by Skylar Hill
“I came out here because I wanted to tell you something,” he said. “I love Cam a lot. And… well, I’m gonna ask her to marry me.” He hesitated, thinking about the ring box that he’d tucked in his glove compartment earlier. He hoped she liked it. The sapphire reminded him of her eyes.
He sighed. “I’m scared, Dad,” he said. “Not of the proposal. I’m scared about what might happen if her bastard father gets out of prison. The amount of pain he’s caused…” His fists clenched on top of his father’s grave. “I don’t know what to do with this anger inside me,” he said. “I’m worried that if this man gets out… I might have to do something about it.” And then, finally, he said the thing he needed to admit out loud, here, and to himself: “If he gets out, I know I’ll do something about it.”
He sat down on the grass beside his father’s grave, breathing deep and slow as the clouds drifted above his head and the sound of acorns plunking on the ground occasionally broke the silence.
He would be the man Jacob McGowan raised him to be.
And that meant protecting Cam and Evie at any cost.
Chapter Eleven
Cam
“When is James getting back?” Tasha asked as she struggled to lift the crate set in the far corner of one of the private tattooing rooms.
“Let me help you,” Lydia said, hurrying over and lifting the other end. Together, the two of them carried it over to the counter.
“He should be back tonight,” Cam called out from her place on the floor where she was screwing in the base of one of the swivel reclining chairs they were installing in each room. She screwed in the last bolt, straightening up with a wince. Her back was killing her from all the scut work.
“After the studio opens, I am booking us all a spa day,” she declared, bending her neck back and forth, a loud pop filling the room.
“Ack!” Lydia covered her ears. “I hate that sound.”
“Sorry,” Cam said, laughing. “Okay, so that was the last chair in the last room.” She bent down and picked her To Do list off the table. “We’ve just got six things left.”
“You’re so organized,” Tasha complained with a sigh. “I don’t even know where I’d find a notebook to write a To Do list at my place.”
“Have you still not unpacked?” Lydia asked with a frown.
“I’m being so slow,” Tasha admitted. “It’s not that I’m not glad to be here,” she assured the two of them, sitting down on one of the leather rolling stools in the room. “I just think I underestimated how weird it would be to see my stuff in another house. Especially because a lot of it was our stuff. It’s so connected with our house, with that life I don’t have anymore… I guess when I was still living in L.A. in the house I shared with Marcus, it made it easier to hang on. And now everything’s in boxes and my new place is great, but it’s just so different. Every time I unpack something it feels like it’s in the wrong place. I don’t know; maybe I need all new stuff or something.”
Cam’s heart broke for Tasha, who had been widowed so young. Losing her husband had clearly changed her on a very deep level—even years later, she didn’t date, and she still wore her wedding ring, though she wore it around her neck now, joined with his.
“Grief is such a weird thing,” Tasha said, shaking her head. “Just when you think you’re steady, it knocks you on your ass again.”
“I hear you on that,” Cam said.
Tasha shot her a sympathetic look, her eyebrow stud—a flirty diamond star—glinting. “I know this whole probation hearing mess must be bringing up some really hard memories for you.”
“My therapist will be buying a second home because of me,” Cam joked weakly. She loved that she had friends she could let her hair down with… and who wouldn’t judge her when her face crumpled a little after the jest—they’d just pretend not to notice.
“I think you’re doing an amazing job handling this,” Lydia declared, leaning against the counter. She’d borrowed one of Cam’s work shirts, the Wonder Woman tee that was a little too short and had paint smeared on the back.
“I agree,” Tasha said. “You are the epitome of grace, strength and class, Cam. I’ve been so impressed with how well you’re dealing.”
“I don’t feel like I’m dealing well,” Cam confessed. “I feel like a mess most of the time.”
“You aren’t,” Lydia insisted soothingly, going over to her friend and squeezing her shoulder. “You’re incredible. And you’ll get through this unscathed, I promise.”
“I hate that women have to deal with this sort of thing,” Tasha sighed. “It’s been on my mind lately. What I can do to help?”
“Donating to shelters is definitely number one,” Lydia said. “I’ve done a lot of benefits for shelters as part of my pro-bono services. They’re always needing cash donations. And also other stuff.”
“Like toys for the kids,” Cam added. “Books. Clothes for the women for job interviews. And feminine products. Did you know that shelters—domestic and homeless shelters—hardly ever get donations of pads and tampons?”
“Oh my God, I didn’t even think about that,” Lydia said, her eyes widening in realization. “I donate a few times a year, but it didn’t even cross my mind to add in a few boxes of tampons. I feel so stupid! Of course they need them. Can you imagine having to deal with your period while you’re homeless or hiding out from your abusive husband and not having enough tampons?” She shook her head. “That’s awful.”
“Life in the shelters is hard,” Tasha said. “Before I landed in foster care, we were in one for awhile. You’re always on alert. Nothing belongs to you. It sucks.”
