Ethan

“We already have a full description of the perpetrator with our co-op team. We’ll find him by morning.” Lars stands completely still, as if the woman I love wasn’t almost killed for some vendetta against me.

“I want him tonight,” I reply, leaving no room for further discussion on the matter. He’s smart not to argue. After watching the video again and again, I rub the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, trying to control my rage. “I want him dead.”

The statement doesn’t faze Lars. He’s not a henchman, and I’m not in the business of murder, but someone else is and I need to know who. I walk away. Standing behind the couch, I look at her sleeping. Even with the drugs running through her system, her sleep isn’t peaceful.

I direct him to go. “Leave.”

When Lars is gone, I lift Singer into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. I tuck her slumbering body under the covers and take my phone from my pocket and set it next to me when I crawl in next to her. Bringing her to me, she moves on her own, wrapping her arm around my middle and resting her head on my chest. I’m not soft, but she finds comfort in my arms, her restless muscles stilling.

Closing my eyes, I hold her, finding comfort under her body.

My arm buzzes.

Buzz.

Cloudy dreams clear for reality.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Phone.

Where’s my phone?

Popping one eye open, the brightly lit screen in the dark room guides me straight to it.

Aaron.

I lift the phone to my ear. “What?” Singer shifts, so I lower my voice. “What’s going on?”

“I haven’t heard from Ms. Lazarus.”

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I look at the time. 12:17 a.m. “Shit. I fell asleep.” I sit up without thinking.

Singer mumbles and rolls to the side. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I reply, getting out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”

“Ethan?” she calls, propping up on an elbow. “What is it?”

“Business.” I rush into the living room, away from her so she can’t hear. “Aaron?”

“Yes?”

“What’s the ETA of when she was expected?”

“I called The Plaza. The Reception ended an hour ago.”

“You didn’t pick her up?”

“I was told to retrieve her from the apartment, so I’ve been waiting here.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Her boyfriend was going to see her home.” My mind is not quite awake, but my thoughts are starting to connect. She probably went home with Mike. “It’s just past midnight. Have you texted her or called?”

“I did. Twenty minutes ago. I haven’t heard back.”

“Okay, let me call Melanie, and I’ll call you right ba—”

Shots ring out.

The sound of glass exploding on the other end of the phone is so loud my grip on the phone loosens, and it falls to the floor.

My breathing stops.

My body frozen to the spot.

“Oh fuck.” I know what that sound was. My hands begin shaking as I reach down and pick it up.

From behind me, Singer asks, “Where’s Melanie?”

I look up and see her standing there, a silhouette with the hall light behind her. “What?”

My eyes water as the sound of more shots ring and a woman’s scream echoes from the phone, the speaker turned on from when it hit the floor. Singer jumps. “What was that?” Her voice shakes, terror contorting her face.

Dropping to my knees, I shout, “Aaron?” I grab the phone and shout again. “Aaron? Are you there? Aaron? Aaron! Fucking answer me.” I jump to my feet and run to the security panel. We’ve practiced this a few times to make sure all security measures are in place, so now it’s ingrained. “Code 5. Aaron. Aaron’s down.”

Lars’s voice comes through. “Code 5. Sending Rogers to retrieve him.”

“I’m coming down.”

“You should stay, sir.”

“Secure the penthouse behind me.”

I grab my shoes and a jacket. Singer’s trailing behind me, asking a million questions, but they’re background static to my thoughts. Aaron. Fuck.

She grabs my arm, forcing me to turn toward her. “What does ‘Aaron’s down’ mean?”

Punching the button to call the elevator, I can’t look at her, and yet, she’s the only thing I want to see. She’s the only one I want to be with. I want to turn the hours back—days, months even—to the time when I met her on the fire escape. Everything would be different. I cup her face, the fear prevalent in her eyes. “We don’t know. It sounded like gunshots. We don’t know.”

“Noooo,” she says, crying. Tears roll down her cheeks, her hands gripping mine as if I can save her. I’m going to do every fucking thing I can to do just that.

I try to pry her fingers off me, but she’s got a viselike hold on me. “I’ve got to go, Singer.”

“No. You’re not leaving. You’re not going.”

“I have to be there for him.”

“Is he alive? Please tell me he’s okay. He’s got to be okay.”

