by Tara Wyatt
Taking her hand, Sean led her away from the chaotic scene. The streets in the immediate vicinity of the hotel were closed, and traffic was jammed on the open streets around them.
“You OK to walk a little?” he asked, tracing his thumb over her knuckles. She nodded numbly. Walking a mile or two until they could get a cab or get someone to pick them up would be far from the worst thing that’d happened to her today. Sean led them northeast up South Figueroa Street, the crowds thinning and the traffic opening up more with each passing block.
“We were just in a bombing. Someone bombed the gala. Someone tried to kill everyone.” Her voice sounded distant and robotic, especially when mixed with the metallic ringing still buzzing through her ears.
“I don’t know if the intent was to kill, or to scare and make a point. I didn’t see anyone with any shrapnel injuries. Normally when you make a pipe bomb, you fill it with all kinds of dangerous shit, like BB pellets, scrap metal, nails, screws, broken glass.”
She nodded, taking that in, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other and on the solid comfort of Sean’s hand around hers. She sucked in a shaky breath, and she knew the adrenaline was wearing off. Something clenched in her chest, and she started to sob.
Without a word Sean stopped and pulled her into his arms, holding her against him. “You’re OK,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re OK, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” She felt his lips graze the top of her head, which only made her cry harder.
“You could’ve been hurt,” she managed to choke out, but saying the words out loud only made her cry harder. It made them that much more real. “Or worse.”
“Hey.” His voice was gentle, and he tipped her chin up. “I’m OK.”
She sniffled, trying to catch her breath, knowing how irrational it was to cry over something that hadn’t even happened. He’d protected her, and they were both OK. Both safe.
“I really, really want to go home. I just want to have a shower and crawl into bed. I don’t want to be out here, in the open.”
“We should be far enough away now. I’ll call Zack to come get us. I don’t like our chances of getting a cab right now.” She nodded and sank down onto a bench in front of an office tower. They’d made it about six or seven blocks from the hotel, and it was as though they’d entered an entirely different world. A world where an explosion hadn’t just happened. Traffic slid by around them, the street brightly lit. A few pedestrians walked down the sidewalk, talking or listening to headphones. A bus rumbled by, its brakes squealing as it pulled to a stop across the street. The sky glowed an eerie blackish orange, lights shining from the office tower behind them. Everything felt so absurdly normal.
She hated that normal was now absurd.
“Zack’s on his way.” Sean sat down on the bench beside her and pulled her into him. She went willingly, craving the solid comfort of his body.
“Do you think this was Sacrosanct?” she asked, tucking her head against his chest.
“They’d be the most likely suspects, yeah.”
Sierra’s phone buzzed from inside her clutch, which had only survived because she’d had it in her hand when Sean had pulled her to the ground. She pulled out her phone to answer it, not caring about the cracked screen, but her hands were still shaky, and she managed to spill the clutch’s contents at her feet.
Including the condoms.
She let out a small laugh as Sean scooped them up and handed them back to her with a raised eyebrow. “You were more optimistic than me. I only brought the one.” He smiled that lopsided smile she loved so much and she let out another laugh, louder and stronger this time. He pulled her in and kissed her temple, holding her as she answered her phone and assured her mom she was OK.
Despite everything that’d happened, with Sean’s arms around her, she felt better than OK.
She felt safe, and whole.
* * *
Sean and Sierra piled into Zack’s Jeep, Sierra slipping into the back while Sean folded himself into the front passenger seat. Before he even had his seat belt on, all three of their phones began buzzing at the same time. A bolt of adrenaline coursed through Sean, snapping his spine straight, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, it was a notification from the house’s alarm system, indicating it had just been triggered. He’d known he was taking a risk having Zack come and get them, but he’d been so desperate to get Sierra home that he’d gone ahead with it.
“Drive.” Sean nodded grimly at Zack, who floored it, and then turned in his seat to look at Sierra.
“The alarm?” she asked, her face pale. His gut twisted as hot, prickling anger flooded him. He hoped whoever had broken in was still there when they arrived so he could beat the shit out of them. Sierra was his, and he was damn well going to make whoever was behind this pay.
He nodded and reached a hand back, giving her leg a squeeze.
Almost twenty long minutes later, Zack pulled into the driveway, and the front door stood wide open, the alarm shrieking.
“Sierra, stay in the car with Zack.” Before she could protest, he pulled his Glock out of its holster and made his way toward the house, eyes darting into every corner, looking for movement in every shadow. Sean stepped cautiously into the house, his gun raised in front of him. Nearly every single light was on, and immediately Sean saw what had happened.
Sierra’s house had been trashed. He sucked in a breath as he surveyed the carnage of the living room. The leather couches had been gutted like fish, stuffing spilling out of them. A pile of feathers lay on the floor beside a slashed throw pillow, now sadly deflated. Several lamps had been smashed, and the floor was strewn with broken shards of glass and ceramic. Moving into the kitchen, he saw that all the windows facing the backyard had been smashed, glass and splinters of wood littering the counters and floor. Each white cabinet bore a different epithet in bright-red paint.
