Chapter 3

Annie, 2018

Gazing out the rear passenger window of my father’s Mercedes-Benz, I watch the downtown Chicago office buildings pass by in a blur. The sidewalks are filled with pedestrians—tourists and locals—bustling about on their way to work or out shopping and sightseeing. My father’s chauffeur weaves the vehicle effortlessly through hectic traffic as we head toward the McIntyre Security building. We have a meeting scheduled this morning with Shane McIntyre, CEO of the company. Shane is the eldest brother of the boy I once loved… and lost. Still love actually, because I never stopped. I rub at the stab of pain that hits me whenever I think of Jake. He left a void in my heart that can never be filled.

I swallow hard, fidgeting nervously in my seat.

“Don’t worry, honey,” my father says as he reaches over to pat my leg with a shaky hand. “It’s going to be all right.”

Absently, I rub my right pinkie. It aches, as it always does… ever since my husband—my ex-husband rather—snapped it in two because I dared to get between him and our young son. I put up with a lot of abuse from Ted, but when he started in on our son, Aiden, that was the final straw. That’s when I filed for divorce.

My father sounds confident, but the tremor in his hand gives him away. He’s scared. We all are. Ted is unpredictable, and we never know what he’s going to do next, or where he’ll show up. Just last week, despite a restraining order prohibiting him to have any unsupervised contact with Aiden, Ted tried to remove Aiden from his preschool class. Fortunately, the director of his school refused to let Ted into the building. Two days later, he barged into my parents’ home, where Aiden and I have been living since the divorce, during supper, brandishing a handgun at the four of us. He wrapped his hand around my throat and squeezed hard enough to cut off my air. I still have bruises to show for it.

I reach into a side pocket of my purse and touch the edge of my phone case, just to reassure myself it’s there. I’m fighting the urge to call my mother and check on Aiden. She took my son to a nearby hotel, just a mile from where we are now. No one outside our family knows where they are. Surely, they’re safe. I can’t help worrying, though, because Ted has an uncanny knack for showing up in places he shouldn’t.

My poor, sweet baby. Aiden is so young and so confused. How do you explain to a five-year-old why his father hurts people? Why his father flies into a rage at the drop of a hat? Why a glass of spilled milk leads to a beating so severe the bruises last for weeks?

Sometimes I wish I’d never met Ted Patterson. I wish I’d never heard his name. But if I hadn’t married him, then my precious son wouldn’t exist, and I would never wish for that. Aiden is my life.

“They’re perfectly safe, Annie,” my father says, as if he can read my mind. “No one knows where your mother took Aiden. There’s no way he can find them.”

I’m not feeling as confident. Ted has a way of doing the impossible. He’s proven that time and time again, finding us when we think he can’t.

The vehicle stops at the curb in front of a towering office building on N. Michigan Avenue. The driver gets out of the car, looking smart in his freshly pressed uniform, and walks around the front of the vehicle to open the rear passenger door. My father steps out, then holds his hand out to me. I’m not sure which one of us is shaking more.

The prospect of seeing Shane McIntyre again scares me to death. I remember him from high school. He was a few years older than me, and even then he intimidated me. Now he’s some bigshot CEO of a prestigious security company, and my father has scheduled a meeting with him this morning to arrange for private security for me and my son.

I glance up at the engraved name on the front of the building—THE MCINTYRE BUILDING. The building itself is impressive, the façade a mixture of stone, steel, and glass. But the company that Shane McIntyre has built, with its impeccable reputation, is even more impressive. My father could have gone to any number of security agencies in Chicago for help, but he insisted it had to be McIntyre Security, even though he knows full well that Jake McIntyre works here.

My father motions for me to precede him through the revolving glass doors into the building’s main lobby, which is just as impressive as the exterior. The floors are perfectly polished marble, and the lobby is brightly lit with natural sunlight. Potted trees and a small water fountain add a sense of restfulness and tranquility to the wide-open space.

I follow my father to the reception desk, where he signs us in. When a guard hands me a visitor’s badge, I pin it to the front of my blouse. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely pay attention. We follow a small group of people heading for the bank of elevators and step inside one of the waiting cars.

I wonder if Shane will even remember me. He’s the oldest in a long line of McIntyre siblings, seven of them in all if my memory is correct. My impression of him in high school was that he was smart, kind, quiet, and very competent at whatever he did, whether it was sports or academics. The girls worshipped him, just as they worshipped all of his younger brothers, most especially Jake.

Jake... the boy who stole my heart in high school when he stopped in a crowded hallway to help me pick up the textbooks that he’d accidently knocked out of my arms when we collided. We dated for almost three wonderful years before I left for college. After that, everything fell apart. He started dating another girl not long after I left Chicago. She got pregnant, and he married her before leaving to join the military.