Damn this fucking elevator. I look down, not able to lie to her when looking into the soul of her eyes. “He’ll be okay.”

“Where’s Melanie?”

The elevator opens and I force her back and get in. “Stay here, Singer. Promise me you’ll stay.”

“Please don’t go,” she pleads, moving forward, “don’t leave me.”

Holding my hand out in front of me, I stop her from entering. “I’ll be back.”

“With Melanie?”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

This time I look directly into her eyes. “I love you, Singer.” The door closes and my back hits the wall. I don’t know what I’m heading into, but I can’t leave Aaron out there.

When the elevator opens, the SUV is in front of me with the door open. Lars follows me to the vehicle and slides in after I get in. “Is the penthouse covered?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ve got two men stationed. The alarms and perimeter have been secured.”

The SUV speeds out of the parking garage, and for a brief second, I forget it’s not Aaron driving.

Lars has his phone out. “The car has been tracked to Ms. Davis’s residence. It’s still there.”

Looking down, I see the flashing dot on the screen. “That’s not good.” I can tell he wants to say something, but hesitates. “What? Just say it.”

“It’s not good.” Looking up, keeping tabs on our whereabouts, he adds, “He would have checked in. He’s trained. He knows to fight and then to contact us. I won’t lie to you. I’m concerned for him and for your safety. This could be an ambush. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“The police could be there already. Maybe it’s in their hands, and they have it sorted.”

“There have been calls to the police. We tracked three over a scanner. No one on duty has claimed the calls. No one’s en route. They were asking for available officers to report to the scene. There’s no response.”

Looking at my watch. “It’s been over ten minutes.”

He looks down at the tracking device flashing red. “I know.”

“What’s going on, Lars?”

“I don’t know, but we need to be careful.”

“I started a private social site. We talked about girls and whose parents we could steal a few beers from without getting caught.” The lights racing by outside hold my sight, but my thoughts are back in high school. I have no idea why my mind decided now was a good time to reminisce. “Twelve years later, I’m sitting here praying to God that a man who has become my friend isn’t dead because of me. Is this the meaning of success? Is this the happiness that money was supposed to buy?” I turn to Lars. “I’d trade it all for the last year to disappear.”

“Success comes in many forms. You aren’t responsible for Ms. Davis’s accident or for Aaron.”

“Then who is? Because I’m feeling pretty damn responsible when the woman I love is being thrown into traffic after being told I’m going to pay the price for who knows what.”

He goes quiet when a text appears on his screen. “The police are on their way, and we still haven’t found the suspect from this afternoon’s incident.”

“It’s not an incident if he intended to murder her.”

“Two minutes. Remain in the vehicle until I’ve secured the premises.”

I stare straight ahead, adrenaline pumping through my veins. The tires screech as we round the block to Singer’s street. As soon as it comes to a stop, I jump out. Lars is already yelling, “Stop him.”

He doesn’t have to.

We all stop at the same time.

With the headlights from the car shining toward the middle of the road, we see Aaron, eclipsed by the bright lights. Blood runs down his face, his shirt soaked, his arms full—a woman’s body.

Oh God.

Fuck.

I’ve witnessed many emotions in my life—sadness, happiness, heartbreak, anger, deceit, and more. But I’ve never witnessed devastation.

Until now.

Edging closer to us is a version of this man I’ve never seen before. Aaron has always been so . . . unshakable, undaunted. “I . . .” he starts, but then he lowers his head without finishing.

Her body is limp. Fuck. An image of Singer confuses me. And then I realize why. “Singer said I could borrow the dress. I hope you don’t mind, Ethan.”

“No. It fits. It looks nice.”

“We’re the same size, and thank you. I’ve never felt more beautiful.”

. . . Oh God. The dress. Melanie was wearing Singer’s dress to the wedding.

The team moves in and I run to them, lifting her neck as Lars helps Aaron hold on to her body. “Melanie? Melanie?”

When we move her to the back of the SUV, she remains motionless, not responding. Not breathing.

Sirens roar in the distance, fast approaching, but there’s no time to waste. I don’t know if it’s too late, but I will try my damnedest to save her.

I reach to take the pulse on her neck. “Melanie? Can you hear me? Mel, wake up.” Struggling to find a pulse, I glance at Aaron, who’s shaking his head.

