Chapter Fourteen
Jaeger’s phone buzzed.
He scratched his stubbled chin. Four days ago, he’d let her go from his life. Yes, he’d been a coward, a word he usually wouldn’t use to describe himself. But, shit, he thought by making the right decision he’d feel better about it.
The caller persisted, and his phone kept ringing until he fetched it from between the pillows and lifted it to his ear. “Jaeger here.”
“Hi, I’m Jeb. Listen, some time ago you knocked on my door and offered me a reward if I ever saw Sean O’Brien in the building again…”
Jaeger immediately sat upright and searched for his gun and wallet in the bedside drawer. “He’s there?”
“I bumped into him as I carried in my grocery bags. He just walked into his place.”
“Good. Don’t say anything. I’m coming.”
“What about my money?”
“You’ll get your money.”
Jaeger rushed through traffic, the whole time thinking this had to mean something. Adrenaline pumped in his bloodstream, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He no longer worked on the case, so it’d be easier to send the information to Frank and let him deal with it.
Yet…couldn’t do it. He stepped on the gas, cursing the five o’clock jam. He couldn’t let go, not if it meant he’d help find the culprit. Someone had killed Camila’s dog, threatened her, and offed her best friend. Someone still wanted to hurt her, one way or another—he’d come to terms with losing her, eventually, but hell, he’d never come to terms with hurting her.
…
Camila opened the door. “Oh, thank you for coming,” she said, holding Mark a tad tighter than necessary. He hugged her back, then ushered her back inside, and shut the door behind him. A wave of warmth enveloped her, and she realized she should have invited him sooner. She’d wanted to have Mark over for dinner for days. Sure, seeing him tightened her heart a little, but his presence also brought her sweet memories of her dear friend Lee.
For the past few days, she’d been avoiding answering phone calls and getting out of her place. She should stock her fridge, wash her hair, and move on with life, but every time she remembered her last conversation with Jaeger her heart ached.
He tapped her back. “You’ve been through a lot. I’m surprised you wanted to make dinner, but I appreciate it.”
“Of course I do,” she said, imagining Lee would want her to take care of Mark. Lee had loved that man, shared some of his best moments with him. Why shouldn’t she take the opportunity to get to know Mark better as a friend? And be there for him during such a tragic time. Besides, she could use some company, too. “It’s been lonely. What would you like to drink? Red or white?”
“Red,” he said. “What do you mean, lonely? How about that hunky detective? Isn’t he like your bodyguard?”
Jaeger. Images of his handsome, complex face flooded her mind. I told him I loved him and he turned me away. Why did she expect him to act any different if he had set the rules from the beginning?
“He’s gone,” she said, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the pantry. Gone. The word brought a chill to her spine, as if he had disappeared from good. She clasped the Merlot, wishing she could bottle up the overwhelming pain she didn’t want to process. She took a deep breath and had to swallow hard to push past the lodge of frustration in her throat.
In the past few weeks, she’d said good-bye to her dog, to her friend. She should have known saying good-bye to Jaeger meant following the natural course of things. Her heart thumped at the base of her throat. Losing Jaeger had been so very different—and painful. “It’s hard to talk about it.”
Mark hovered around the kitchen island, tasting a couple of appetizers. “It’s okay. You can trust me. I’ve lost someone, too.”
She nodded, and tears welled up inside. No. This is supposed to be a dinner about Mark and being there for him. I can’t make it about me and Jaeger. “I can never compare. You lost Lee because some psycho killed him. I lost Jaeger because he doesn’t have the balls to give himself a second chance.”
She turned to grab the wineglasses.
“Don’t minimize your pain, my dear,” he said softly. “I know sometimes losing someone who’s alive can be just as bad.”
She doubted it. Maybe he was just trying to be nice. Camila bent down to retrieve the corkscrew from the bottom of the drawer. When she stood up, she was about to grab the wine bottle when Mark pulled her toward him, and before she could gasp, he shoved a wet cloth on her face. Immediately, she dove into the darkness.
Camila opened her eyes, the objects around her blurry and unstable. She blinked several times until her field of vision cleared. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. A piece of duct tape restrained her lips, and when she swallowed she tasted glue.
She squirmed and realized someone had tied her to a chair in the kitchen. Not just someone.
Mark.
Cold sweat slicked her forehead.
