She flicked her gaze back to Garret. “I have some meetings I can schedule with my agent and she and the publisher have been trying to get me into town to celebrate the award. I haven’t had a chance to make it because of obligations in Windsor and then my trip to Europe, but I do need to let them do their thing and market me.”
And as she said it, she realized how much she actually liked the idea. She had never loved the publicity side of writing, but understood it was a part of her job. Having Garret to go to dinners with her, and maybe even to a party or two, would make it easier. Or at least more interesting. And it would give him time to sort out his new job in the city. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around him taking what was essentially a desk job, but only time would tell if it would have staying power or not.
And aside from all the business they could accomplish, being in New York had the added benefit of allowing her some time alone with Garret in her small apartment on the Upper West Side. Staying a week or two in her apartment would have more of a temporary feel to it, rather than having him come home to Windsor with her—kind of like a living-together trial.
“I have a place,” she continued. “We can stay there. You can do your thing and I can do mine and we can see how things go.” Judging by the way Garret looked at her, he knew she meant more than just how things went with their work.
And judging by the pig-like grunting noise her brother was making, he knew it too.
“Seriously, Caleb,” Kit turned on him.
He blinked at her tone then his eyes narrowed. “Seriously, what?” he said.
She sighed. “I get that you don’t like the idea of your younger sister being in a sexual relationship with someone, but this is getting a little old.”
He made another grunting noise that she supposed indicated his disagreement.
“How long have you worked with Garret?” she asked.
After moment’s hesitation, he answered, “Nearly seven years.”
“And is he good at what he does?” she pressed.
He snorted, “I wouldn’t work with him otherwise.”
“Which also means you must trust him.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed to slits as he recognized the trap he’d just stepped into.
“Well?” she pressed, wanting to make her point. “Do you trust him?”
“Yes,” Caleb ground out.
“And has he ever, to your knowledge, treated any woman he was with poorly?”
“No,” her brother managed to say, though the fact that the word made it through his clenched jaw was somewhat amazing.
“Does he sleep around? Does he lie to or cheat on women? Does he drink too much? Does he waste his money?”
Caleb didn’t bother answering, but he did manage a single shake of his head.
“Then I think it’s about time you just got over it. I mean really, what kind of man do you want to see me with if you don’t want me with someone you know—probably better than you know me—someone you trust, and someone you know treats women well?”
She let the question hang, not expecting an answer. At this point, she knew her brother well enough to know she just needed to walk away and let what she’d said sink in. Taking the last sip of her tea, she rose from her seat and placed the mug in the sink.
“I’ll go pack. I’ll be ready to leave in twenty minutes. I need to go home to Windsor for a day or so to get some clothes, but I can head to New York after that.”
“We can head to New York,” Garret corrected. She gave a small nod and made her way up the stairs, leaving the two men behind.
CHAPTER 12
GARRET STOOD on the sidewalk, leaning against the wall beside the door to Kit’s apartment building, and waited in the evening shadows. The past two weeks had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Mostly good, but it still took some getting used to. He’d never had a desk job, and though this desk job was about as minimally “desky” as a job could get, it took a different kind of focus than his usual gigs. Over the last several days, he’d familiarized himself with the UN building, met the heads of security for most of the ambassadors to the organization, and had begun to get to know the city, including traffic patterns and all the ways into and out of the borough of Manhattan. It was a jungle of a different sort.
He shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his leather winter jacket as the line of rush hour traffic moved slowly up the street. Even on Kit’s residential Upper West Side road, the cars were moving at less than ten miles an hour. Of course, the recent ice storm hadn’t helped. For the most part, the streets were clear, but drivers still seemed more cautious than usual. Which wasn’t a bad thing.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. He smiled at the message Kit had sent, letting him know she was right around the corner. He pulled off his glove and keyed in a quick response to tell her he was waiting.
They had plans to walk across the street for dinner before retiring for the evening—far and away his favorite part of the day. And he could have waited in the apartment, the cozy little two-bedroom place she owned five stories above where he stood, or at the restaurant. But waiting outside was just as easy as waiting inside, and at least this way, if she’d put on heels when she’d left that morning, he’d be able to make sure she didn’t slide all over the place while crossing the street.
He ignored the cold air seeping in between his jacket and his scarf as his mind flitted back over the past two weeks. Things with Kit were going well. Better than he’d even expected. They’d gone to a few receptions held in her honor, a couple of dinners, and even to a play with a friend of hers. But his favorite nights were the ones when they stayed in, or maybe grabbed a bite to eat out but then came home and just spent time being together. Sometimes they’d play cards, sometimes he’d work or she would, but the familiarity of it felt good. It might not be the most exciting life, but he’d had enough of that—enough dodging bullets and chasing bad guys—that quiet nights at home suited him just fine. Which also told him just how ready he’d been for a change. He hadn’t realized how ready until he’d actually quit. His fast adjustment to staying put, staying in, and doing all the things normal people do, said more than any shrink could ever say on the topic.
