Don't Marry the Ex: A Sweet Romance (The Debutante Rules Book 3)

by Emily Childs

  “I guess, you’ll do,” someone says.

  That’s not a real voice, though. It’s all dark and growly, like a bear. Is there a bear in here? I don’t really have time to worry about being mauled. When the stars in my skull worsen, my knees give out, and I sink into abysmal black.

  Chapter 22

  Sawyer

  A single line of code has beaten me. For the last three hours I sat at my desk reading and finagling the fine little details of each symbol with no success. But running has always helped clear the pathways, and at the four-mile mark, I have my solution.

  Of course, it’d be something simple.

  Yesterday, I finalized my shares with Lanford & Hewitt, well I guess it’ll just be Hewitt now. I hadn’t realized how stretched I was between HealthyRx and insurance, but when I dove into the tasks I’ve delegated to others who have even less time than me, it was like being introduced to my business all over again. Because of the pace I’ve kept my employees running all this time, I make grand plans to bring lunch for my staff once a week for a year to make up for the extra work they’ve done without me even realizing.

  I take the scenic route past Zac’s shop and a small creek that flows beside the road. It’ll add an extra mile to the run, but it’s too nice a night to care. I want to have all work finished tonight, so tomorrow I can quit at a proper time and spend the entire evening with a certain redhead.

  A phone call buzzes on my watch with a name that brings me to an abrupt stop. What is he calling me for? The petty side of me wants to ignore the call, but the part that loves Dot insists I be the better man.

  “Rob,” I answer briskly.

  “Are you with Dot?” His voice is sharp, dare I say, worried.

  My pulse quickens and it’s not from running. “No, why?”

  “I tried to call her, but she’s not taking my calls.”

  For obvious reasons. “I spoke with her a few hours ago. She was packing.”

  He lets out an agitated sigh. “Would you try calling her for my peace of mind?”

  “Whoa, peace of mind? What’s wrong?”

  “Didn’t they tell you either? I swear it, I’ll be having a conversation with Sheriff Briggs.”

  “Sheriff—Rob, what’s going on?”

  “Walter made bail a few days ago,” he says. “He was due back in court today, but never showed. They went to his place and his girlfriend admitted he’d been making all kinds of threats against you, us, everyone in that room. Mostly, you.”

  The cool air seeps into me, down to my bones. I swallow thickly. “I’m not at the office. I . . . I’ll call her.”

  “I’m coming to her place,” Rob says before I disconnect the call.

  I hurry and call Dot. The pause between silence and when the phone connects is heart-stopping. Made worse when not a single ring goes through, instead it goes straight to her voicemail. I try once more for good measure.

  No ringtone. No answer. Voicemail.

  My head is spinning. What did Dot say she was doing tonight? She was disappointed I had to work, but we flirted and made sexy promises about tomorrow night. She told me she had plans to start packing her house since she found a new one. She said . . . Olive! Olive was coming over to help. I fumble with my phone in my hands, scrolling for ten seconds before I realize I don’t have Olive’s number.

  I have Rafe’s though. Worse than no rings on Dot’s number, the five rings it takes to hit his automated voicemail are worse. I curse as I sprint, trying again. Nothing.

  Zac’s house.

  Somehow, I drag up a memory of it being right next door to his shop. I reel back around, picking up my pace, and frantically dialing my brother.

  “Ky,” I say, breathless. “Are you at the office?”

  “No, I’m out with Evie, if you don’t mind.”

  “We can’t find Dot and that guy is missing.”

  “Slow down. What guy?”

  “Th-the guy who was embezzling. H-he was saying all this crap about me, the clinic. I can’t find Dot.”

  “Where are you?” Kyler’s voice is deep and focused.

  “I’m going to Zac’s house. It’s closest and I need a ride to the office.”

  “Okay, I’ll get someone to the office to check on things.”

  “And the clinic!” I’m losing it, my voice is breaking. “Make sure someone goes and checks on the clinic.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thank you,” I gasp.

  I hang up, pulse hectic and stomp up Zac’s steps. There’s a light on in the house. I pound frantically on the door, praying someone is home. I nearly break my fingers cracking my knuckles. My body feels like it’s on fire. I pound on the door again, pacing.