“Are you up, Sleeping Beauty?” Mark asked, an edge in his voice.
He wore gloves, and she found him holding a bottle of bleach and a rag. She blinked. A part of her still wished she could sleep, the tiredness making her head bob and eyelids heavy. I can’t sleep.
She moaned, the sound muffled.
Mark put the cleaning products on the table and approached her. A dark glow flickered in his eyes, the look so cold and merciless. Mark. He’d been behind it all along—why? She moved her head from side to side, even if the simple movement took a lot out of her. As if she wore a heavy helmet that slowed her movements.
“Princess wants to talk?”
She gave him a slow nod.
He stood in front of her, tapping his finger on his chin like he entertained the idea. Then, he leaned down to her eye level, and said, “None of this was supposed to happen, Camila. If you had only left as you were supposed to. Out of our lives.”
Out of our lives. Her eyes reached her hairline. Why did he want her out of his life? She tried, again, to utter a word, but it turned into an incomprehensible sound.
Her palms were clammy, sweat chilling her flesh. She rubbed them together behind her back, fully aware that an escape would be nearly impossible, but shit, she had to try. Maybe, if she rubbed her hands together, the tape would loosen and in a moment of distraction, she could set herself free. God. She stared at him, keeping the stroke of her hands to a minimum. Mark was a real estate giant, for Christ’s sake. Hopefully, he wasn’t an expert in some fancy bonding technique.
For a moment, he regarded her with concern. He stroked his fingers down her jaw, and she shivered. “I know you didn’t mean to do any of this, but you wouldn’t listen. And now it’s too late. Every time I look at you I remember I lost my man because you didn’t hear me. I need to finish this.”
A trace of energy moved through her, and she wriggled in the chair. Her ankles and wrists bit into the tape, and a strand of hair fell on her face. Great.
She groaned and scanned the area, looking for any objects she could use. Damn it. She’d left her nail clipper in the bathroom, and they weren’t in the kitchen. She eyed the bowl where she usually dropped her keys and sunglasses. It sat on a console table, not too far from her. If only I could move.
He kept on looking her. “I’ll give you some last words, but if you scream, if you try anything, I’ll kill you faster than I was going to.”
She nodded violently.
He ripped the tape off her mouth, leaving a painful throb on her lips.
Ouch. Her breath burst in and out of her. “Why did you want me out of here? What have I ever done to you?” she asked in a surprisingly calm voice. If she freaked out, if she cried or screamed, she’d get nowhere. The thick walls would muffle her sounds, and he’d clock her or, worse, kill her out of spite. The thought of dying encouraged her to rub her palms faster against each other, the rough contact aching her flesh.
Mark lifted his eyebrow. “You don’t know, do you? Lee always had a thing for you. He loved you.”
“As a friend,” she said, raising her voice just in case he had supersonic hearing and caught on her plan. Besides, what was Mark talking about? Sure, Lee may have thought they could be more while they had been roommates, but that had been forever ago. Lee had moved on…hadn’t he? “He found you.”
“Yes, he did. And, somehow, he was never able to disconnect from you,” Mark said. “When he moved in with me, he didn’t say he had feelings for you before. I learned from the way he talked about you when we were alone. With that affectionate tone that was far from friendly.”
She swallowed, sweat dripping from her face. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you just tell him to not see me again?”
Mark barked a laugh. “Don’t you think I tried? I didn’t become one of the most accomplished realtors in this city to be the next-best-thing in my boyfriend’s heart. Besides, if I insisted on more than I had, he would have left me. I would have been pegged for an insecure, jealous narcissist.”
“Why kill him?” She’d read about cases of patients killing for reasons that may seem petty for others, but not to them. Mark had a pristine reputation, wealth, and he wasn’t accustomed to receiving no for an answer. Lee once had mentioned he’d been a spoiled only child of a mentally unstable, overbearing mother. Of course, none of those things meant a person would grow up to be a sociopath. In Mark’s case, though, he had.
Mark picked up the bottle of bleach and squirted some into the rag. “It was an accident. That night he found a couple of letters I wrote but didn’t send yet, and he questioned me. We had a fight, and in the heat of the moment I hit him with a vase,” he said, and, for the first time, his voice wavered, as he squirted obsessively into the rag.
