Bailey
BACK AT THE safe house, I sat in my favorite chair and pulled my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms around my ankles. Brock sat on the coffee table and laid his hands on my thighs. “Hey. You okay?” he asked.
“No. I’m mortified.”
“Why?”
“Because I totally embarrassed Macey, myself…you. I’ll never be able to show my face there again.”
Brock shook his head. “You didn’t embarrass me or Macey. And as far as you feeling that way, well, those are your feelings and we’ll sort them out, but don’t feel them on behalf of me and Mase. That lady’s a tough nut to crack and it’s impossible to embarrass her.”
“I really like her.”
Brock smiled. “She likes you too, babe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I bit my lip. “I just don’t want your friends to think I’m weak or a drama queen.”
“Believe me, no one thinks that.” He raised an eyebrow. “But remember when I told you if someone doesn’t like you…”
“They’re your friends, Brock.”
“I get it, sweetheart, but no one’s more important than you. Not even my friends.”
“Thank you.” I felt my heart swell as I settled my chin on my knees. “Are we really going to your place?”
He nodded.
“And your sister will be there.”
He nodded again.
“I’m going to meet your sister.”
“You’re going to meet one of my sisters, yes.” He frowned. “But only if you want to.”
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes. “What if she doesn’t approve?”
Brock chuckled. “Baby, she’s going to love you. Trust me on this.”
“Will she be mad that we got engaged before meeting her? Will the rest of your family?”
“No, baby.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed.
“Positive.”
“What if they are? What if Payton decides I’m not the right one?”
“Babe,” he said, trying not to laugh.
“We need a code word.”
“A code word?”
“Yes. You’re an FBI agent, don’t your teams have code words when it’s time to scram?”
“Scram? Do you think my partner’s Elliott Ness?”
I kept going. “If she hates me and you decide I need to go somewhere and hide because it’s not safe for me, you give me the word and I’ll go somewhere until you come get me.”
“Go somewhere and hide?”
“Yes, like Siberia…or the moon!” I stressed. “You have badass skills, right? The moon shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
“Didn’t count on being an astronaut, baby.”
“Then your bathroom. I’ll hide in the bathroom.”
“Holy shit, babe, you’re spiraling.”
“Fresca.”
“What?”
“Fresca. It’s our code word.”
Brock dropped his head back and laughed. A deep, belly laugh. I stared at him for a few seconds before joining in.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much,” I admitted. “I never liked Fresca anyway.”
Brock laughed again and pulled my legs out of their protective position and slid between them. “I’ve got your back, okay?”
I nodded.
“How about you pack a small bag and we’ll head to my place? You can spend the night.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
I grinned. “Okay. I’ll go pack now.”
“Perfect.” He stood and pulled me up, kissing me before releasing me to head to my room.
* * *
I stared out the window of the car at Brock’s duplex as we drove up. It was on a quiet street not far from the safe house and looked very suburban. “It’s cute.”
Brock chuckled. “Yeah, cute’s the right word.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine for now,” he admitted as he pulled into his garage and closed the door. “It’s close to my parents’ and I bought it because I was gone more than I was home, so they could look after it when I was on assignment. It was cheaper than rent and I get a tax write off.”
“So, not the dream home, then?”
He laughed. “Not even close.”
He slid from his car and walked to my side and opened the door. Once he grabbed my bag from the trunk, he led me into the house.
We walked through a mud-slash-laundry room and then into the family room, kitchen combo. The rooms were painted in a muted gray, a large brown, micro-suede sectional sat against the back wall, with a flat screen television across from it. A fireplace was nestled in the corner and I was surprised by how homey the place was. Masculine, but nice.
“It’s gorgeous, Brock,” I said.
“Tell Payton tonight. She did the majority of the decorating.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ll show you the upstairs and set your stuff down, then I’ll show you around the kitchen.”
I followed him upstairs and into the bedroom at the back. The walls were painted the same gray as downstairs, and the king-sized bed sat against a large, black leather upholstered headboard. The bedding was gray, black, and white, and although it was really masculine, it was lush, which made it look chic and stylish.
“Wow, your sister knows what she’s doing,” I said.
Brock chuckled as he set my bag on a chair by the window. “She’s good value for sure.”
“How many women have been here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, how many women have I fucked in this house?”
“Yes.”
“None.”
“At all?”
“No, babe. I have never brought a girlfriend here for that.”
“Oh,” I said, giving him a satisfied smile.
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “How are you feeling?”
“Honestly?” I asked.
“Always.”
“Like I want to christen the bed.”