  When I think I might burst out of my skin the door opens

  “Hey, man,” Zac says and opens his storm door. “What’s—”

  “Is Jo here? She okay?”

  “Sawyer?” Josephine peeks over Zac’s shoulder.

  “Dot wasn’t at the clinic was she?”

  “No,” she says. “I was the last to leave. What’s wrong?”

  My words sort of come out in a jumbled mess, but I give them the rapid footnote version. It’s enough that Zac grabs his truck keys, insists Josephine stays put, has Will on the phone to come sit with her, and insists his wife lock every window and door. No doubt Jo’s name was on the list of Walter’s targets.

  My phone pings with a text that Kyler called the cops and the clinic was dead. Not a soul around. I rub the bridge of my nose as a sharp ache blossoms across my skull.

  “Where do we go first?” Zac asks.

  “Uh, I was the one he wanted most. My brother wasn’t at my house—” My stomach lurches. “Maddie.”

  “It’s okay, she was with Will.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Uh, if he wanted Kyler and me, then my office and house would be the places to go. The office is closest. Why is her phone turned off?”

  I’m rambling, and my knee is shaking the truck it’s bouncing so fast. I stare out the window as Zac speeds toward town. My eyes squeeze closed as the knot in my stomach tightens until I think I might be sick.

  “Hey,” Zac says briskly. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Zac?” I only say his name, but he seems to gather everything I’m trying to spit out in the one, shaky word. If anything happens to Dot . . . I can’t even finish the thought, it’s too horrible to imagine.

  “I know,” Zac says softly. “We’ll find her.”

  Chapter 23

  Dot

  Once when I was fourteen, my folks sent me and Olive to a week-long camp in the mountains. We’d begged and begged to be set free, when really, we both promised each other we’d get our first kisses during the week.

  I remember one of the courses was on survival. Things like fending off animals, treating bad bug bites, broken ankles. But the female camp counselor had been a martial arts guru and she tried to add a bit of hand-to-hand combat training in the classes. I wish I hadn’t been so goo-goo eyed for the boy with braces and a fauxhawk back then and actually paid attention to fighting crazy men who consider a leather-bound dictionary a weapon.

  The ice pack pressed to my head does little to dull the sharp ache throbbing in my skull. On a chair, tucked back in Sawyer’s office, I point my glare at Walter as he scurries about the room, peeking out the windows, nervously pacing back and forth.

  Think Dot. How am I going to get out of this? Walter has us locked in Sawyer’s office. The harsh scent of spoiling pasta is starting to make me nauseous, or maybe I have a concussion.

  The building is empty.

  My phone is no longer mine.

  Walter is on the brink of a breakdown.

  I could run. Doubtless, he’d catch me, and the hairsbreadth of sanity he’s holding onto could disappear in a blink. I could try to fight. But again with the lack of attention back at summer camp. Besides, my head feels like it’s stuffed with sand and a splitting ache is burning down the center of m
y skull.

  What else do you know, Dot? Think. Walter is lanky, he’s not exactly a guy you’d peg as threatening if you passed on the street. As far as I know, he’s unarmed but for the stupid dictionary he stole off Helen’s desk out in the lobby. From what I can tell, this is a highly under-planned attack, so I’m left to believe he might’ve acted out of instinct or fear.

  Fighting might spook him like a feral cat and get him lashing out as a way of protecting himself.

  Calm. I need to be calm. For the time being, at least. Make no mistake, if he tries to pummel me again with that book, I’ll go down swinging and he’ll be leaving this spur-of-the-moment hostage situation with a bit of damage.

  At least Walter hesitated in his swing enough that my skull seems intact and my brain is only a little foggy.

  That all could change unless I can keep him cucumber cool.

  He’s too close to the door for me to make a run for it, and the windows don’t open unless I want to break one and jump two stories into the parking lot. So far, Walter has been more nervous than violent, and I have to believe he can still see reason.

