Two
was the worst day of Elizabeth King’s life. Considering the perpetual shit storm of her existence, that was saying something.
She’d overslept and in her rush, left the house without her wallet. In her sprint from the front door to the car, the courier who delivered her weekly envelope from work had delayed her even more. On the way to an important job interview her car had overheated, the engine puffing smoke like an old-school locomotive. When she called from the side of the road to reschedule the interview, she’d been informed the job she desperately wanted had been filled and didn’t she get the voicemail about the cancellation?
No. No, she hadn’t.
It had taken her thirty minutes to walk to the nearest gas station—barefoot, because no way was she making the trek in heels—where she purchased a gallon of water with change she’d found in the console of the car. Another hour to walk back, fill the radiator, and proceed with her long list of overdue errands. By the time she’d arrived home, the better part of the afternoon had been gone.
As if she hadn’t dealt with enough, she discovered—too late—there was a burglar in her house. Thank goodness he hadn’t done worse, but the man had roughed her up enough to warrant the trip to the ER … where she now stood with the ex-husband she hadn’t seen or heard from in twelve years and who looked one pinkie twitch away from going in for round three with Brandon.
Worst. Day. Ever.
Brandon recovered quickly from the second punch, but his vile curse still echoed in her ears. The tension in the air made Ellie wish she could disappear. Or at least go back to before she called Brandon so she could make a different choice in her bid to not be alone. Maybe call Brandon’s younger brother Alec, instead. She wasn’t close with him, but Alec was cool. He definitely wouldn’t have shown up carting two-hundred-plus pounds of her emotional baggage along with him.
Brandon spit into the trashcan, and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You about done, bro? I’m sure Ellie has better things to do than watch you act like an asshole.”
“Oh, fuck you, ’mano. You had that coming, and you damn well know it.”
A stare down commenced, the two men locked in some sort of silent communication Ellie didn’t understand, before Booker’s amber gaze landed squarely on her.
Sweet mercy that was some stare. Thousands of butterflies took flight inside her stomach. Ellie searched her ex-husband’s face for something, anything familiar to reassure her, but came up empty. This wasn’t the young man she’d married. This man was a hardened warrior, cold and fierce and unyielding. He looked almost sinister in black cargo pants—BDU’s she thought they were called—and combat boots. A black T-shirt strained against broad shoulders and massive chest. His thick, ropy arms were crossed, drawing her attention to the ink that dotted his biceps.
Her body responded to Booker’s blatant masculinity with a warm, tingling sensation low in her belly.
Oh, why did he still have to be so devastatingly handsome?
The angry cut above his eye did nothing to detract from the honeyed tone of his skin. The onyx hair and matching shadow that darkened his cheeks. The ink. The muscles.
No, this wasn’t the boy she’d known. Booker was a man—fully grown and intimidating.
Booker cleared his throat, making her realize she’d been openly ogling him. “Who put that mark on your face? I want a name.”
His voice was different, too. Rough. Low and full of gravel. The demand was classic Booker, though. Always the champion.
Ellie diverted her eyes.
It started on her first day of seventh grade. Ellie’s dad had left for parts unknown the summer before, never to be seen again. Her mom, saying they needed a fresh start, moved them from Houston to a less-than-desirable area of Austin. The grungy one room apartment they had lived in smelled like stale smoke and gym socks, but it was cheap and the building was close to the small accounting office where her mom answered phones during the day, as well as the restaurant she served drinks in every night of the week.
On Ellie’s first day at the new school a group of boys singled her out in the courtyard during lunch. They told her she was pretty. They surrounded her, crowded her into a shadowed corner, despite her protests. When she tried to push past them one of the boys grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close against his scrawny, adolescent body. He was going to kiss her, he’d warned. They were all going to kiss her. He threatened to hurt her if she told.
The boy never got the chance to follow through—with the kiss or the threat. Two older, bigger boys came to her rescue. Booker was the taller of her rescuers and had the most beautiful skin Ellie had ever seen. Booker had given her a reassuring smile before he snagged her aggressor by the back of the neck and threw him to the ground. The boy paled as he tried to protect his face from Booker’s fist, to no avail. When blood gushed from the kid’s broken nose, Booker leaned down and issued a similar threat about what happened to tattletales.
Brandon effectively dispersed the rest of the group with nothing more than a growl and a glare.
From that day forward, Booker and Brandon had been her friends. Her champions. They were always there, laughing with her, hanging with her, looking out for her. It wasn’t until high school that Booker had shown an interest in looking at her.