Brock laughed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
* * *
Brock
One week later, Bailey stood with Dallas, Macey, and me on the front porch of her parents’ historic home in Manchester. She pointed out landmarks on their ten-acre property, grinning from ear to ear as she did.
I smiled at her excitement. She loved her home. Even with the recent tension and questions surrounding her parents, this home meant something to her. I’d survived through two more pointed and uncomfortable conversations with her parents, but they seemed willing to keep an open mind about Bailey’s relationship with me, but I still didn’t trust a fuckin’ word that came outta their mouths.
I laid my hand on her back as she talked about the history of the area, wondering if this might be where she wanted to land. I wasn’t sure how I felt about leaving the Pacific Northwest, but if it was something she wanted, I’d give it to her.
In the past week, we’d managed to pack up her apartment and store her things in my garage, meet with her doctor to get her on contraceptives, and introduce her to my family. I’d also gone further and gotten tested so that once Bailey’s pill kicked in, she would feel comfortable and safe with me.
Not surprisingly, my family adored her. Despite her nervousness, she’d been folded into my tight-knit clan with an ease even Payton had commented on.
“This is why you’ve waited to bring a girl home, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had to wait for the perfect woman.”
I had laughed, giving my sister the bear hug of bear hugs. “Absolutely.”
“Well, I love her.”
“So do I,” I said.
Bailey pushed open the front door, drawing my focus back to her. “I’m home,” she called.
A large, black woman in a gray maid’s uniform walked into the foyer, her arms out, ready for a hug. “Welcome home, Miss Bailey!”
Bailey wrapped her arms around her and gave her a squeeze. “Bets. How are you?”
“I’m wonderful, honey. How about you?”
“Perfect.” She pulled away from the woman and turned to the group. “Betsy Malcolm, this is Dallas Stone, Macey Gilbert, and this gorgeous man is Brock Williams,” she said, and held up her left hand, “my fiancé.”
I reached out to shake her hand, noting the maid looked a little surprised, but recovered quickly and shook my hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Williams.”
“Please call me Brock,” I said.
Betsy nodded toward Dallas and Macey, her expression kind, but guarded.
“No mom and dad?” Bailey asked.
“Your Mama’s out for a few hours, but your daddy’s in his office.” She smiled. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” she admitted.
“Come into the kitchen after you see your father. Is James taking care of your bags?”
“Yes,” Bailey said, referring to the driver who had picked us up from the airport.
The maid walked toward the back of the house again and I pulled Bailey close. “This house looks like something out of Lincoln’s time,” I said.
“Funny you say that. Robert Lincoln’s house isn’t far from here,” she said.
“I’m afraid I’ll break something,” Macey admitted.
“Don’t be,” Bailey assured her. “Seriously. Just make yourselves at home. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my father.”
* * *
Bailey led the group down a long hallway and knocked on an ornate door at the end.
“Come in,” a deep, male voice called.
She pushed open the door and took my hand, pulling me inside. Dallas and Macey followed. “Hi, Daddy.”
Bailey’s father was tall, with silver hair and a lean physique. He was the epitome of what would be considered the perfect W.A.S.P. (White Anglo Saxon Protestant).
“Bailey,” he said.
I went on alert. Bailey did too. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Within seconds, two security guards stepped into the room and closed the door. Dallas pulled Macey behind him just as I did the same with Bailey.
“I want you people out of my house,” Mr. Harper ordered.
“Daddy!” Bailey snapped, and stepped out from behind me. “Why? What are you doing?”
“You didn’t know this man you’re dating and have decided to marry is a murderer, did you, Bailey? So like you to make an impulsive decision like this.”
She glanced at me and then at her father. “What are you talking about?”
“Brock killed a man two years ago.”
Yes, as an FBI agent, he’s probably killed more than one, she thought.
“Daddy…”
“Either he leaves on his own, or he will be removed.”
“We’ll just go,” Bailey said.
“Not you, sweetheart,” her father said, and grabbed her arm.
I stepped forward, but the cocking sound of the gun stopped me.
“Don’t, Brock,” Bailey said. “Just go. Okay?”
“Bailey, I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can. But for now, it would be better that you leave.”
I didn’t miss the smug smile Bailey’s father had on his face as he ordered us to leave again.
“Bailey.”
“Just go, Brock. Okay? Go have a Fresca and relax.”
I nodded, shoved my way between the guards, and walked out of the house. Dallas and Macey followed.
James stood by the car and opened the back door with a nod. “Mr. Harper has booked a hotel for you for the night. I will take you there.”
“Fuck,” I whispered. Jonathan Harper one, me zero.