The ringing had barely stopped when it started again. Alec slowed then hovered over me, eyes closed. I touched his face, gentle fingertips across his jaw.
“Not helping,” he said.
I grinned.
His breathing became steady and he opened his eyes. “I’d better get that.”
He sat up on his knees and took the phone from his pocket. His face hardened as he glanced at the caller ID.
“Yes,” he answered then listened. His eyebrows lowered. “I’ll be there.” He ended the call.
“You have to go,” I surmised.
“Yes.”
He helped me to my feet, and we walked back up the beach, more quickly this time.
“Where do you have to go?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. I continued to walk quickly with him, but also kept my gaze on him, waiting.
He sighed. “I’m meeting Joe Bishop.”
I focused on keeping my voice level. “Will he try to hurt you again?”
“I don’t think so. He said he just wants to talk and that I may bring a few people. He’s allowing me to bring protection.”
He sounded confident, so I tried to trust he was right. Tried. I remained silent the rest of the way up the beach. So did he.
He lifted me over the rocks at the base of the cliff, and then the moist grass cleaned the sand from my feet. Once we entered the house through the glass doors, I paused, figuring he would want to get ready alone.
“Not yet,” he said and kept my hand, up the stairs and to his room.
He grabbed some clothes from the closet and stepped into the bathroom to change.
I looked around the room—the room that was nothing like the one he’d given me. It was tiny, just enough space for a narrow bed, nightstand, and chair in the corner. The walls were blank white and the wood floors were bare with no rug. The furniture was outdated but in good repair. The room was meticulously neat, cold in its orderliness. Only plain white sheets and a thin, dark blue blanket covered the bed—that couldn’t possibly be enough to keep him warm in this old and inevitably drafty house, even with the moderate temperatures we’d had lately. It was made perfectly, tucked tightly, military-style. The only personal touch I could see, the one thing that hinted someone lived here, was a single book on the nightstand. I walked around the bed to see the title.
It was an old, worn volume, and he’d taken the dust jacket off, just like I always did. Whatever I’d expected—who knew with him—I certainly did not expect Jane Eyre.
The bathroom door opened. He was already dressed in his suit, ready to leave.
I put the book down then went to him and held both of his hands. “Please be careful.”
He answered by squeezing my hands, and I took a breath then added, “You have to hurry.”
He kissed my forehead and murmured, “Thank you.”
Thank you for what?
He stepped into the closet—to grab a wallet or keys, I guessed—where he was mostly hidden by the door. I could still see as he took something from a drawer and slipped it under his jacket in his belt.
He came back out and took my hand to lead me downstairs. I stopped. He looked back at me.
“Why’re you armed?” My voice came out harder than I’d intended.
He paused. “Just a precaution.”
“So, you don’t really believe he just wants to talk.”
He said nothing, surely because he didn’t want to lie to me.
Finally, I took a breath and nodded. I didn’t want to make him more tense than he already was.
He kissed me once, and we walked quickly downstairs together where he stopped at the front door.
“I’ll be back later,” he said.
“Come see me no matter how late.” Then I stood on my toes and kissed him, not just a soft peck.
There was a hint of a smile playing around his lips. “I’ll be back for more of that.”
“As much as you want, as long as you don’t let yourself get hurt.”
He pulled me into a hug and said in my ear, “Yes, ma’am,” then kissed my cheek and left.
I listened to his footsteps on the front walk then to a car starting, a deep, purring engine that blared as it accelerated down the curves of the drive. All I could do for several minutes was stare at the door.
***Alec***
They already knew where Bishop was staying. He’d moved after Alec’s last visit, of course, but once they found him the first time, it was easier to find him again. Alec was starting to understand how Bishop did things—much differently than he would have guessed for a career thief.
On the way, Alec called Vincent and set up a place for them to meet. It was about ten minutes later that he parked in the back lot of a closed grocery store. Vincent, Anthony, Charlie, and James pulled up and stood from two different cars.
“The Jag and the Mercedes,” Alec said. He’d driven his favorite Mercedes, and Vincent had driven the dark blue Jag, neither overly flashy. Charlie, of course, was driving the red Porsche. All he needed now was a flashing neon sign that said, “I speed.” Alec didn’t give him too much shit about the tickets, though. If that was the only thing he screwed up, Alec could live with that. He was trustworthy. That was more important.
“Charlie with Anthony,” Alec said. “Vincent and James with me.”