Ellie’s heart broke all over again with the memory. They had loved each other once. In another lifetime. Yet there he was. Ready to play savior, regardless of his personal feelings for her—which he made clear the day he’d walked out on their marriage.
Ellie hadn’t expected to see him again, but now that he was in front of her … she would give anything to see even a smidgen of the possessive warmth that used to fill his gaze when he looked at her. A tiny glimmer in recognition of the life they’d almost shared.
Ellie shook the childish notion from her head.
You’re pathetic.
Booker had left and never looked back. He hadn’t even called when he received the divorce papers. He hadn’t fought for her because she’d given him exactly what he’d wanted. An out.
A profound sadness clawed around in her chest, tearing up old scars, leaving them raw and bloody.
Booker wasn’t there out of concern for her. He was there because Brandon tricked him into tagging along. And he’d stay because it had never been in his wheelhouse to walk away from someone in trouble. Even if that someone was his ex-wife.
Ellie rubbed at the pain in her temple. “I can’t give you a name, because I don’t know.”
She should’ve called the police instead of calling Brandon. As soon as she saw a doctor and got the okay to leave, she’d go to the police station and file a report. Then, she’d find a hotel, because she wasn’t going back to her place tonight.
Ellie touched Brandon’s arm, hoping he didn’t notice how her fingers shook. “Thank you for coming, but you both should go be with your friends. The doctor will be here any minute to fix me up. I’ll be okay.”
Brandon’s boots didn’t budge. He eyed Booker with obvious disappointment. “Yeah. One of us should go.” Brandon kept his gaze on Booker as he spoke. “But I’m not budging until I know what happened to land you in here.”
Booker folded his arms and settled into his stance. “If you think I’m leaving this room before I get some answers, you’re sadly mistaken.” To her, he added, “You’re not getting off that easy.”
The familiar words shivered down her spine.
You’re not getting off that easy. Don’t you dare, Ellie. Not until I say. Not until—
Booker jerked her arm, gently, but enough to bring her attention back to him. “Who hurt you?” he demanded, his fingers firm and unyielding against her flesh.
And just like that, newer memories surfaced. In her heart, she knew Booker would never harm her. With the feel of the intruder’s brutal hands being the more recent, Ellie reacted to the sensation of the grip, not to the man doing the gripping. She tugged against his hold, fighting back panic. Her face and lungs burned as she twisted her arm at an odd angle. Pain assaulted her already injured shoulder. “Let go of me.”
Instantly, she was free. She stumbled back a step and sucked in air.
This is worse than a nightmare.
Booker’s palms were raised as if to say, I don’t want any trouble. My hands are right here, unthreatening and un-touching. While his expression said, what the actual hell?
Ellie had the sudden urge to stomp her foot and scream. At the stranger who’d broken into her home. At Booker for pretending to care. At her mom for … no. Not going there. Not yet. She needed to keep it together. She could fall apart later, when she was alone. Not in front of him.
She tucked an invisible piece of hair behind her ear, a gesture left over from when she wore her hair long instead of the current pixie cut. She slipped her thumb under the delicate chain around her neck and followed it down to the square locket dangling just above the neckline of her shirt. Her mother’s locket. It was all Ellie had left of her.
She warmed the jewelry between her fingers. She would get through this. It was just another bump in her pitted-out gravel road.
Blinking back tears, Ellie took a fortifying breath and let the story unfold. “Someone broke into my house this afternoon. I wasn’t home at first. I don’t know how long…” The strength left her legs and she sank onto the edge of the bed. “He was in the house when I got home.”
“He, who?” Booker’s tone was less demanding this time.
“I told you, I don’t know.” Ellie gave them a description of the man and of the destruction to her office. The drawers in her desk had been pulled out, the contents scattered all over the room. The credenza had gotten the same treatment.
“I surprised him when I came in. Before I could run, he was on me.” She shuddered, remembering the feel of the intruder’s hands around her throat. “He grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. He was clearly angry, but his eyes were desperate, as though if he didn’t find what he was looking for there would be hell to pay.” Ellie reached up to prod the back of her head. “I fought against his hold, but he slammed my head into the framed photograph I had hanging on the wall.”
“What was he looking for?” Booker asked.
“He kept yelling about a flash drive. I tried to tell him I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he wasn’t interested. He hit me. I remember the impact on my face, but not hitting the floor. By the time I regained awareness, the man was gone.”