“I already tried to revive her.” He falters, his eyes rolling back. I catch him when he’s too weak to stand, and he says, “I’ve been shot. Twice.”

Holding him up, I shout, “Has an ambulance been called?”

Aaron clears his throat, but blood drips from the corner. Fuck.

He says, “My phone.” Stopping to swallow, color draining from his face, he says, “I can’t find it.”

Lars responds, “We called.”

Lights drown us in red and blue and we’re surrounded as Lars holds on to Aaron. I shout to the police, “We need help. Our friends have been shot.” I grab hold of Melanie’s hand and hover over her, searching for life. Fucking hell.

Please, God, save her.

The ambulance pulls up behind the police cars, the paramedics rushing between the cops who have their guns aimed at us. The paramedics drop to help Aaron while the officers come closer, and demand, “Show us your weapons.”

Lars raises his hands. “We’re licensed gun carriers. We’re private security for Ethan Everest.”

“I’m Ethan,” I say with my arms held up. “Melanie Lazarus. She’s in the back of the SUV.”

“She’s been shot,” Aaron garbles.

They approach slowly and I watch as one of the paramedics jumps up and pushes between us. “How long ago?” With a walkie-talkie, he calls for backup as he runs to the ambulance. “We’ve got to get her to the ambulance.”

Staring at the cops, I say, “I don’t have a weapon on me. I’m going to help him.” I don’t wait for permission. As soon as he returns, I help move her to the backboard. He’s quick to secure her and then we lift. Aaron is rolled onto a gurney and maneuvered behind us.

Once we set her inside the ambulance, the paramedic jumps in and pulls the board. He’s quick to check her pulse again and lower his ear to her mouth. There’s a pause that extends. My movements are sluggish, realization setting in. From the other side of Melanie’s body, the paramedic looks at me. It’s the sadness, the distinctive look of sorrow that only comes from grief. She’s gone. “We’ll do the best we can.”

A cry of anguish rips through my heart, shredding it.

Singer.

When I turn around, I see her standing with her hands over her mouth, tears streaking down her face. Boxer shorts and a T-shirt, sneakers with no socks, she’s in the middle of the street next to a cab, eyes are fixed on Melanie. She runs, and I run, catching her before she can get any closer. She cries, “I need to be with her.”

“Singer,” I caution, my own grief hitting hard. All the money in the world . . . none of it matters if I can’t protect the ones I care about. “Stay with me.” I don’t know if I say it for her or me, but I hold her even tighter.

Her eyes track every minute movement inside the ambulance as the paramedic tends to her best friend. Hitting my chest, she screams at me, “Let me go. I’m the only one she has.”

“You can’t.”

“Let go of me, Ethan.” Pushing off me, she punches my shoulder to make my hold loosen, but it’s a losing battle. I secure my grip around her and whisper, “No. No. You can’t help her.” And I’m helpless. Fuck. I can’t help either of them.

Who did this?

Who hates me this much?

She stops fighting me, her body stilling in my arms and tensing under my touch. I hate it. When she looks at me, she whispers, “I need to be there for her.”

When I don’t speak right away, her eyes narrow. Then her arms stretch out, pushing me away again. “What?”

Shaking my head, I hold her until the ambulance drives away, and then I release her. “Why did you do that? I need to be there when she wakes up.” On a mission, she turns to go back to the cab, so I say the only thing she won’t want to hear, but the only thing that will stop her from leaving. “She’s gone.”

“She’s gone to the hospital?” she asks, almost hopeful. Almost. “I’m going to follow them.”

“Singer.” With one foot in the cab, she looks up. “She didn’t make it,” I say it the only way I can manage to, but it doesn’t dull the truth.

She gets in the cab and closes the door, but the car doesn’t move. When I see her head drop into her hands, her shoulders shaking as sobs break her apart.

I walk to the car and open the door. Tears flood her eyes, her anguish worn in the lines of her face. I reach in and help her out, bringing her into my arms. Dropping my forehead onto her shoulder, I beg, “Please forgive me.”

Please don’t leave me.

Please forgive me.

Even if she forgives me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for dragging her into my nightmare. For being the cause of her immense and devastating loss.