Lydia made a sympathetic noise. “Maybe Exile Ink could do a silent auction fundraiser,” she said. “I’m doing the New Hope Domestic Violence Shelter’s fundraiser this year, and the silent auction is where all the rich people get all competitive, trying to outbid each other. I bet if we offered sessions with each artist, we could make a lot for the shelter.”
“That’s a great idea,” Cam said.
“Definitely sign me up,” Tasha agreed. “I love it!. Let’s exploit the bourgies’ competitiveness!”
Cam laughed, so grateful she had these women in her life, and so glad they understood the importance of giving back. A chiming sound filled the room, the motion detector alarm on the front door sounding.
“That must be Grant with the food,” Cam said, getting up. “I’ll be right back!”
She peeked her head into the main room before heading to the lobby, to make sure that Nandy, who was fast asleep on the makeshift bed she’d made for him, was okay. He was snoring away, so she continued into the entryway, expecting to see Grant.
But the man, standing there and looking at the chalkboard frame they’d created, wasn’t Grant. He was half-turned away from Cam, so she couldn’t see his face.
“I’m sorry, we’re not open yet,” she said. “But if you come back—“
He turned, and she halted, cold shock going through her.
She recognized him. Pete Jenkins. An old friend of Keith’s.
Pete was almost a decade older now, but she remembered his snub nose and the deep ridge of his brow that made him look severe and angry all the time. His button-down shirt was stretched tight over a paunch, and she couldn’t help but notice the way the left side of his brown coat bulged, like he was concealed-carrying.
Her mind clicked through the possibilities in mere seconds. Her training with Russ had taught her to assess fast and react smart. It was the best way to survive.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice as strong as possible. If she shouted, Tasha and Lydia might hear and come running, but she didn’t want to put them in danger, in case that bulge at his waist really was a gun.
“I came to deliver some friendly advice,” he said, stepping toward her.
She stepped back, hating herself for the retreat, especially because it made him smile, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to run.
&nb
sp; She needed to stand strong.
“Don’t go to the hearing,” Pete continued. “You or your sister.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He looked around the entryway. “It seems like you’ve got a good thing going here. You wouldn’t want something to… happen to all of it.”
“Are you threatening me?” Cam demanded, instinctively shifting, planting her feet into a fighting stance just in case he came at her.
“Because it sure sounds like you’re threatening her,” said a voice behind her.
Tasha emerged from the shadows, a pipe clutched in her hand. Lydia was right behind her, Nandy’s leash in her hand. Nandy’s low growl filled the air as the two women flanked Cam.
“I think you should leave,” Tasha said, her eyes narrowing as she slapped the pipe meaningfully into her palm. “You wouldn’t want something to happen to your kneecaps. They get broken so easily when I’m around.”
Pete took the three of them in, his cruel smile fading. “If I was a few years younger, I might try you ladies on,” he spat.
Cam shuddered, and Nandy lunged on his leash, barking furiously.
Pete stumbled back, startled, turning to go.
“Wait,” the words were out of Cam’s mouth before she could stop them. She stepped forward, drawing herself up to her full height. This was her home. This was her sanctuary. Her family. Her life.
She wouldn’t let it be taken from her.
“You tell Keith I’m coming to the hearing. And nothing will stop me. He’s not getting out. Not if I have anything to do with it. You tell him I’m not afraid of him anymore.”
Pete sneered, but with a glance at Nandy, hurried out of the building.
“Oh my God, Cam,” Tasha dropped the pipe and for the first time, Cam realized she was shaking. “That was so scary. Are you okay?”
Cam nodded, even though she felt more shaky than ever. But Nandy came to the rescue yet again, this time nudging her hand with his nose, clearly needing reassurance that she was okay.
She bent down, rubbing his ears. “Such a good boy,” she said. “Such a good guard dog.” He blinked adoringly up at her, his little eyebrows wiggling in happiness. For a second, she focused only on him, grateful for his presence, trying to calm herself down.
“Thanks for being my backup,” she said, looking up at her two friends.
“Anytime,” Lydia said. “Also, I got a picture of him.” She held out her phone. “Can we report this to the parole board?”
“I’ll call our lawyer, but I think it’s too late for it to make a huge difference,” Cam said. “And it’s not like we can prove he was acting under Keith’s directions. And he can just deny that he said it. It becomes he said/she said.”
“But if Keith’s trying to keep you from going to the hearing…do you think he’ll try again?” Tasha asked worriedly.
“He doesn’t have much time,” Cam said, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s in two days.”
Her heart knocking violently against her ribs, she stared at the doorway where Pete had disappeared into the city streets,
This was just a taste of what would come if Keith got out. If he couldn’t cross state lines, he would either find a way or send someone else to hurt them.
She had to get the parole board to see her and Evie’s side.
Or else.
Chapter Twelve
James
When James got home, he found Grant sitting in his living room.
“What happened?” he asked, immediately feeling a horrible sense of dread. Where was Cam? He started to head toward the bedroom.
“Wait, wait, I think she might finally be asleep,” his friend said.