  I run through my immediate challenges. My phone is gone. No one knows where I am except Olive, but she’ll have no reason to assume anything out of the ordinary has happened to me. Sawyer returning is the only real chance someone might discover something has happened. But if Walter came here, then he’d intended to strike at Sawyer. The very idea sends my stomach swirling with hot sick. If Sawyer came back unaware, what would happen?

  And another thing—what sort of attacker gives his victim an ice pack?

  A guy who is way over his head and has no idea what he’s doing. I can work with that.

  “Walt,” I say.

  He jolts around. Dark eyes frantic, hair sweaty and matted to his head. The man is maybe a decade older than me and has always been a bit of a loner. An assailant? I’d never place Walter Burg in the violent offender category. Then again, I didn’t dub him for a thief, either.

  I lower the ice pack and force a grin. “Walt, sit. Let’s talk about this.”

  “No,” he bites out through his teeth. “No, you and your stupid boyfriend ruined my life.”

  “Walter, I want to help you,” I insist, intent on keeping the focus off Sawyer. “This isn’t the kind of man you are, and you know it.”

  His chin quivers and he glances out the window again. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. I-I-I just got caught up in it all.”

  “I know. We all make mistakes, right? But don’t make this worse.”

  “Shut up,” he says and jabs one of Sawyer’s many pens from the desk at me. “Just . . . don’t.”

  I sigh dramatically and cross my arms. I’m terrified, but unwilling to show Walter the truth. No doubt he’d use fear against me to gain even more control, to lash out and turn into a monster. Who really knows? I’d rather be me, the woman he used to conference call with, the woman he always said had too much sass for her own good.

  “Walter, sit down before you quiver out of your skin. Eat something. Might as well before all that goes to waste.”

  He turns from the window, annoyed, but it’s as if for the first time he notices the food laid out over Sawyer’s desk.

  “Do you know how to keep quiet?” he snaps.

  “Fine,” I say and stand, a little unsteadily. “If you’re not going to eat, mind if I do?” He watches me curiously as I reach for my penne. I sit back in my seat and pretend to gorge on my dinner. “So what’s the plan, Walt? Brainstorm with me, like we used to. What’s the out in this situation.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hard no.” I take a big bite of cold pasta. “What was your goal by coming to Sawyer? Personally, I think if he finds out you smacked his girl in the head, he’s not going to be happy, Walt.”

  “I . . . you surprised me. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

  “No, but you planned to threaten Sawyer, right?”

  Walt stares at the weaponized dictionary hesitantly. If I had to guess, I think the man spiraled, lost his impulse control, and now is teetering on the ledge of going too far. I’m praying I can reel him back.

  “They were looking at two years,” he tells me. “Two years of my life behind bars. You know your daddy would push for the max, too. I just wanted Mr. Lanford to speak against the charges. He has connections, too, and he must see this stuff on a bigger scale than what I was doing. I wanted him to say I’m not some white-collar criminal. It was one mistake, Miss Dot!”

  I don’t point out that one mistake can have dire consequences. Now doesn’t seem the time.

  “Then why the cat burglar-ish attitude? Why go hitting people at all? You think Sawyer is the sort of guy who’d take kindly to being threatened?”

  His face twists as if he’s considering each word. “Likely not.” A creepy, impish grin spreads over his mouth. “Good thing I got his girl, huh. I’d take a shot in the dark that you’re leverage enough to get Mr. Lanford to speak for me.”

  He can’t be this stupid. “Do you really think Sawyer will sing your praises after knowing you kept me locked under duress?”

  Walt scratches the back of his head, blinking rapidly. “Just . . . shut up.”

  He turns to the window again. I fold my arms over my chest. “You give me little credit. I’m the one who runs the clinic. Josephine, all of us who worked with you during the day to day had grand plans to speak for your character, to tell old Judge McKinnon this is a first offense.” I did write a letter for McKinnon. I spoke of the damage done to the clinic, but my earnest belief Walter wasn’t a vicious criminal. Now, I’m not so sure I’m the best judge of character.

  I take another bite of penne as he studies the other plate of food, hopefully reevaluating his life choices.

  “Mr. Lanford’s report ruined my good name,” he mutters, pointing at Sawyer’s desk.