But what really brought it all home for him was the fact that he now liked it when he woke up in the middle of the night to find Kit gone. The first time it had happened, he had gone into full alert, upright with his gun in his hand before he knew it. Then he’d heard the typing of the keys on her computer in the extra bedroom she used as an office. It had taken a moment for his adrenaline to drop, but by the time he’d climbed out of bed and padded silently to the office doorway, a smile had played upon his lips. Hovering in the shadows, he had watched her reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. Head down, an intent expression on her face, and a pencil held between her teeth, Kit had plied her trade.
There’d been more than a few nights now that he’d found her that way. And always after watching her, after reveling in the intimacy he felt as she poured her soul into whatever she was working on, he left her alone to do her work. And in the morning, when she was back in bed, he slipped out quietly, leaving her a pot of fresh coffee to wake up to when he left for work.
He didn’t know why watching her work, or knowing that she was doing it so close to where he slept, had such an effect on him, but it did. For some reason, whether right or wrong, he took it as a sign of trust. She trusted him to let her do her thing, to let her focus shift completely to another world, another world he wasn’t a part of. And he had no intention of violating that trust. Especially because he knew that when she felt it was time to leave her fictional world, she would come back to him.
He smiled at the thought of Kit living in so many worlds—her city world, her Windsor world, her fictional world, their world, and the world that was solely and completely hers. The small, silent laugh he let out created a cloud of fog in front of him; as it dissipated, he saw a taxi making its wa
y to the curb.
Straightening away from the wall, he stomped his nearly frozen feet and visually plotted a course toward where he suspected the taxi would stop. Satisfied that the ice wasn’t going to do him or Kit in, he watched the taxi as it rolled the last twenty feet toward him. From where he stood he could see Kit’s silhouette in the back seat and could tell from the movement of her head that she was digging in her purse for her credit card.
Out of habit, he glanced around, taking in the crowded post-work streets. Seeing so many people all the time, for more than a few days at a stretch, was something he was still getting used to. Figures moved in the shadowed darkness. The fog and steam created by humanity glowed in the dull light cast by the streetlamps. At this time of the evening, more often than not, it was difficult to make out a person’s features until they were less than ten feet away. But still, he could tell by the way they walked and what they carried that most were professionals of some sort returning home after a long day.
He frowned as a man caught his attention. He looked like many of the other office workers making their way west of Central Park. Only he wasn’t carrying a bag of any sort. His head was covered by a black knit hat and he wore a long, wool jacket over a pair of khaki pants. His boots were sure on the ice, his hands were shoved in his pockets, and his eyes were focused down as his shoulders hunched against the freezing temperatures.
If he had been carrying a bag or briefcase of any kind, Garret would have overlooked this particular man. But as he was not, Garret’s curiosity was piqued as the man paced up the street, about twenty feet behind Kit’s taxi, which had just come to a stop at the curb in front of Garret.
Hearing the door to the car open, Garret’s attention swung back to Kit, who was listening to something the taxi driver was saying and laughing as she gathered her purse and made to exit the cab. When he took a step toward the car, her gaze came up and met his. Her brilliant smile turned into another laugh when Garret was abruptly pushed back against their building as a sea of people moved between them on the sidewalk. Waiting impatiently for the group to pass, he watched as the taxi pulled back into traffic, leaving Kit alone at the curb.
Glancing left to see when the crowd would ease and he’d be able to cross and greet her, his eyes caught again on the man in the knit hat. He was less than five feet from Kit, and when he looked up and exposed his profile, Garret felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Without apology, he made to move across the wide sidewalk, no longer willing to be patient and wait for an opening. Ignoring the muttered curses of the people he bumped into, Garret looked up to catch a glimpse of Kit’s head suddenly dipping below his line of sight as if she’d fallen.
His heart rate kicked up, but once he was about five strides away from her, her head came back into view. The crowds thinned the closer he got, and he kept his eyes on Kit and the man in the knit cap who seemed to be holding her arms.
Garret’s heart leapt into his throat. But then Kit laughed. His eyes focused on her and then it became obvious that, judging by everything he could see, the man was simply apologizing for having bumped into Kit, steadying her as any decent person would before continuing on. It was just an accident; completely understandable, given the slippery sidewalks.
But something was making his skin prickle in a way he couldn’t ignore.
“Are you alright?” he asked, reaching Kit’s side.
“Of course,” she said, smiling and leaning in for a kiss.
He obliged, but his eyes and mind where still tracking the man in the hat, who was now walking away.
“Garret? Is something wrong?”
He heard her voice, he heard the question and the concern. But his mind was taking stock and memorizing everything he could about the form quickly disappearing down the road.
Even as he was cataloging the details—height, race, gender, movement characteristics—another part of his brain was already telling him to let it go, that he was overreacting. And despite his instincts and all his training, he was two seconds away from listening to that part of his brain. Then the man turned around. Garret’s eyes looked directly into those of a man he had both hoped to meet again and hoped to never again see walking the face of the earth.
