat. Maybe it's a fuse, he thought.

  Yeah. Or maybe someone is in the apartment right now, maybe in the kitchen, maybe in my bedroom, waiting for me.

  It was a chilling thought. He stepped into the living room, his hands out and brushing against the back of a chair. His fingers crept forward, feeling the outline of the lampshade. His roommate Billy hadn’t mentioned any trouble with the lights. He was half-tempted to call Billy and ask about it. What should I do? But Billy’s boss would yell if Trent called him during work.

  What was that? A sound. A creak of the floor. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. It was coming from his room.

  The sensible thing would be to get out.

  Call a friend. Call Billy, even at work.

  But he couldn’t do that. Even with his phone right there in his pocket. Help was only a few button presses away. But it was impossible. What could anyone tell him to do, anyway? Quietly leave? Call the police? All that normal-person advice. But life had stopped being normal for Trent. It was hard to imagine life ever going back to the way it was before.

  That sound again. A creak. A snap.

  Was he crazy? He was starting to think so. But what about earlier today? He was sure someone had followed him on his way to work this morning. He’d tried to talk himself out of that certainty. After all, he was a school librarian; there were always a ton of cars around on his walk to work. How could he be sure he’d been followed? He couldn’t just walk up to someone and ask, Is there a car back there going really slowly, or am I imagining things?

  But he couldn’t ask something like that, because then he would have to explain why he was asking. There was no way Trent could explain this to anyone.

  He slid his shoes off as quietly as he could. The kitchen was to his right. On sock-feet, he glided towards it. If he could get to the drawer next to the sink, there was a long knife he could use to protect himself. All he had to do was get past this counter without making a sound.

  The phone in his pocket went off with a shrill, loud ring.

  He froze. He reached down and tried to hit the silence button through his pants, but that didn’t work, and then the phone rang again. It sounded even louder this time. He strained to listen for any sounds coming from the bedroom, but now his ears were buzzing with the phone noise. He jammed his hand down into his pocket to hit the button. It rang again, just half a tone, before his thumb finally found the button.

  Then silence, just a buzzing at his thigh.

  “So much for subtlety,” he said aloud. “Hey, you in there, I’m calling the cops! You better get out right now!”

  The drawer next to the sink was stuck. He pulled on it, but nothing happened. He could hear the faint tink of silverware inside as he shook the drawer knob.

  There were no footsteps. No creaks. Could the hidden visitor be trying to get out through the window?

  He yanked again on the drawer. This time it came out, completely out, and forks and spoons and knives clattered with a loud din onto the floor. Embarrassment mixed with his fear. And now he couldn’t even walk, because he couldn’t see the floor, and might step on a fork and hurt himself.

  Moron, the phone has a flashlight. He shook his head and took his phone out.

  As he was switching on the flashlight function, he saw the name on the missed call: Dodi Marlowe, the lawyer.

  I don’t want to talk to you. You’re the one who got me into this.

  He picked up the knife, before stepping around the cutlery on the floor. His footsteps were still quiet as he walked to his bedroom. No more need for stealth, now that he had lost the element of surprise, but he wanted to be quiet, to listen. Was someone breathing in there? What were they doing?

  One step closer. Two steps.

  He held his breath, reaching out his hand, resting his fingers against the bedroom door.

  He pushed it open.

  The room was empty.

  All the breath came out of him in a rush. He laughed, a little surprised at how strained the sound of it was. “Oh, you’re kidding me.” He moved the flashlight’s beam around the room. “I really am paranoid.”

  He clicked the lightswitch, and the lights stayed off. “Just a fuse after all.”

  The edge of the bed creaked under him as he sat down. He lay back, with a sense of relief. Maybe he’d been wrong about being followed to work. Maybe all these instincts he’d had lately were wrong. Nobody after him. Nobody plotting. Wouldn’t that be nice? Now, if he could just tell Dodi Marlowe to get out of his life, everything could go back to normal.

  In fact, he would do that now. He’d go mess with the fuse-box in the closet, get everything switched back on, clean up all the silverware on the floor, and then give Marlowe a stern talking-to. No more paranoia. No more looking over his shoulder.

  His phone buzzed again. Marlowe’s name was on the screen. Fine. He’d do the conversation first, then work on the lights.

  “Hey, Ms. Marlowe, look—”

  “Trent. Don’t talk. I’m going to ask you a yes or no question. Just answer. Got that?”

  “Wait, what—”

  “Yes or no only. Understood?” Marlowe’s voice was low and quiet.

  “Um…yes?”