  No, you ruined your good name, I think. Unwise to taunt the captor, though. “Sawyer was doing the job we hired him to do. He’s a good man. Like you are. Let me go, Walter, or this is going to be much worse for you.”

  The gleam of headlights flashes up into the windows. My heart stills in my chest. Walter doesn’t seem to notice. Gold light comes, then another set. Oh Mylanta are those flashing lights? The police are here. Someone figured out shenanigans were going down in here.

  Focus. Focus. Focus. If Walter realizes we aren’t alone—well, I don’t want to think about the way this’ll turn.

  “Walt,” I say, voice rough. “What do you want to do with me?”

  “I want someone to . . . to fix this. To answer for all of it.”

  “Okay, sit. Let’s think of something.”

  There is the chirp of a siren outside and Walter whips around to the window. My body heats as adrenaline floods my system like a hurricane. My ruse to keep him distracted is over. Dropping the pasta to the floor, I bolt for the door before he loses his ever-loving mind and starts swinging that thing.

  A strong, bulky arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back. I scream and kick, but Walter claps his hand over my mouth. My legs go fluid and I slump against him, tears in my eyes.

  His breaths shudder as he holds my back to his chest. “Shh, shh. Won’t do to have you screaming, now will it. I’m sorry, Miss Dot, but it looks like our talk is over.”

  Chapter 24

  Sawyer

  I’m going to throw up. Dot’s car is at the office building. Even Zac curses when we pull in behind two squad cars and Kyler. By now the word has spread through Rafe, Olive, Jace—phones are going crazy, but Zac and I haven’t answered a single call.

  The second his truck is in park, I jump out and rush at the lead cruiser. “That’s Dot’s car,” I shout. “She’s here.”

  An officer holds out his hand, stopping me. “You need to stay back.”

  “My . . .” I can’t even think of the word in the fury spinning in my head. “My girl is in there and you expect me to stay here doing nothing?”

  “Stay back.”
The officer jabs his finger at me in a warning.

  A hand claps on my shoulder and pulls me away. Kyler drags me back behind the line of police as two more squad cars pull into the parking lot.

  “Ky, they’re just standing there!” I grip the ends of my hair. “Dot’s in there and they’re standing around.”

  “Sawyer,” Kyler says and hooks his arm around the back of my neck, so my forehead is pressed to his. “Stay out of their way and let them figure out the safest way to get inside. For Dot, stay out of their way.”

  From a sheriff’s truck, Sheriff Briggs, a broad, intimidating man who always looks as if he’s about to curse at you glides out of the front seat. He takes a brief moment to take in the scene before he turns to the officer who told me to stand back and grumbles, “Where are the owners?”

  With a touch of reluctance, the officer swings around and gestures at Kyler and me.

  I’m already halfway to the sheriff.

  “You the owner of the business, uh . . . what’s it called—”

  “Lanford & Hewitt,” I help him, “HealthyRx? Doesn’t matter, the point is I’m Sawyer Lanford, this is my brother Kyler, and we were the ones who found Walter Burg’s embezzlement scheme, and have reason to believe he came here looking for retaliation.”

  The sheriff puckers his lips and nods, drinking me in like he doesn’t trust me at all. After an eternity, he clicks his tongue and wags us to his side with one finger. “Any reason why Mr. Burg would come to you instead of the clinic where he worked?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe because he’d gotten away with it until we were brought in. He must blame us.”

  “Mmhmm,” mumbles the sheriff. “Okay, son. I’m going to need you to tell me everything about the offices. Layout, windows, rooms, weapons. Everything.”

  The way my head is racing, I’m not sure how much of what I say is even intelligible. Kyler helps give intimate details on the floorplan. I blurt out the kitchenette room, there’s a cutting board, and a knife set, and after that I feel even sicker imagining Dot trapped in there with weapons. Kyler picks up the slack. I explain our systems, but when the Sheriff implies Walter might be trying to hack us, steal from us, I insist it’s too protected and only a professional in IT could come near our firewalls. He’s here for revenge and Dot is caught in the middle of it.