“I’m…sorry. You didn’t mean to do this. I understand,” she said, ignoring the anger throbbing in her temples. If she wanted a shot at getting out alive, she needed to sound steady and in control. She discreetly scanned the surroundings, wondering if she could scoot to the console table. Grab the bowl. And then what? She lifted her hand to her mouth like she feared spilling out her only chance of survival. He upped an eyebrow at her, and she shifted her expression, dropping her shoulders a notch. “You know, I’ve seen cases like this. You have access to wonderful lawyers, Mark. You don’t have to kill me.”
“It won’t be a murder. It’ll be a suicide. After all these horrible losses, you started to steal dangerous doses of diazepam from work.”
“But I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.” He grinned. “I hired a couple of clowns I use to solve petty things. It’s amazing how eager to help the working class is when you throw in some money.”
“They’ll steal it. And Hatch will think I’ve done it,” she said. Shit.
“Yeah.”
“I can help you. You don’t need to do this, Mark. You’re a super-accomplished guy, like you said. I understand you had to kill Lee… I don’t blame you. I won’t tell anyone. The keyword is discretion,” she said, and something clicked inside her. The keys! She had placed her set of keys inside the bowl, and one of them had a particular jagged edge. If she erased the distance between her and the table, she could reach for the keys with her fingertips and use it to set herself free.
He frowned. “I doubt it.”
“I may be ethical, but not if my life is on the line.”
His shoulders sagged a bit, and he watched her with interest. Keep talking. “How can you convince me you’re not lying?”
The doorbell rang.
Instinctively, she screamed. “Help. Please!”
Mark clocked her, pain spreading across her cheeks. She tasted the blood dripping from her nostrils.
With shaky fingers, Mark grabbed the duct tape from her lap and motioned to seal her lips again. A huge bang had her turn her face to the entrance, even though she couldn’t see it. Someone had just slammed her front door open.
Within seconds, Mark grabbed a knife from the drawer and held it against her neck. She sucked in a breath, trying hard not to move and let the air out slowly, so the knife wouldn’t bite into her flesh.
…
Jaeger raced up the stairs of the Marine Park building, glancing from side to side to make sure he didn’t miss O’Brien on his way out. He’d worry about paying Jeb, the neighbor who tipped him off, later.
Right now, his goal was to get to Sean O’Brien as quickly as possible—and force him to reveal the identity of his boss, even if he had to knock out his teeth. One by one.
A rush of excitement moved through him as he approached the door.
He’d deliver the culprit to the police, and to Camila. He’d ensure her safety and peace of mind. He would do those things, and the thought brought him a sense of impending triumph.
Jaeger knocked on the door of the same apartment he’d visited with Camila. Once. Twice. He reached into the inside of his jacket, his fingers sliding over his holster. He was about to kick the door open and snatch the gun, when the door opened.
A cute little boy stared at him, smiling. Oh shit. O’Brien’s son.
Fear gave way to the thrill of chase. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to hurt this kid—or to injure his father in front of him. A woman rushed behind the kid, mumbling something about not opening the door to strangers.
The lady with red hair. “Oh. You again,” she said, after a sigh of annoyance.
“I need to speak with Sean O’Brien,” he said, walking inside and forcing the woman to step back. The kid remained, watching him, holding his stuffed lamb. His gut curled into a ball of sorrow. That boy had to be about Trevor’s age when he died.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of her child. “And I never invited you in. So unless you’re a undercover cop and have a warrant or something…”
“Daddy is working,” the little boy said.
Working. What kind of lie had the creep created for his kid? Jaeger nodded, and looked the kid in the eye with a reassuring smile. Then, he gestured for them to stay back. He couldn’t afford wasting anytime. “Don’t move, please. I just need a word with your father,” Jaeger said.
The sound of powerful footfalls rang in his ear, and Jaeger followed it, to find Sean O’Brien sliding down the window to the emergency exit. Not this time.
His heart rate quickened like he’d just started running the New York City Marathon. O’Brien’s bald head disappeared out of view, which compelled Jaeger to cross the living room in a couple of long steps and jump into the kitchen. Groaning, he quickly recomposed and followed O’Brien down the metal staircase.
“Stop,” he said, reaching for his gun. Shit. He pointed it at O’Brien, but he didn’t have a clear shot. The man moved quickly, and the couple of flight of stairs between them didn’t help.