“What happened?” James gritted out again.
“Some guy showed up at the studio. A friend of her father’s, she said. He told her not to go to the probation hearing.”
“Who?” James demanded, anger coursing through him. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. He didn’t touch her. His name is Peter Jenkins. I’ve sent the picture Tasha snapped to your lawyer and he’s forwarded it to the cops,” Grant said. “Come sit down for a second.”
“Cam—“ James started to say, looking over his shoulder, toward the bedroom.
“Jimmy-boy, it’s better you get your anger out talking it through with me, before you go in there. She’s had a tough day.”
James sighed. He was right. He followed Grant into the living room, where only one of the lamps was on. The dimness of the room fit his mood, he thought as he sat down in one of his grandfather’s leather chairs and Grant took the one across from him.
“I brought her home and the ladies stayed with her for awhile,” Grant continued. “She tried to get me to leave with them, but I insisted on staying here until you came home. Just in case.”
“I appreciate that,” James said. “Okay. So this guy, he threatened her,” James said. It wasn’t a question.
“I went to get food for everyone,” Grant said, looking furious with himself. “I was a fucking idiot. I should’ve had it delivered. I was thinking it was better for me to go, so Cam wasn’t on the street. I didn’t think some thread would waltz into the studio. But he didn’t get very close. Apparently Tasha threatened him with a pipe, and Lydia had that beast of yours and Nandy went all guard dog when he picked up on the mood.”
Apparently Nandy deserved a steak, James thought, so relieved that Cam had him and the women there with her. “Don’t worry about not being there,” he said. “I would’ve probably done the same thing—gone to get food so she wouldn’t have to. God!” He jerked his hand through his hair, frustration and anger mounting inside him. “If he gets out, I’m worried I’m gonna slip up, make a stupid decision about security, and it’s gonna get her hurt.”
“That’s what your security expert is for,” Grant said, trying to be reassuring. “Listen, I’m going to get out of here, let you decompress. If she isn’t asleep, tell her we all have her back, okay? Hers and yours.” Grant’s expression was solemn, his eyes earnest. “We’ll just make sure she’s never alone until this is resolved. It’ll work.”
“Yeah,” James said. “You’re right.”
Grant smiled, getting up and grabbing his jacket. “I’ll let myself out. See you tomorrow at the studio.”
For a long time after Grant left, James just sat there, his thoughts churning as he tried to gain some sort of control.
Had his visit to Keith done this? Had Keith sicced his version of an attack dog on Cam because he’d thrown his weight around?
You had to, he told himself firmly. He truly believed that. Keith needed to know that Cam and Evie had powerful people willing to do anything to protect them. That’s why he’d spent the last 48 hours driving up and down California, meeting with every person who had planned to vouch for Keith at the probation hearing.
James had played dirty: he hadn’t gone to the men on the list. Not at first.
No, he’d gone to their wives instead.
As he explained the situation to each of the women, what kind of man their husbands planned to vouch for, along with the loss and abuse that Cam and Evie had suffered, he didn’t have to do much else.
It was as his mother had always taught him: Women protect other women. Always.
One by one, the men who were supposed to show up for Keith suddenly got very flaky. Maybe they’d have car trouble on the way to the hearing. A family emergency. An illness. But after James talked to their wives, it was over.
It was a carefully designed blow, meant to hit Keith where it would hurt him most. Each side would have written statements, of course, but only their side would have people there, showing up, determined to prevent his release.
It gave them the best chance; he’d made sure of it.
But now… in doing so, had he risked Cam?
Or had this been Keith’s plan all along, to threaten Cam and Evie into not showing up? It was likely, he was a canny man. He must have been to stay on top in
prison.
James sighed, getting up, a restless energy filling him as he made his way through the house to the master bedroom. The door didn’t open at first—he had to push on it, because Nandy was clearly sleeping against it. His fondness for doorways was pathological. James was forever stepping over him. Not that he really minded—especially now, when security was crucial.
He heard the click of Nandy’s nails as the door opened. When James walked into the room, he saw that the dog had already moved to the foot of the bed, wagging his tail.
“Good boy, buddy,” he whispered, peering through the dark. “I’ll take over from here. Go to bed.” When he opened the door, Nandy obediently trotted out of the room and disappeared down the hall to his special memory foam bed.
On the bedside table, Cam had one of those punched-tin lamps, the kind that cast little dots of light across the room. It was the only light in the room, and when James closed the door behind him, she stirred, opened her eyes, and sat up.
“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly.
“No, I was up. Just resting my eyes. Did Grant leave?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, kicking off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head. “I heard you had quite the day.”
She sighed. “I’m fine. I just didn’t expect something like that.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” James said.
“Oh, babe, you can’t be next to me every minute of the day,” she said, holding her hands out, beckoning him. “I’m fine, really,” she repeated. “Tasha and Lydia and Nandy had my back. And he didn’t touch me. It was just scary… that he’s bold enough to make threats already when he hasn’t even been freed yet.”
