“Okay.”
I left the room and by the time I found my mother, my heart had finally slowed. Dinner service was about to begin, so I took her into the old kitchen and tried not to think of the fact that the person who took Angela’s key could’ve been the same person I’d run into.
Breaking the news about her truck to her had gone over surprisingly well with the exception of her being rightfully ticked off at me for keeping it secret.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she said, marching right up to me. She grasped my arms. “I get why you did, but you do not keep me in the dark. If something happens, you tell me. I’m a grown woman, and I can damn well handle it.”
“I know and I’m sorry.”
Mom’s lips thinned as she stared at the closed door that led into the kitchen. “Part of me wishes you hadn’t come home.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Please don’t take that the wrong way.” She faced me, eyes full of concern. “But I’d rather only see you once a year than you be terrorized or harmed.”
Little knots of dread formed in my belly. “I’m not terrorized—”
She shot me a look that shut me right up quick. “You’re strong, honey, one of the strongest people I know, but this is frightening. No one would fault you for being scared and nor do I believe for one second that you’re not.”
Mom. She knew me too well.
“I want you safe, Sasha, and I don’t feel like you’re safe here,” she admitted, eyes gleaming in the low light, and if she started crying, I’d lose it. “I wish I didn’t feel that way.”
“I know.” And I knew she really did mean that. She was beyond thrilled when I told her I was coming home. She wanted nothing more than for me to be here, but not like this.
Never like this.
Dinner service was a blur, and every smile and laugh felt brittle, but I tried. Miranda showed up during it, along with Jason, and I ushered them into the kitchen.
“Jesus, Sasha, someone sent you a finger?” Jason exclaimed the moment the door swung shut.
“Keep it down. James doesn’t know about that.” I cut Miranda a sharp look. “You weren’t supposed to say anything.”
“He needed to be here,” Miranda stated. “He’s my friend. He’s yours. You’re not shutting anyone out.”
Had she been talking to Cole? And I also wondered if Jason was more than Miranda’s friend. I really needed to find some time to talk to her.
Jason stepped to the side as James came in through the old kitchen, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. He scowled in their direction as he shuffled to the sink.
“I wasn’t trying to cut you out,” I told Jason in a low voice. “I hope you know that. It’s just that this is . . . well, it’s kind of crazy.”
“I know.” He straightened his glasses as he smiled. “I don’t take it personally. That’s why I’m here.”
“Thank you.” I turned to the door. “Can you guys hang out in here—”
“And stay out of my way,” James barked out.
“And do that while I finish up dinner service?” I asked. “Cole is around somewhere. He’ll probably be down soon.”
Once they were situated, I hurried back out to the dining room. My head was aching by the time Mom and I removed the last of the dishes with Jason’s help. He’d even rolled up his sleeves and was putting away dishes.
Miranda was currently “managing” or something, sitting at the table with a glass of wine from a bottle she’d obviously helped herself to. Cole had come down at some point and he caught me after I placed a stack of white dishes near the sink.
“You’re looking a little pale.” A concerned frown pulled at his lips. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts a little.”
“Let me get you something,” Mom said, dashing off into the back room and returning within seconds with a pain reliever. She handed it over. “Take these.”
“Thank you.” I walked over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Knocking back the pills, I faced the little group. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
Jason turned from the counter. “How about you take a seat and I’ll help Mrs. Keeton finish up.”
“You don’t—”
“Let me rephrase that,” he said, walking past me. “Sit and I’ll finish it.”
Cole grinned. “Like that guy.”
“Whatever,” I sighed, moving over to the bistro table.
Miranda sat back. “I bet you wish you could have some wine.”
“I do.” However, a concussion, even minor, put the kibosh on that.
We didn’t talk about anything until James left for the night. At that point, I’d moved from the table and was sitting on the counter. Mom had taken my seat, and Jason and Cole stood while Miranda was nursing her second glass of wine.
I’d checked outside earlier and seen that the snow had tapered off, and only a dusting remained.
Everyone was filled in on, well, everything. Miranda downed what was left of her wine. Jason was pacing. Cole was leaning against the counter I sat on.
“I’m going to be up front with you,” Cole warned, and keyed into what he was talking about. “Press is going to hear about this soon. They have ways. You already know that. They’re going to be all over this. Tyron and I can keep them away—”
“So will Jason and I,” Miranda chimed, arms crossed and looking like she enjoyed the idea of keeping journalists at bay.
I glanced over at them.
Jason nodded as he stopped to stand by Miranda’s chair. “Of course. We’ll be your anti-press guard.”
“That’s good, but those bastards are relentless.” Cole pushed my water closer to me. “I just want you to be prepared.”
Miranda watched Cole with a small smile and then she glanced over at me. I picked up the bottle and took a drink before she chimed in. “I am.”
“When’s the alarm going in?” Miranda asked.
“Tomorrow,” Cole answered. “And the tunnel is getting closed up.”
I looked over at Mom. She had been quiet as she sipped her glass of wine, but she still looked like she had when we’d been in the back room, as if she was thinking about packing up my stuff and sending me back to Atlanta. That coming home had been a mistake.
Close to midnight, Cole and I returned to my apartment. Full of restless energy, I washed my face and slathered on lotion, my mind in a thousand different places.
I changed into a lavender nightie with fluttering cap sleeves and then pulled a cardigan on over it. Not the sexiest combo, I realized as I wandered into the bedroom.
Cole was standing by the bed. His shirt was off and his gun was on the nightstand. The button on his jeans was undone, and for several seconds, I got a little lost staring at him. Twenty-nine years old and I’d never seen a stomach so defined. Come to think of it, I’d actually never seen a six-pack in real life. Up until this moment, I was beginning to believe they were like a unicorn.
A half grin formed as he eyed my getup. “That’s cute.”