“Yes, sir,” came several voices.
The whole “sir” bullshit still bugged Alec a little. Whatever—if they felt they needed to show their loyalty, he supposed that couldn’t be a bad thing.
He walked around to the driver’s side of the Mercedes and then paused as he looked over the roof to the Jag. “Anthony is driving.” Charlie had begun to move in the direction of the driver’s seat. Charlie could drive fine. Alec just felt better with Anthony’s cool head behind the wheel.
“Yes, sir.” Charlie went around to the passenger side.
They started toward Bishop’s new neighborhood. Alec pulled his phone from his breast pocket and called Anthony.
“Yes, sir,” Anthony answered.
“Park at the curb behind me. Stay with the cars and keep an eye.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And be careful. If something goes wrong, go back to the house. No one gets on the property.”
Anthony hesitated—he rarely did that, only when he didn’t fully understand.
“This may simply be a way to get to me,” Alec said. “There’s only one way anyone can succeed with that—Hanna.” He knew he was damn good at lying, omitting part of the truth.
“Got it,” Anthony said.
Alec ended the call. They pulled to a stop a few minutes later outside an old Craftsman-style house. The neighborhood was “in transition”. The direction of that transition was unclear.
“Follow my lead,” was all Alec said to James and Vincent before stepping from the car. He would’ve preferred to go in alone, but he figured that might raise suspicion. If he’d been invited to bring protection and didn’t, Bishop would wonder why.
He’d chosen carefully. Vincent was with him simply because of trust, and James was fucking huge, and knew how to shut up. When he wasn’t talking, he looked scary as hell. And besides, Anthony was too damn quick. Alec had been keeping him at a careful distance lately.
The three of them walked up to the door, Alec half a step in front and the other two flanking him. Before he could ring the bell, the door opened. They walked inside.
One Tiffany lamp in the corner dimly lit the space. Several men, stationed around the room, watched as Alec walked in—the men Alec had beaten a few days ago. A couple of them were still bandaged. The one he’d determined to be the leader stood in front of them, a cast on the wrist Alec had broken. Alec met his gaze, waiting for directions.
“We should disarm them,” one of the men said.
The leader kept looking at Alec as he answered the man. “You really think that matters?”
Alec said nothing.
“I don’t like this,” the leader said. There was a warning in his tone.
“I understand.” Alec reached behind himself then handed his gun out to the leader.
He hesitated then took the gun, looking confused.
“Like I said last time, I only came to talk.”
The leader nodded and then led them down a hall, while the other men stayed in the front room. They came to large, wooden sliding doors.
“I’ll be right here,” the leader said and slid one of the doors open.
Alec walked in, followed by Vincent and James, and the door slid shut.
Bishop stood from his chair, the same chair from the last house. “Right on time.”
Alec hoped James would be able to retain his impassive expression. He should have prepared them for seeing Bishop—a perfectly ordinary-looking man with a little pudge and a bald spot. He resembled Dean all right, if he wasn’t speaking. There was none of that grease in Bishop’s voice. Perhaps Dean had acquired that during his political career.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Alec said with a level voice.
Bishop actually smiled a little. “Likewise.” He motioned for the sofa next to him.
Alec didn’t move, and neither did Vincent or James. “No, thank you.”
Bishop slid back into his chair. “So, you’re wondering why I called.”
“I am.”
Bishop sat back and paused, reading Alec and the men standing with him. “I’ve been asking around.”
“I’m aware.”
Bishop smiled. “Of course you are.” He paused again, and his smile faded. “My father is an evil man. That’s why I’m here, why I’ve been here so long. He has to be stopped. I need help, though—from someone whose identity isn’t so delicate.”
Alec nodded.
“I know why you’ve involved yourself in this,” Bishop said. “I know you have Miss Graham. And I know why you have her.” He paused as if to make his point clearer, a bright, shining light in Alec’s face. “There are still several questions, but I believe I have the high points.”
Alec just looked at him, trying to decipher how much he knew.
“A man’s motivations are what truly define him.” Bishop raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Your motivation is strong.”
Alec glanced at Vincent. He’d been positive Vincent was the only one who knew his reason for involving himself in all this. He didn’t believe Vincent would tell anyone, let alone someone who would leak it back to Bishop, but how in the hell else would Bishop know?
Vincent shook his head. He looked perplexed.
“I’ve decided to trust you,” Bishop said.
