Page 16 of Trapped (Sheppard & Sons Investigations #6)
Nathan
J ack and Jamie called me into a meeting after lunch. When I wrapped my knuckles on his door frame, Jaime said, “Come in and close the door.”
Jack added, “Have a seat.”
This can’t be good. I sat and balanced my laptop on my thighs.
“What’s up?”
“Ashley called earlier,” Jack said. My back stiffened as I leaned forward. I pressed my feet into the floor and held my laptop with a death grip to minimize my reaction.
“She got an unexpected delivery.” Jack showed me the pictures he’d taken of the black roses. “I bagged everything. Dad’s dusting the vase for prints now.”
“Note?” I failed to sound calm.
“None. She wasn’t home, and the delivery person was gone by the time her grandmother answered the door.”
If it was fucking Finn… Instead of finishing my thought, I asked, “Neighbors see anything?”
“No, and before you ask, I talked to them all.”
I nodded.
“What can I do?”
“You’ve met Finn. We haven’t. What’s your impression?”
Ashley had dated Finn for several months but had never introduced him to her friends. Interesting .
My impression was that Finn was a spoiled, narcissistic brat who needed someone to break his nose, but I couldn’t say that.
“He’s arrogant and used to getting what he wants. Acted like a tough guy when it was just Ashley but tucked his tail and ran when I challenged him.” I left out my less-than-subtle threats.
“Does he strike you as the type to send anonymous black roses?”
“Maybe.” Sending anonymous gifts was the behavior of a coward. A way to harass her without repercussions. Was it dumb luck or by design that they delivered the flowers while Ashley was out? “I don’t know him, but from what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Anything in your interaction lead you to believe he’d stalk her?” Jamie asked.
I held eye contact while I considered it. Given what I knew, I had to say yes. Finn struck me as a guy who’d think stalking and harassment were acceptable behavior to get what he wanted. And he wanted Ashley.
Wanting to sound professional, detached, I chose my words carefully. “He wants her back, and I think he’d do just about anything to get what he wants.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Jamie said. “Ashley won’t like it, but we should have someone covering the house just in case.”
“I can take—”
“I’ll do it.” I cut Jack off.
“Why aren’t I surprised?” Jamie asked. Jack just grinned.
“What? You both have pregnant wives at home, so it only makes sense for me to be the one.” My defense fell on deaf ears.
“Sure. You keep telling yourself that. But since we’re doing this off the books, it has to be Jack or me.”
I failed to hold back the growl in my throat. “Then don’t bill my hours,” I said, giving them more evidence that I was doing this because of my feelings for Ashley. “My schedule’s open, so if you’re good with it, I’ll leave now.”
They shared a look before Jack nodded and Jamie said, “You can go.”
“Since we’re doing this, you should know her call sign. It’s Flirty,” Jack said.
“Excuse me?” I barked. “Why does Ashley have a call sign? Has someone threatened her before?” Who did I have to strangle? And who the hell decided on Flirty?
“No. She wanted one when we protected Emily, whose call sign was Snow White. We argued over which dwarf suited her, but she had the last laugh and named herself. I see no reason to change it,” Jamie explained.
Knowing she named herself didn’t make me feel any better, but knowing she’d never needed their services did.
“Flirty it is.” It wasn’t my job to like it.
“Before Meg started at SSI, we used boring call signs for clients, if we used them at all. Meg thought using princes- themed names would help lift their spirits while we helped them,” Jack answered a question I hadn’t asked.
I couldn’t argue with her logic.
“Blake hated it.” Jack laughed. “She thought it was dehumanizing to use call signs. But everyone else seems to like it.”
I nodded, hoping story time was over. “I’ll call when I get there.”
As I walked out, I heard Jack say, “He’s got it bad.”
And Jamie’s reply. “Let’s just hope it’s not a problem.”
It won’t be. I won’t let it.
But Jack was right. Despite trying to ignore and deny my feelings, there was no point in lying. I had it bad for Ashley. Maybe I could’ve ignored my feelings, but the idea of her being in danger made me act like a fucking caveman.