  “Perfect. Are you at your apartment?”

  “I—yes.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  He thought of how much fear he’d felt in the last few minutes. “No,” he said. “But what’s—”

  “Yes or no, please, Trent. For your own good. Are there any signs of breaking and entering in your apartment?”

  It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees. Goosebumps rose on his arms. “When I came in—I mean, yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “It’s
a possibility?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t say anything for a minute. Just listen. I got a tip that Grumman’s men are after you.”

  I knew it, he thought. But he kept his mouth shut.

  “If they’re not there now, they will be. I don’t know what the plan is. The first step might not involve approaching you. Maybe bugging your apartment. Spyware on your computer. I just don’t know. But I think we have to get you out of there, at least until your deposition. I’m almost to your place now. Can you come out, very casually? Don’t pack. Don’t do anything that suggests you’re leaving for a while. Just come downstairs.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Meet you down there in just a few minutes. Don’t speak to anyone you don’t know.”

  So there really could have been someone here. Wow. He wasn’t crazy after all. It almost made him less angry at Marlowe.

  But not much less. What did she mean when she said, “We have to get you out of there”? For how long? And don’t pack? That was ridiculous. He had to get a few things. He got up off the bed, and walked to his closet.

  He stopped. There was a soft sound, almost below the threshold of hearing. Tink. Tink. From the closet.

  Like the sound of his clothes hangers tapping against one another.

  Like there was someone inside his closet.

  He backed away. The fear was returning in full force. Slowly he stepped away. He reached a hand out in the dark, and touched his desk. His computer was missing. It had been sitting on the desk this morning, a little laptop he’d gotten last Christmas. Now it was gone.

  As quickly and quietly as he could, he navigated his furniture and got back to his door. He managed not to run until he got out into the apartment building hallway.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. He stared out the window of Marlowe’s car. The seats were soft leather, and for once he had enough leg room to stretch out, but he couldn’t get comfortable. “This was a bad plan. I’m not going to testify. It’s not worth it.”

  Dodi Marlowe said, “It’s fine. I’m taking you somewhere safe. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t want to leave home. I want my old life back. Before the case, before I’d ever heard of Grumman.”

  “I know. Lots of people wish they’d never heard of him. But you’re doing a good thing, Trent. Trust me. We’ll tuck you away until it’s time to go on the record. After that, he’ll have no incentive to touch you at all.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Marlowe laughed. “My little brother’s. He lives in the mountains. Little log cabin in the woods, way out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “You’re driving me to the woods? Is he a lawyer too?”

  “Jace? No…I don’t know what Jace is. None of us do. He used to be a bodyguard. Now he lives in the woods.”

  That was not a very comforting explanation, especially after being whisked out of his home. “You can’t put me up in a hotel or something?”

  Marlowe glanced at him. “If you’re in the city, I worry about Grumman finding you.”

  “If he’s so all-powerful, why can’t he find me at your brother’s house?”

  “Because Jace doesn’t deal with the outside world much. No cell phone. No computer. I can’t even call him to tell him we’re coming up. He’s cut off. Grumman is all about connections. He’ll know a guy who knows a guy who can hack into your computer and look at your email, see if you’ve said anything damaging that could hurt your testimony at trial. Or someone who can arrange a kidnapping. Or worse.”

  A tight fist wrapped around his heart, when he heard that. “You don’t think I’m in physical danger, do you?”

  “I just don’t know. We’re hitting him up for half a billion dollars. That’s a lot of money, and you’re the key witness. If you’re gone, poof goes the case.”

  There had been something on Trent’s mind though, ever since Marlowe first brought up potential trouble with Grumman. “Why doesn’t he bribe me to make me go away? Nobody’s offered me anything.”

  “You don’t get to be a billionaire industrialist in this city by paying more than you have to. Grumman has greased the palms of regulators, the zoning commission, the entire city council. You’re not that important. You’re an impediment.”

  Trent swallowed. This conversation just got more and more unpleasant. “Maybe I didn’t see anything. Maybe I don’t know anything.”

  “Too late for that,” said Marlowe. “His lawyers know you’ll be testifying at the deposition. They might not know exactly what you’re going to say, but they know it’s dangerous. The things you witnessed were pretty fatal to their case.”

  “Not a fan of the word fatal right now.”

  “The moral of the story is: Quit worrying. Look, we’re already out of town. We’ll be at my brother’s house in a couple of hours.”

  2

  “What? No,” said the guy filling up the doorway of the log cabin. “Forget it, Dodi. Go back home.”