Alec met Bishop’s gaze and carefully deciphered his expression and demeanor. The amount of openness, honesty, he saw in the thief’s face was shocking.
Alec walked over to the sofa and sat, ready to discuss the next step.
***Adriane***
“Adriane?” Ben stood in the kitchen doorway.
I quickly got to my feet off the kitchen floor. I’d made it through dinner, but I couldn’t hide my worry anymore. “I’m just tired.”
He moved to the side so I could walk by. Hanna was watching from the great room. She was starting to look nervous.
I continued past them and up the stairs. “Goodnight.”
I didn’t like the view of the ocean tonight; it wasn’t the front drive. As still as possible, not to make any sound, I sat, and alternated objects at which to stare. I heard every tiny noise in the house—Ben’s lumbering steps as he locked up and the pad of Hanna’s slippers when she came up to listen at my door, to check on me.
The second step from the top creaked as she went back down to bed. Then there was less to listen to, just the tree tapping at the window and the tide coming in.
What if something happened? What if the police got involved? It sounded like no one in the city knew Joe Bishop’s face, only Alec. I wondered about Alec’s, or rather, the Kaden family’s, reputation. Would the police give him a fair shake, or just assume he was up to no good? If they were just talking, nothing like that would happen, but what if Alec had to defend himself? What if he seriously hurt someone? What if Joe Bishop was more prepared this time? Would Alec be hurt—worse than before?
No, Alec was smart. He would talk his way out of it. And he’d said he had a friend in one of the precincts. Wait…a friend. So—but why was he doing all of this himself? He’d said there were men in my house, that there wasn’t enough time to explain to the police, but why hadn’t he taken me, made sure I was safe, and then delivered me to the police? That would’ve gotten me out of the way just as well. Why would he bring a perfect stranger to his home, leave her alone with Hanna? He said he wanted to take Councilman Dean down and use what I knew to help, but was that worth risking the security of this house with someone he didn’t know?
And there had been time, hadn’t there? He knew about the diner and my black skirt. He had to have known something was going on for a while. Why had he waited—until the last second? Literally the last second. What was I missing?
Footsteps.
My gaze flew to the door as it opened. For half a second, I took Alec in—his straight frame and unruffled clothes, and then I was on my feet and hugging him.
“You’re okay,” I said against his jacket.
He laid his hand on my hair. “Everyone is fine. No problems.”
He let me cling, while my body remembered how to move properly. I’d been sitting on the couch frozen in one position and had jerked into another. I swore I could feel ice flake off when I sprang to him.
“Sit with me for a few minutes?” I decided I was going to do something about this. I would not sit here another night and die of worry.
I took his hand, and he let me lead him over to the sofa. I sat facing him, still holding his hand.
“You want to know what’s going on,” he said, “everything.”
“I’m involved in this, too.”
He took a long, slow breath, and looked down at our hands. Finally, he looked back up at me. “You’re determined.”
I nodded.
“I just don’t want you to be scared.”
“I understand.” I squeezed his hand. “But you promised not to treat me like a child.”
“That’s not what I…” He sighed. “You’re right. You have the right to know.”
With a calm expression, I said, “What did he tell you?” What could they have discussed for so long?
He took a breath. “You remember he is a thief.”
I nodded.
“He’s part of a family—like mine in a way, I suppose. They hand down their skills from generation to generation.”
“So, if Councilman Dean is Joe Bishop’s father…”
“Bishop learned the family trade from his father.”
“But he’s a public official,” I said. “Hasn’t his background been looked into?”
“They’re very good. Their prints aren’t in the system. They don’t stay one place too long, and they often hold legitimate employment—all the while pilfering large sums from multiple sources. As long as no one finds the underground currents of money, they’re safe.”
I stared at him. “But I didn’t…I didn’t find anything like that.”
“He can’t be sure exactly what you found, how much you pieced together. You said it—he’s a public figure. He’s known now.”
“So, if he thinks I might know…”
“He thinks you can destroy him. Even just finding the embezzlement could be the first piece to topple everything. He would lose his position, the power he’s gained. And then all of his records would be scoured, audits upon audits. His whole life could be unraveled—by a clever bookkeeper.”
“But I didn’t mean—that’s not what I was trying to do.”
He spoke softer. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.”
“Is that why—” I paused to level my voice. “Why Joe Bishop is here? He thinks this could affect him, too?”