Not that it mattered. She’d never forgive me for standing her up. For hurting her.
I ran my hand down my face, the scar a reminder of all I’d endured. Holding the panic at bay, I grabbed my gear from my office and took off.
Forgiven or not, I can protect her.
And if Finn made the mistake of threatening her again, I’d make sure he lived to regret it. I parked far enough from the house that Ashley couldn’t see me, unless she walked outside, but close enough that I could easily close the distance if needed.
Meg and Jack stopped by to drop off a burger and fries, plus a few bottles of water, for dinner. My stomach appreciated the food, and my bladder appreciated the bathroom break.
“I’ll be back to relieve you at ten so you can get some rest,” Jack said after I gave him my update.
When I opened my mouth to argue, he held up a hand. “Don’t.”
Knowing he’d never let anything happen, and that I’d be no good to Ashley without at least a few hours of sleep, I nodded. “Thanks for the grub.”
“You’re welcome.” He laughed. “Thanks for not arguing.”
Falling asleep wasn’t easy, but around midnight, I finally did. Not long after that, the memory-induced nightmares started.
Nightmares that were more memory than dream.
“How’d you find out?” I asked. Tommy and Al were taking turns punching me while I was chained to a chair.
“We spotted the feds at the meetup,” Al answered, punching me in the ribs. “So we called it off.” Another punch.
“But we didn’t leave,” Tommy said before punching me in the gut. “We held back and watched the buyer. And wouldn’t you know it? He was talking to the feds.” He backhanded my face, the hit splitting my lip and his rings slicing my cheek.
My blood stained the cuffs of his pale blue, long-sleeved shirt.
“What’s that got to do with me?” I played dumb.
More punches directed at my face and head had me seeing stars.
“We’re not done with our story,” Al said, punching me in the sternum hard enough to knock the wind out of me. “We waited until the buyer was alone, and we grabbed him.”
“He sang like a canary, gave you up to save his hand.” Tommy laughed as he landed another punch to my face. The swelling around my eyes made me squint; the blood seeping in tinted everything red.
Al’s villainous laugh might’ve been comical if it hadn’t made me sick to my stomach. “I kept my word. He died with both his hands.”
The meeting was part of the joint operation between Hawken’s and the FBI, but I didn’t know who they sent to pose as a buyer. I still didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out alive and taking these two bastards down.
Tommy stepped back and admired their handiwork. “He wasn’t as strong as you.”
“But you’ll break, Nathan. Everyone does,” Al said with a sneer, using my first name.
If the buyer had ratted me out, why the games? Why not just kill me?
Fearing the answer didn’t stop me from asking, “Didn’t the buyer already ‘sing like a canary’ and tell you everything you wanted to know?”
“He would have, but Tommy was so pissed off when he found out you’re the fucking mole he got carried away and killed him after he coughed up your real name,” Al said, giving his brother a scathing look. “So now we’re asking you. Let’s start with a simple question: Who do you work for?”
I wasn’t sure who scared me more—Tommy and his volatile temper or Al and his calm sadistic smile.
“Go to hell.” My pink spit added more color to Tommy’s shirt.
The scene changed in my dream.
I was hanging by my wrists from a meat hook in the ceiling. The metal shackles dug into my flesh, the rough edges shredding my skin anytime I moved. Tommy doused me with water before using an industrial-sized power generator to shock me.
The pain in the dream forced me awake with a jerk. I bolted out of bed and onto my feet, reaching out to protect myself before realizing I was alone in my room. My hand came away wet when I ran it through my hair; sweat covered my body.
The face of my watch lit up when I tapped it. Three-thirty.
I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so I drank a glass of water and headed for the bathroom.
The hot shower felt good as it washed away the images of my lingering nightmare. Needing something to do, I cleaned my pistol. The ritual always calmed my mind.
Knowing I needed sleep, I opened the sleep app on my phone and turned on some white noise.