The bed dipped as Brandon sat beside her, and Ellie leaned into him, grateful for the support. Brandon’s arm slid behind her waist as Booker took a knee in front of her. Booker showed her his palms, then slowly lowered them to rest on her knees.
She stared at the hands that had taught her about pleasure. They were large and bruised, each sporting heavy veins and long, capable fingers. Without meaning to, she reached out and smoothed her thumb over his bare ring finger.
He hadn’t remarried. She shouldn’t be happy about that. Not at all.
Booker breathed her name and she glanced up. “Did he—”
“Ms. King.” The doctor strode into the room. “Everything looks— Oh. Hello. I’m Dr. Morris.” He offered his hand to Booker, whose brows had plunged upon hearing her maiden name.
She stopped using his last name the minute the divorce papers were filed. Not because she wanted to, but because the constant reminder she’d once been his was more than she could bear.
Booker rocked to his feet and shook the doctor’s hand. “Booker Maldano.”
The doctor moved on to Brandon. As the men shook Dr. Morris asked, “Friends or family?”
“Friends,” Ellie said.
“Family,” Booker said at the same time.
Dr. Morris chuckled and turned his attention to her. “Would you like them to wait outside while we go over a few things?”
“No,” she shook her head, flabbergasted by Booker’s declaration. His hero complex was working overtime tonight. She better be careful not to let his behavior mess with her head. “It’s fine. They can stay.”
“Very well. I’ve checked the X-rays. Your ribs and shoulder are bruised, but nothing is broken.” He tilted her head and shined a light into her eyes. “No signs of a concussion.”
He clicked the penlight off, tucked it into his white coat, and considered her.
“You’ll be sore for a few days, but just try to rest as much as you can.” He held up a tiny paper cup. “These will help with the pain as well as help you get some sleep. If these gentlemen are here to drive you home, you can take them now. Otherwise—”
“She has a ride,” Booker said. “Take them.”
As though his word were law, the doctor handed Ellie the cup. He went to the sink to fill a cup of water and brought it back to her. She sent Mr. Bossy Pants a look to let him know she swallowed the pills because she wanted to—for the pain—not because Booker had demanded she do so.
“By tomorrow, an over-the-counter pain medication should be enough to manage the soreness. If not, call your regular doctor for a prescription.” The doctor eyed the other men, one brow cocked. “Either of you boys need a doctor?”
After the simultaneous we’re good’s Ellie thanked the doctor and watched as Brandon and Booker took turns doing the same. As soon as the doctor left, Brandon turned to her.
“Until we figure this out, you can’t go home.”
“Agreed,” Booker said. “The guy might decide to come back. We still have the cottage Ketcher was using, right?”
Brandon nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take her there and stay with her while you figure out—”
“Whoa.” Ellie put on the brakes. She wasn’t going anywhere alone with Booker. “Hold up, you two. The first thing I need to do is file a police report. I should’ve done that before I came here, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”
Booker checked his watch. “And in about fifteen minutes you won’t be thinking at all, so why don’t you relax, let the pain medication do its job, and let us do ours.”
Right. Because she was a job to him. Good to know.
“I’ll call a buddy of mine at the department,” Brandon offered. “I’ll have him meet me at Ellie’s house so he can document the scene. You said the guy asked about a flash drive. Why would he believe you had something like that?”
Her head throbbed. “I don’t know. He had to have the wrong house. I don’t have…the only time…” Oh God. The courier.
But, that couldn’t be right. She received the same drive once a week from her boss. He sent audio files for her to transcribe. When she was finished she saved the transcriptions on the same drive and sent it back to his secretary. Week after week, for the last eight years.
Booker took her elbow. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing. A coincidence.” She explained how she received work from her boss.
“Seems archaic,” Booker mused. “Wouldn’t a direct connection to the server be more efficient?”
Ellie wasn’t going to get into the reasons why she hadn’t made upgrading the technology at her house a priority. “We all work with what we’ve got.”
“Where is the drive that was delivered today?” Brandon asked.
“Locked in the glove compartment of my car. The courier caught me on the way out, and when my car … well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to leave the envelope out in the open so I locked it up. By the time I got home, I’d forgotten all about it.”
Brandon headed toward the door. “Mind if we take a look?”
Ellie shrugged. “If you don’t mind being bored to tears with corporate legal mumbo jumbo, be my guest. I guarantee none of the files my boss sends to me are worth breaking and entering and assault charges.”