I think back to high school, back to the good old days when we were together, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I miss him terribly. I miss his humor, his chivalrous nature. His playfulness. He never let me take myself too seriously.

In hindsight, I don’t blame him for moving on. We were young, just eighteen, and he had wild oats to sow. I was halfway across the country at Harvard and rarely ever made it back to Chicago. It would have been selfish for me to expect him to wait four years for me.

One by one, the occupants of the elevator get off at various floors until my father and I are the only two left. We ride up to the twentieth floor, where the executive offices are located.

“Don’t be nervous,” my father says, as he opens the glass door that leads to the suite of executive offices. “I’ll do all the talking.”

An elderly woman with a cloud of short, curly white hair greets us. “You must be the Elliots,” she says, smiling first at my father and then at me. “I’m Diane, Mr. McIntyre’s executive assistant. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the conference room.”

We fall in step behind the petite woman as she leads us down a hallway to a closed door. She opens the door and ushers us inside.

“I’m afraid there’s been an unavoidable change in plans,” she says, smiling apologetically. “Mr. McIntyre sends his regrets. He’s dealing with a family emergency and won’t be able to attend the meeting today. His brother will take over.”

My father frowns. “His brother? Which brother?”

“Jake McIntyre,” the woman says. “Can I offer either of you something to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea?”

At the mention of Jake’s name, the bottom falls out of my stomach, and I fear I might be sick. Jake, here? No! My pulse starts racing and all I want to do is run away. I can’t see Jake! I can’t face him.

“No, thank you,” my father says, casting a worried gaze in my direction. He looks as shaken as I feel.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” the woman says, smiling pleasantly, completely unaware of the inner turmoil I’m experiencing. “Jake and his team will be with you in just a moment.”

I collapse into one of the chairs at the table, shaking so badly I don’t think I can stand. Just the mention of Jake’s name sends my mind reeling. My stomach is in knots. I haven’t seen him in… oh, my God, how many years has it been? I think back… fourteen?

As Diane quietly closes the door behind her, I stare at my hands lying clenched in my lap, my fingers twisting and knotting nervously. I stare at my crooked little finger—a constant reminder of my bad decisions and their consequences.

When the door opens again, I jump as four people enter the room single file, a young woman and three men. The last to enter is Jake. My eyes go right to him—I can’t help it. And I can’t stop staring. He’s changed so much since high school he might as well be a stranger now. I hardly recognize him.

When I met Jake, he was big for his age even then, very muscular, and so handsome with his dark hair and obsidian eyes. But this man, dressed in all black, is nothing short of lethal. There’s no other way to describe him. He has no soft edges. He’s intense. He’s intimidating.

And while I can’t take my eyes off of him, he hasn’t glanced my way once. He has to know it’s me, so he’s intentionally avoiding looking at me.

Jake takes a seat at the head of the table, and the other three individuals who came in with him sit across the table from me and Dad. The two men are about Jake’s age—early thirties, I would guess—and the African-American woman is a little younger.

“Frank Elliot and his daughter, Annie Patterson,” Jake says as he gestures to us.

I’m shocked by the change in his voice—it’s deeper now, rougher, and so much more resonant. The sound of it sends a shiver down my spine.

He gestures to his three companions. “My team. Cameron Stewart, Killian Deveraux, and Charlotte Mercer—Charlie.”

Cameron Stewart… I remember him from high school. He was one of Jake’s best friends. Cameron nods at me, offering a friendly smile. He remembers me.

The young woman makes eye contact, too, displaying a charming set of dimples as she smiles warmly.

The other man—Killian—nods politely.

“Where’s Shane?” my father says, glaring at Jake.  He’s clearly unhappy with the change in plans. “We were supposed to meet with Shane today, not you.”

Jake gives my father a hard look. “Shane is dealing with a family emergency,” he says in a tight voice. “He asked me to meet with you on his behalf. It couldn’t be helped.”

My father slams his fist on the table, making me jump. “I hardly think this is appropriate, Jake! I don’t see how you can possibly be objective where my daughter is concerned.”

“Dad, please.” I lay my hand on the sleeve of my father’s suit jacket. “You’re not helping.”

Jake finally makes eye contact with me, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. My chest tightens, and I’m finding it difficult to breathe. Our gazes lock, and we stare at each other. It’s the first indication he’s given that he even recognizes me.

How can he sit there so calmly when I’m absolutely reeling inside?

Jake shoots to his feet without warning and points to the door. “Everyone out, now! Everyone except for Annie.”