“He’s been here longer, a few months before you made your discovery. I’d wager this is the longest he’s ever been in one place.”
“Then why?”
“He hadn’t seen his father in many years, not since Dean’s decision to stay here. The family had come to this city before, and Dean became involved in local politics. Bishop had respected his father’s choice. He thought he wanted to make a difference.”
“He came back to see him,” I surmised.
His voice was harshly flat. “He didn’t like what he found.”
I rested my hand on his knee. Some of the darkness in his expression faded as he looked at it.
“But,” I said, “why would Bishop care if he was stealing?”
“Stealing is fun for them. It’s just a game. Bishop wasn’t happy about how or from whom he was stealing. The family has a certain code of morals. They take only from those who have much as a result of taking much from others. They think of themselves as Robin Hood—steal from the rich and give to the poor, just without as much of the giving to the poor part.” He held my hand in both of his. “It’s the violence, the murder, that has pissed him off. His father isn’t who he thought he was.”
Murder… “He was never going to just scare me.”
His gaze slid to our hands. “He’s called hits for much less before.” Then his jaw clenched, and he met my gaze. “I will protect you.”
I wanted to say I didn’t want him to, that I wanted him to be safe, but the determination in his eyes told me it wouldn’t make a difference. He hated Dean too much.
He looked back to our hands. Sometimes he seemed fascinated by these simple gestures.
I continued with a soft, careful voice. “You said you found a money trail to Bishop. How can you trust any of what he said?”
He paused, and then looked up. “Dean won’t hurt his own son.” He laughed darkly. “It’s to do with legacy. I doubt he could get to him, anyway. Bishop confronted him when he first arrived, demanded that he stop. Dean is doing the only thing he can think to do to get him to keep quiet—pay him off.”
“Is Bishop going for it?”
“He wants him stopped.”
“Why doesn’t he expose him? Surely he’s got something on him.”
“He can’t link him back to the family, and he can’t risk his own exposure. There are already rumors and stories about him. He has to be careful. And he can’t find anything else. Dean covers his tracks well.”
“What I found—it’s not much, but could you use it against him?”
“It’s already been destroyed. We’re lucky to have found what we have, and even then it’s not solid, not enough to stand up in court.”
I nodded. So, what I found was enough to get me in trouble, but not enough to help. Great. Maybe I would still be able to testify, though.
He was watching me, as if waiting for me to lose it.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would he talk to you, willingly, especially after what happened last time?” No one else even knew for sure Bishop existed, and he was willing to graph out his family’s past for Alec?
He paused—a much longer pause this time. “He needs an ally, someone who doesn’t have to worry quite so much about exposure, and I have connections here, loyal eyes all over the city, people who won’t ask too many questions. He’s spent the last few days looking more closely at me. I am”—His jaw clenched—“astounded at his research skills.”
“Do you think you can trust him?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. He sounded positive; that was enough for me. Tentatively, I asked, “Will you tell me about your past with Councilman Dean?”
He watched me for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “I won’t lie to you, Adriane. But I’m not ready to share that with you yet.”
I only nodded, frustrated he didn’t trust me.
Still holding my hand, he stood and helped me up. “It’s late. And you’ve been getting up too early.” He led me to bed.
He started to turn away.
I grabbed his hand and asked, “Stay with me.”
“Perhaps I told you too much. You would feel safer with me here?”
I nodded, though that wasn’t my reason for wanting him to stay. What he told me did scare me, but it wasn’t fear for myself.
He slipped his shoes off and draped his jacket over the foot of the bed. I slipped under the covers, and he lay on top, next to me, and held himself up on his elbow. Leaning closer, he pulled his fingers through my hair. The coolness of his fingertips sent shivers over my skull and down my neck. His fingers continued, lightly touching my skin—my neck, up the side of my face…across my cheek bone…brushing along my lips…
My eyes closed, and my mind started to slide along the slopes of unconsciousness. I was aware of his gentle fingers. They were like snowflakes on my skin, as I traveled the peaks and valleys of my mind. He was there. He’d always been there. Since I was a child, I dreamed of rain and of snow, of how it felt on my skin, of how it absorbed into me. I’d always loved overcast skies, the anticipation of the bursting of the clouds.
His slow, easy breaths were the hum of the air through the mountains. I wanted to enjoy it, the way he was with me—the gentleness of his touch, the calm of his steady hand…the softness of his voice, the low murmur…
“I love you.”