Jaeger upped his pace, and when O’Brien reached the ground, Jaeger launched himself into him, clocking him with the gun.
O’Brien’s head turned to the side, and for a moment, he seemed disoriented. Jaeger took advantage and slammed him against the red bricked wall, giving him another blow to the other side until blood leaked from his nose.
“Why did you go to my apartment?” Jaeger said, his breath labored but his voice steady. He kept his hands clutching O’Brien’s collar, to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere.
“I wanted to see what you knew about that lady’s case. Duarte,” he said, in between breaths.
“Who paid you?” Jaeger asked.
O’Brien shook his head. “C’mon, man…I have a family.”
“So do I,” Jaeger said, and while he expected the faces of Ellen and Trevor to inundate his mind with memories of a happier time, it was Camila’s sensuous brown eyes and sweet smile flooding his memory. Camila. Wasn’t that why he chased this guy, beating him up even though he was no longer in the case. Because she’d become…family? His pulse raced, a different emotion pumping and expanding his veins. Hope. Hope he’d met the woman to make him whole again. To piece him back together.
O’Brien squirmed and outmaneuvered him, pushing him away. But Jaeger only allowed him a step or two, before firing a shot to the back of his leg.
Surprised, O’Brien lost balance and fell to the ground. Jaeger quickly pinned him down before he could move. “Fuck,” O’Brien swore, blood seeping through his jeans.
“This is what you get for trespassing in my house. Who are you working for?”
“I don’t want to die,” O’Brien said, fear flickering in his dark eyes. “I have a son.”
“You can go back to him after you tell me. Or not.” Jaeger pointed the gun to O’Brien’s head. His blood chilled, knowing damn well he’d do whatever he needed to keep Camila safe, “Just the name.”
“Mark. Mark Hamilton.”
…
“Drop the knife,” a voice said from the other side of the room. She raised her gaze to Jaeger. His face didn’t give away a thing; he’d slipped into full detective mode, his expression somber and focused.
A silly hope fluttered her pulse. Did he come back for her out of duty or could there be something more? Maybe a few days away were enough for him to come to terms with his emotions. I’ll never find out if I’m dead. She moved her wrists, finding hope in being able to find more room ever since the tape softened a bit due to her sweat. A cramp worked its way up her arm, discomfort stiffening her.
Jaeger pointed his gun at Mark, who didn’t move a muscle. “Drop the knife.”
“No,” Mark hissed out. “Drop the gun. Let’s chat.”
Jaeger’s gaze landed on hers, and she shivered. She parted her lips, unsure of what to say. He flashed her a reassuring glance, and she swallowed a lump of frustration. We’ll work this out. We’ll work this out.
“Let her go first.”
“No.”
“No one else has to die,” Jaeger said.
No one else has to die. The words reverberated inside her, the sad way he pronounced them, probably unbeknownst to Mark, but she felt them in her core. He didn’t want her to die, didn’t want to lose her. Hell, she couldn’t die.
She stared at Jaeger, hoping to give him visual cues. He’d shoot Mark if he tried to cut her throat. Because he…cared for her even if he hadn’t declared his love. She trusted him; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She trusted him with her life.
She had to do her part. Distract Mark. Time to play the game. “Listen, it’s just a matter of time until Frank finds out you’re behind all this. If you kill me, Jaeger will kill you. Why don’t you let me help you? We can all come to an agreement. You’re filthy rich. You can flee the country if you want.”
“And you still want me to believe a by-the-book girl like you would help a criminal?” he asked, but the pressure of the knife against her decreased, even if he still held her. She let her breath out slowly, careful not to bite against the sharp edge. Memories from when she’d been attacked as a teen flashed in her mind, but she fought them with every cell of her being. Her lips trembled, her upper body shaking. Focus on here and now. You kneed him and ran. What can you do now? She gave a sideways glance to the bowl.
“Yes, if that means sparing me. I know you’re not a killer. You had an accident. Sending you to jail won’t bring Lee back.”
Jaeger’s expression softened. “I’m not losing her.”
“Jaeger—
“I’ll do it.” His eyes searched for hers, and she didn’t miss the flicker of hope in his gorgeous green pair. Moisture evaporated from her throat. “I’m in. I can’t lose you, Camila.”
