Brock

 

Brock stood outside the high gate surrounding Ricci's house. He remained behind the tall bushes, peering in.

 

Scaling the gate itself wouldn't be too difficult, except that he'd have to find a way to keep the loose bars from rattling together and drawing attention to him as he climbed. He'd already found several thick sticks beneath the foliage, and he'd wedged them into the spaces between the bars so they wouldn't move around and make noise.

 

Avoiding the lone guard with a shotgun who patrolled the grounds wouldn't present much of a challenge, either. It was a large house, and once the guard disappeared around the corner, Brock would have about three or four minutes to shimmy up the gate and run across the lawn.

 

No, the real problem was what came after that.

 

Brock knew he couldn't go in through any doors or windows on the ground floor—someone like Ricci would certainly have a hell of a security system in place, and he couldn't risk an alarm going off. There was a wooden trellis at the side of the house with a window right next to it, but who knew what was behind it? Turo's bedroom? And even if it weren’t, could Brock really expect to sneak around the second floor trying to find Maggie's room without being caught? For that matter, even if he could, what reaction could he expect from Maggie if he just pushed open her door and walked in?

 

Wow, I must have been pretty drunk, Brock thought. This plan was incredibly stupid.

 

Suddenly, a light switched on in the window next to the trellis. Brock saw Maggie's face in it, looking out into the night. She wore a nightgown, and without her makeup, Brock thought she looked more beautiful than ever despite the sadness in her eyes.

 

It's a sign, Brock thought, smiling. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be tonight, and the plan's going to work after all.

 

Maggie watched the armed guard stroll across the lawn. When he went around the corner, she withdrew from the window.

 

It was time.

 

Brock hopped up onto the gate, using the cross-bars as footholds. The bars swayed and wobbled a little, but the pieces of wood between them kept them from hitting each other. When Brock reached the top, he considered climbing back down the other side carefully, then figured it was better to save time and jump. He landed badly on his right ankle, rolling it. The pain was sharp, and he almost cried out.

 

He hobbled across the grass as quickly as he could, agony flaring in his ankle with every step. He knew this would make climbing the trellis a lot harder than he thought, and he briefly considered turning back and hopping the gate again before he was discovered.

 

Then he took another look at the light in Maggie's window and kept going.

 

When he got to the trellis, he hooked his hands and feet between the slats cautiously, lifting himself up to test the weight. The wood groaned a bit, but it seemed like it would hold.

 

He hoped it would. If he came crashing down on the lawn in a pile of boards and vines, he couldn't think of a single believable excuse he'd be able to give Ricci.

 

Brock pulled himself up the trellis, trying not to put too much weight on his injured ankle. He did his best not to count off the seconds in his head as they turned into minutes, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't ascending as easily as he thought he would, and if he didn't make it up the trellis and into Maggie's room in the next seventy seconds, he'd have an ass full of buckshot.

 

What if she doesn't let you in? his brain scoffed.

 

Too late to worry about that, genius, his heart snapped irritably. Just get to the top.

 

One of the wooden slats splintered under Brock's left foot, and he almost lost his balance and fell. He was sure Maggie or the guard would hear the sound, but the window remained shut and no one came running.

 

As Brock reached the highest slats, a splinter dug into the palm of his hand. Twenty seconds, and the guard would come around again.

 

Brock leaned over, looking into Maggie's window. She was reading in bed.

 

He tapped on the glass gently.

 

Maggie glanced at the window, saw him, and turned pale. She looked like she was about to make a sound of surprise, but Brock put a finger over his lips, indicating for her to remain quiet. She got up and edged over to the window, the shocked expression frozen on her face as she opened it.

 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

 

“I had to see you.”

 

Maggie seemed taken aback by this. “Well...what if I don't want to see you?”

 

“Please,” he panted, trying to maintain his grip on the trellis. “I need to tell you something. It'll only take a second, and it's important. After that, if you want, I'll go away and you'll never have to see me again. Just please let me in, before the guard comes back.”

 

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out to grab his arms and help him inside. “All right, I guess you'd better get in here before you get shot. But I don't know why I'm doing this.”

 

“Because I'm betting our night together meant as much to you as it did to me,” Brock said as she closed the window behind him and drew the curtain. “I'm betting you've been thinking about me constantly, just like I've been thinking about you. In fact, I'll bet that's why you aren't sleeping tonight.”

 

“So first you sleep with me, then you try to distance yourself from me, and now you're coming through my bedroom window like some half-baked Peter Pan? You think you can just jerk me around, is that it?” She folded her arms in front of her obstinately, frowning at him.

 

“Listen, on our second date...I didn't want to say any of that stuff to you, okay? If it were up to me, we'd have had another night like the first one, and another, and another. But it wasn't my choice.”

 

“So whose choice was it, then?”

 

He looked her in the eye, took a deep breath, and took the biggest risk of his life. “The people I'm working with. The ones who are helping me bring down your father.”

 

She stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

 

He told her everything.