BITCH.
SLUT.
WHORE.
MURDERER.
And across the surface of the island: SHUT YOUR MOUTH.
Quickly he went through the house and cleared the rest of the rooms, ending with Sierra’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it the rest of the way open, his gun trained directly ahead of him.
A distinct coppery scent hung in the air, and, stomach churning, Sean flipped on the light. He inhaled sharply at the sight before him.
Sierra’s bed was covered in guts. Entrails. Organs. Intestines. Many of the parts looked far too large to be human, making him suspect someone had hit up a butcher shop for castoffs. Breathing through his mouth, he checked out the closet and the master bathroom.
Anger ripped through him, and he paused, closing his eyes and trying to get a handle on his temper. He wanted to hit something, or someone. He wanted to smash things, to punch a hole through the wall. He hated that she’d need to come in here and see this. What fucking good was his protection if he couldn’t protect her from the horror of seeing her house trashed and vandalized?
With a heavy heart, he headed back downstairs, knowing that whoever had done this was long gone. They’d be on the security camera footage, but Sean wouldn’t be surprised if they had been wearing masks. They weren’t dealing with inexperienced amateurs who were likely to expose themselves or do something stupid like leave fingerprints. He signaled for Sierra and Zack to come in the house.
She stepped inside, Zack right behind her, and she erupted as she laid eyes on the damage, a string of curses that would’ve made a trucker blush flowing from her mouth. She blew out an angry breath and balled her fists, her mouth a thin, tight line. “I’m so sick of this garbage. I’m sick of it! Goddammit!” She kicked at a slashed ottoman.
“The cops should be here any minute,” said Zack, his face tight with disgust and anger as he looked around the trashed living room. “Fuck. This is my fault.”
“No. I called and asked you to come pick us up. This isn’t on you.” If anything, this was on Sean.
“Cl
early they were watching the house and waiting for the opportunity.” Zack shook his head, his hands on his hips.
“Do you think they’ve been watching the whole time?” Sierra’s face was pale as she stared at the slurs written on her kitchen cabinets.
“It’s possible.” Sean came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Sierra, I’m sorry, but there’s damage in your bedroom too.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide. He felt the tremble course through her, and he tightened his grip on her.
“I want to go see.” Without another word she pulled away from him and made her way up the stairs, her skirt clutched in her hands.
“Stay down here and wait for the cops,” he called over his shoulder to Zack as he followed her up the stairs.
She stood in the center of the room, hugging herself as she stared at the vile destruction, and his chest ached at the look on her face. As if someone had kicked her puppy and told her there was no Santa Claus. Sad and hurt and vulnerable. Immediately he crossed the room and folded her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. He stroked her back with one hand, cradling her head with the other.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere.”
She took a shuddering breath and he tightened his arms around her, wishing he could take the hurt, the fear, the sadness for her. Because he would gladly shoulder it all for her if it would mean she was OK.
“I hate this. I feel like I’m stuck. If I quit, they win. If I don’t, this keeps happening.”
“I know.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. He wished he had something more to say, but she was right.
“Sean, I…” She pulled back slightly to look up at him. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” He pulled her back into his chest, not wanting to let her go, not even for a second. Because right there, in that moment, she was safe. She was his, and she was safe.
“Where am I supposed to go? I don’t want to stay here, and I’m kind of off hotels right now.” She looked up at him again and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“And hotels are still too public. We don’t know what kind of connections Sacrosanct has. It could potentially be easy for them to find out your location.”
“So where should we go?” She chewed her bottom lip, her eyes huge with worry.
“For tonight we can stay at my place. It’s very secure, and I know I can keep you safe there.”
“And we’d be alone.” She pressed her face into his chest, the move both sweet and sexy.
“Mmm. We would.”
“I really, really don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Not after all of this. I want to feel you beside me all night.”
The idea of spending the night holding Sierra made him feel as though he were standing in the sun after months of cold, it was so warm and welcome.
“Cops are here,” Zack called up the stairs, and Sean led Sierra back down to the kitchen.
“Are you guys OK?” Antonio stood at the island, surveying the damage and taking notes. A forensic photographer took pictures of everything, while a woman dusted for fingerprints. Two uniformed cops were talking to Zack, who was leading them toward the garage so they could access the security camera footage.
“Yeah, we’re OK,” said Sean.
“I heard about the bomb. Scary shit.”
“It was.” Sierra’s voice was quiet, and her eyes had a hollow look to them. Sean knew she was remembering, and he wanted to pull her into his arms. He settled for laying a hand on her arm. Her eyebrows shot up, as though something had just occurred to her. “You know, I think this means that we can definitively rule Jack out as a suspect. He was at the gala, and he was injured in the bombing.”
“He was?” asked Sean.
She nodded. “I saw him on the other side of the room with blood coming from one ear. He looked pretty dazed.”
