Removing myself from her life should have fixed everything.
Instead, it just made everything so much worse.
“Another mistake,” he growls. “But I’m going to fix it.” A breath as he tucks his anger away and gets down to business. “The security at the estate hasn’t been upgraded since I was working for you full time”—before he left to start his own security company—“but clearly I’m not happy with the group we subcontracted to run it day-to-day. I’ll get my team to coordinate the move to someone who’s actually competent.” He scowls. “There was an accident the morning that Briar broke in—a drunk woman crashed her car into the front gate?—”
I frown.
I hadn’t heard that.
“Rookie shit,” he mutters, shaking his head. “The woman didn’t even hit the gate hard enough to dent it, but she was certainly ‘drunk and disorderly’ enough to serve as a distraction to give Briar time to work.” A sigh. “They should have known better and responded by following procedure.”
We talk about how she got in, about the window and the safe, and make some notes to change codes and procedures and replace the window altogether—if Briar knew the security, someone else might too.
“I’ve learned a lot in the last five years,” he says. “And now I have some guys on my team who excel at finding security holes and plugging them?—”
“How’s that?”
His mouth curves up in the barest hint of a smile. “They might have had a little practice exploiting them before coming to work for me.”
Despite the circumstances, I chuckle.
“I’ll get those guys on reviewing the system and strengthening it.” He stands up. “In the meantime, we’ll be in touch regularly, and I’ll also send someone to Briar’s apartment to see what we can find there.”
That’s a good idea. “I’ll get the address from her when she wakes up and pass it along.”
“No need,” he says. “I have it already.”
I blink.
Then feel a tiny bit of the weight that’s been steadily settling on my shoulders over the last hours, the lastyearslift.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
“It’s our job—or it should have been.” His jaw flexes then he exhales. “Right. We’ll get the preliminaries in place, start investigating, and report back to you once I know something. In the meantime, try to keep your normal routine as much as possible.”
“I’m not sending her home.”
He pauses, but only for a second, and when he speaks, there’s a hint of steel in his words that both lifts the hairs on my nape and calms the twisting, painful maelstrom in my gut. “No, you’re not. You’re keeping her with you and we’re going to make sure she’s safe.”
We exchange our goodbyes, and he leaves.
The silence that surrounds me is heavy, as is the darkness.
Pieces in place.
A plan to move forward.
And not one fucking thing resolved.
So much for the tornado of guilt and regret, yearning and rage being calmed.
Groaning, I rub my hands over my face and lean back in my chair?—
The same moment a piercing scream echoes down the hall.
I’m up and moving before the sound cuts off, rounding my desk, pounding out of my office, lurching for the door to my bedroom—because I wouldn’t put her anywhere else, because I had no intention of letting her sleep anywhere but my bed, my space, myarms.
And because the guest bath doesn’t have a tub.