  If Trent hadn’t known any better, this trip would’ve been like a horror movie. The rutted dirt road they’d followed through the woods had eventually run out, leaving them parked next to an old battered truck. Then he and Dodi had used the flashlights on their phones to pick their way across a clearing that felt far too exposed. Trent carefully avoided the treacherous roots and sharp rocks, but every cracking twig and crunching leaf seemed to give their position away to the monsters that lurked in the dark. In the distance, he heard a dog howl. Or maybe it was a coyote. Or a wolf? Did wolves live around here? Maybe they were endangered. He couldn’t remember. Nearly tripping over another root brought his mind sharply back to the job at hand, making it through this patch of ground safely.

  The cabin was terrifying. In the dim light of the moon, the roof seemed to be frosted with silver. He expected to see meathooks hanging from the eaves. The only thing that kept him from running back to the car was having Dodi with him. The problem was, even she seemed nervous.

  The windows went from pitch black to having splashes of orange flickering inside.

  When the cabin door opened, Trent nearly screamed.

  Jace Marlowe was enormous. He looked like an unhinged mountain man, with his bushy beard and unbuttoned flannel shirt. He held a lantern out in front of him; the light of the flames played off his chest. By habit, Trent checked out the flesh made visible by the open shirt, and was a little frightened by just how well-defined the guy was. What was he lifting out here, whole trees?

  “Come on,” said Dodi. “Just a few days, Jace.”

  They were sitting inside the cabin, with Jace’s firm refusal still ringing in their ears. Dodi and Jace were beside each other on a small cot, while Trent had taken a wooden stool near the cold iron stove.

  Inside, the cabin was not nearly as threatening as it had seemed. It was cramped, sure, but it was tidy and thoughtfully laid out. It reminded Trent of those tiny houses hipsters were always moving into when they wanted to live off the grid; lots of shelf space, big windows, and a total lack of chainsaws and bloody machetes.

  “I can’t believe you,” Jace was saying. “You can’t just show up here in the middle of the night and knock on my door. You could be anybody. You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

  For the first time, Trent noticed the shotgun on a rack near the door. He swallowed nervously.

  “Yes, fine, I’m very glad you didn’t kill your only sister,” said Dodi. “Good job. Can we work this out somehow?”

  Trent felt conflicted right now. His talk with Dodi left him desperate to find some safety. He was convinced Grumman and his men were after him. But did Jace Marlowe really represent safety? He looked like he might mount Trent’s head on the wall.

  “I know what you mean by working this out, and no,” said Jace.

  “I mean, if I have to call Harlan—”

  “You will not call Harlan.”

  “Who?” asked Trent.

  Dodi smiled. “Our older brother. Oh, you’ve seen him walk a
round my office, scowling. He and I are partners in the family law firm, the firm Jace always thought he was too good to join. Among his many virtues, Harlan owns the land this cabin sits on. He let Jace live here for a while to sort things out. Isn’t that the phrase you used, Jace? Sort things out?”

  “So what, are you going to kick me out if I don’t help you?”

  “I don’t want to threaten you,” said Dodi. “Seriously, I don’t. But do you realize how far I drove just to talk to you? You won’t answer messages, you never get in touch—”

  “Yeah, there’s a reason for that,” growled the big man.

  “Not interested. All I’m interested in right now is making sure my witness gets nice and far away from some very bad men.”

  “You know,” said Trent, “as much as I like my fate being discussed by people who don’t know me at all, I think I can speak for myself here.”

  “Nah, stay out of it,” said Dodi. She gave Trent a look that he could barely see by the light of the oil lanterns, an eye-rolling that suggested they were dealing with a crazy man.

  “I would, but you dragged me out of my house, and now I’m all tired and cranky, caught between being stuck in the middle of a forest with Davy Crockett here, and being hunted down by some hired goons. I think I’d like to talk about it, rather than listening to you two quibble.”

  Jace turned his head towards Trent. “Who are you? Why do I care that some goons are after you?”

  Who are you?

  A sudden memory. The men’s room at the Hecht Performing Arts Center, the night of the fundraiser for his school. Trent, panicking in one of the stalls, digging in his pockets, hoping he’d brought his tranquilizers. The fundraiser was a hit, and the show the children were putting on was well-received. But Trent felt like he was going to die.

  He couldn’t say when his panic attacks and his fear of crowds had come back. He’d had them back during college. When he’d first gotten the job at the library, and gotten on new medication, things seemed to calm down. He could talk to a roomful of eager kids about books, without hyperventilating or feeling like he was going to have a coronary.