“Hey, did you see this note?” The forensic photographer came over, a piece of paper pinched delicately between his gloved thumb and forefinger. Sierra shook her head.
“Where did you find it?” asked Antonio.
“It was stabbed into the cutting board over there with a knife. I took pictures before I removed it.”
Sierra peered at the note, her brow furrowing as she read.
If Choices wins that grant, you’ll end up like the animals on your bed. You, and everyone you care about. Your friends. Your family. Everyone. So back off now or face the consequences of your choices.
“The grant,” she whispered, and then looked up at everyone. “Choices is applying for a major government grant, and so is another organization called the Pregnancy Support Center. What if this isn’t Sacrosanct at all, but the PSC?”
Antonio nodded, studying the note. “It’s worth looking into, for sure. How much is the grant worth?”
“Fifty million dollars.”
Antonio let out a low whistle. “People have done worse for a lot less money.”
“Right, but what are the chances that this other organization would bomb the gala?” asked Sean, pushing a hand through his hair.
“That does seem in line with Sacrosanct’s MO.” Antonio nodded, drumming his fingers on his notepad. “But that information about the PSC is good. We’ll look into it, see what we can find out.”
“And I’ll get Clay on it too. See what he can dig up.” Sean turned his attention to Sierra. “Go pack a bag, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 20
The elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor of Sean’s condo building, and he smiled that lopsided smile—Sierra’s favorite smile—as he squeezed her hand and led her down the hall. Once they’d finished giving their statements to the police, she’d quickly gathered up a few things in an overnight bag and they’d left. Zack had stayed behind at the house, watching for any suspicious activity. On the short drive over, she’d answered dozens of text messages from worried friends and family who’d heard about the bombing on the news, assuring everyone that she was unhurt.
Sean unlocked the door to number 410 and pushed it open, ushering her in ahead of him. With easy familiarity he shut the door behind him, flipped the dead bolt, punched his code into the alarm, turned on the lights, and dropped his keys onto a table beside the front door, all in a series of fast, fluid motions.
“Oh. Sean, this is so nice.” She toed off her heels, her feet practically crying in relief, and padded into the condo across the gleaming black walnut floor. The kitchen was immediately to her right, dark-gray cabinets lining the walls and framing the stainless steel appliances. Light-gray granite countertops complemented the black subway-tile backsplash.
Moving past the kitchen, she walked into the large, open living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, with sliding doors giving access to a balcony. A flat-screen TV dominated the wall to her left, surrounded by built-in shelves stuffed with books. She stepped closer to study them, tracing her fingers over the spines. One shelf was overflowing with what looked like mysteries and thrillers, another with science fiction paperbacks. Cookbooks, sports biographies, and a variety of military, political, and law enforcement memoirs lined other shelves. More fiction filled the remaining ones, a mix of hardcovers and paperbacks of various genres. Facing the TV sat a dark-blue sectional, and she noticed a neat stack of magazines piled on the coffee table in front of it, issues of Sports Illustrated and Men’s Health.
Just when she’d thought she couldn’t be more attracted to him, Sierra found out he was a reader. The sudden image of sitting cuddled up with him on that big sectional, wearing sweats and reading, curled through her, warming her like a shot of whiskey.
It was wholly and completely different from Jack’s place, which was huge and showy, almost ostentatious in its over-the-top decor and expensive…well, expensive everything. Not to mention almost completely devoid of bo
oks. But this…it was airy, yet cozy. Sleek, yet comfortable. She’d never really felt fully at home at Jack’s, always feeling as though she were in a museum, lots of pretty things to look at, but not to touch. But Sean’s place was immediately appealing and welcoming.
Maybe she felt that way because it was Sean’s, and everything about him was appealing and welcoming. She spun to face him and saw that he’d taken off his shoes and tuxedo jacket and was loosening his bow tie.
“Do you mind if I have a shower? I want to wash this night off of me.”
“No problem.” He pointed to the hallway that led away from the living room. “Bathroom’s on the right, towels are in the cabinet under the sink. Are you hungry? I can make us something to eat.”
She thought about it for a second and was surprised to find she was, so she nodded. “Actually, I am. Thank you.”
“Take your time.”
She grabbed her bag and headed down the hall, feeling as though she were in some kind of wonderful, safe, cozy cocoon. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. It featured a large walk-in shower with a gleaming glass door, tiles the color of linen covering the floor and the interior walls of the shower. She reached in and turned it on, cranking the faucet as hot as it would go, wanting to scald everything away and scrub at her skin until she was shiny and new, and not someone running on the fumes of fear and adrenaline.
She pulled a couple of white towels from the vanity and slung them over the towel rack before stepping under the spray. She tipped her head up, closing her eyes as the water pelted her skin. It felt so good that she wasn’t sure how long she stood like that.
In typical guy fashion, the only two toiletries Sean had in his shower were a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner and a bar of Zest. She washed her hair and did her best with the soap, missing her loofah and body wash. Men had no idea what they were missing.