Garret’s blood turned to ice and he gave a moment’s thought to running after the man. He even lifted a foot in that direction. But the grip of Kit’s hand on his sleeve stopped him.
“Garret?”
Her voice already sounded weaker than it had even seconds ago. Torn between running down the road to catch the man who had “bumped” into Kit and turning back to her, he could barely choke back a growl of frustration.
And then Kit’s hand tightened again and his eyes shot to hers. She was frowning and swaying a bit.
“I actually—actually, I don’t feel so well,” she said, sounding more confused than concerned. Her gold eyes met his with such a look of trust—as if she believed he could make everything better—that he realized there was no decision to make.
“I’m sure you don’t feel so great, honey. But I know how to make it better,” he said as he swept her into his arms, even as he was dialing Caleb’s number. Because no matter how much he loved her or how much he knew exactly what was happening to her, he knew that what was coming next was nothing he could handle on his own.
CHAPTER 13
KIT WOKE with the mother of all headaches. And backaches. And aches everywhere. But even though she recognized that she was awake, her mind and body seemed to float in and out of consciousness as if not quite sure. The thought of opening her eyes drifted through her mind, hovering on the edges, but even the mere idea of it caused a bout of dizziness that rivaled even the worst case of the spins. And as the sounds around her shifted from muted hums to distinct noises—the honking of horns, the hushed voices talking somewhere nearby—the feeling of being disassociated from herself intensified, sending fresh waves of nausea that washed over her as if her corporeal self and her mental self were locked in a battle that left her reeling.
Instinct kicked in and she took a deep breath, fending off the worst of the nausea. The air seemed to do her some good; seemed to clear a bit of the fog away, and as it cleared, she mentally searched for something to which she could tether her mind and spinning thoughts.
The voices.
Recognizing the hushed sounds, if not the words, gave her something to focus on other than her aching body. And slowly, ever so slowly, she came to full wakefulness.
Forcing her eyes open, Kit was surprised to find herself in her own room, in her own bed. Not quite willing to get up yet, she managed to cock her head, frowning as she tried to discern the speakers of the voices coming from what she now knew was her dining room.
She heard the timbre of Garret’s voice and then an answering one, one she had a vague recollection of, but couldn’t quite place. Then a third voice, again, too indistinct for her to recognize.
More confused than ever, she started to sit up and was hit with a brick wall to the head. Or at least that was how it felt. Her entire body screamed in protest, the pain so intense that for a brief moment, she thought she might actually vomit.
Taking another deep breath to prepare, Kit braced herself and managed to roll onto her side and slide her feet to the ground. Another few minutes passed as she battled to retain the contents of her stomach—even what little there might be. When she felt confident that everything was under some sort of control, she pushed herself up to a seated position.
Her head spun and pain shot up her neck and down her back. What the hell had she done? Sitting there, eyes closed, head hung, feet resting on the ground, Kit thought back, trying desperately to figure out just how she had ended up like this. Trying desperately to figure just what this was.
With another deep breath, she remembered being in the taxi on her way home. She remembered the cab driver telling her stories about teaching his son to drive. She remembered texting Garret; they were supposed to go to dinner. He was goi
ng to meet her.
She frowned. She didn’t remember much after that. An image of standing on the street with Garret flashed in her mind. Of his concerned expression. And there was something else too, but what it was, she couldn’t remember.
Any more than that was lost. She remembered nothing. Not how she got upstairs and back into her apartment and certainly not how she’d ended up feeling like she’d been on the losing end of a fight with semi-truck. Or how, or why, she now had an IV needle in her hand.
She stared at the needle she’d just noticed taped to the back of her right hand. It wasn’t currently attached to anything, but when she managed to bring her head up and look around, she saw a bag of fluid hanging from an IV stand.
For the first time since she’d roused herself into consciousness, fear took hold as her strongest emotion. Her heart started beating faster and she could feel her palms getting clammy. The adrenaline must have sharpened her hearing because she could now hear not just Garret, but Caleb and Drew talking too—each voice as distinct as the man himself.
With a firm grip on the headboard, Kit pulled herself up to a standing position. And after the initial nausea from the movement passed, she felt, if not steady on her feet, at least capable of walking into the dining room.
After a few shaky steps, she seemed to find some sort of equilibrium, and she managed to make it to the door without being heard. There she paused, listening, getting more confused by the moment.
“There’s no way she would have ever come across him,” Garret was insisting.
“Is there any way he was associated with your father?” Drew asked.
“I never came across him when I was tracking my dad’s activities, but I can’t rule it out altogether,” Caleb answered.
“At this point, I don’t give a shit how she came onto his radar, I just want her off of it. Permanently,” Garret interjected.
All three of the men seemed to agree on this point as they shuffled papers around on the dining table. Taking a closer look, Kit realized that each one of them seemed as though they’d seen better days. Garret and Caleb both had stubble growing on their chins; Drew was actually in jeans and a t-shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him in jeans and a t-shirt.
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