Mark let out a mocking chuckle, loosening his grip on her. “Well, isn’t this great? If you two lovebirds think—”
Jaeger erased the distance between them swiftly and launched onto Mark before he had the chance to react. Camila tried to follow the blur of two bodies rolling on the floor. The only sounds were their groans and fists hitting each other. A jolt of panic assailed her. What if…what if Jaeger got seriously injured—even dead—trying to save her?
She scooted the chair to the console table, desperate for a shot at escaping. A charge of adrenaline traveled through her, energizing her entire body. The sounds of the two men groaning and punching hits at each other muffled the chair screeching on the wood floor. When she reached the table, she turned around and took a deep breath.
If she tried to grab it and the vase fell, her only chance to free herself would be done. Exhaling, she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling until she tasted blood. Fear had no place right now. She stood midway, taking the chair with her, the tapes binding her ankles clutching her tight. Squatting, she worked her fingers into the bowl, and when she felt the cold metal, the key ring, relief filled her heart. A small victory.
Because she’d been loosening the duct tape, she found room to move her fingers, and began to press the hard, sharp edge into the material. When she’d been able to nearly cut most of it in the middle, she swiftly removed what was left of them and grabbed the bowl from the table, when she heard a loud grunt. Her blood cooled.
She recognized Jaeger’s voice. Her clammy fingers almost dropped the glass vase.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bile rose from her throat, and she had to shut her lips and swallow to keep it from coming. She wouldn’t lose this time—she’d lost her best friend, her dog, and her sense of security. Losing Jaeger would crush her.
Releasing her ankles from each leg of the chair and freeing herself completely wasn’t an option. No time. She scooted back, more quickly than before, and with a shout she launched herself onto Mark’s back, taking him by surprise. She lifted the bowl, ready to smash it on Mark’s head, when she heard a shot. Suddenly, the two of them stopped brawling, and she fell beside them, her heart slamming her rib cage. The vase hit the floor and became a million little pieces. She didn’t care. Tears brimmed her eyelids, her head spinning so much she couldn’t bring herself to think straight.
“It’s over,” Jaeger said, stretching out a hand to help her up.
Over? She stood, her legs wobbly. He held her against him, and she sighed with relief. His arms embraced her tightly. Inhaling, she peered at the image of Mark on the floor, blood leaking from his head.
Jaeger cupped her face and talked in a way so tender her heart squeezed. “I have to call the police. But before I do, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for pushing you away.”
She linked her arms around him. “As long as you pull me close from now on,” she said, as raw emotion coated her every word. She lifted her chin to look at him, her heart thrumming at the base of her throat. She’d lost so much in the last few weeks, and somehow she survived those losses. Those deaths.
Now she couldn’t lose him, too. “I know I’ll survive if you leave me. But I don’t want to,” she said, feeling a hot pulse in her throat. Her lips trembled, her body also shaking. A pang of insecurity almost made her hesitate, her belly contract, her mouth shut. What if he had simply come to save her, to help her, and not to claim her as his?
“I know exactly how you feel,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. A gleam of hope lit his eyes. Her knees weakened, as if his energy had rolled out of his body and into hers, and she had to adjust for a moment. He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, a touch that branded and demanded. A sigh flew from her lips, and for a moment the insanity of the recent events dissipated from her mind, and nothing mattered more than the two of them.
“You do?”
“I didn’t want to fall for you, Camila. I didn’t deserve you. Still don’t. Yet, here I am.” He slid his fingers down her face, his gaze following their path. She didn’t miss the fascination in his eyes, as if he saw her for the first time. Her pulse thudded in anticipation. A sensation of intense joy filled her, and by the time he dipped his head, she was already parting her lips. Ready.
His lips covered hers, and he pulled her to him with raw need. She gasped, loving the sensation of that large, muscly man needing her just as badly as she. His tongue teased, stroked, and played with her until they were both breathless. She withdrew and rested her forehead against his, her chest raising and falling.
He chuckled.
She lifted her head to find amusement in his eyes. “I was so worried about you touching me. And now…all I want is for you to touch me. Everywhere,” he said, and took her hand and placed it over his heart.
A bubble of happiness burst inside her. “That will be my pleasure, IMP.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You revived me, Camila. You brought me back. And I’m never, ever letting you go.”
She let out a sigh filled with satisfaction. Forever couldn’t come fast enough.