Still Not Over You(35)

Skylar again – holding things down at the office today while I'm not there. I pause on the stairs, sighing, then take the call and lift the phone to my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, boss.” Skylar sounds out of breath, and I can hear something that sounds like boxes being shoved around. Probably dragging crates of surveillance gear. We've got a few new toys recently, and Milah's next show was supposed to be their trial run. “Everything's set. Thought you'd want to know. We've done the leg work and tactical assessment at the arena, but we’ve got a problem.”

I drag my free hand over my face. “We always have problems. What is it this time?”

“Crown Security.” She pauses tactfully. “Don't shoot the messenger.”

Fair disclaimer.

My gut feels like a rock. “What the fuck is Crown doing? Skylar?”

“Working with us, apparently.” Skylar's soft voice has a rare wry rumor. “An arena this big is way too huge for us, Landon. Milah’s team made that call, not us, but it’s not wrong. They over-sold her show. So, we’re handling the VIP area and the stage with Milah herself, but Dallas and Crown are going to handle out-perimeter security.”

Fuck. My. Life.

If I could somehow stop my fists from wanting to slam into the nearest surface, I'd admit it’s smart. Sensible.

It also pisses me off, and leaves me in a bind. I have to stay on the job now, just to save face in front of that asshole.

If I’m honest with myself, though, I’d have stayed on anyway. I’m not the only one affected by this job. I might have enough money to keep myself square for a while, but I’d be stiffing my crew out more than half their pay on this job if I had to compensate it out of my own pocket instead of Milah’s fees.

I can't do that to them.

Doing the right thing, right now, means dealing with goddamn Dallas.

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then continue down the stairs. Where did Kenna go, anyway?

“We’ll make do. It’s just one job. Play nice with the guys from Crown. Their shitty boss isn’t their fault.”

“You're taking this well. I'm glad.” Skylar actually laughs, which makes me blink. Then she grunts. “Crap, yeah, gotta go. Sorry. Riker needs a hand, heavy lifting.”

“Don’t do anything to get me reported to OSHA, Pixie.” She's anything but a soft little fairy, hence the name.

I hang up after another of her laughs, which brings a smile to my face, knowing everything she's been through the past few months.

Then I stop at the foot of the stairs and glance around, raking a hand through my hair. My house suddenly feels too large. I feel too helpless in it.

Feels empty, too.

Like I'm the only one here.

My old military sense tingles. Just like I have an uncanny sense for intruders, I also know when there's no one else around.

Kenna wasn’t in her room when I passed. She's not in the kitchen or anywhere else on the first floor, either.

How does she do that? She’s practically a green-eyed little cat, disappearing without a sound.

Maybe she’s out at the beach house again, digging for more of her stuff in the wreckage.

For some screwed up reason, I hope that's where I'll find her.

I head outside. It takes a second to register that her Prius isn’t in the driveway anymore, but I don’t think much until I see the note tucked under my Impala's windshield wiper.

Blue paper. I already know it’s from her, because those blue Post-It notepads were always her thing in high school, books and notebooks bristling with them tucked inside and full of random scribbles.

Any hint of nostalgia from that memory is gone when I see what the note says, tugging it out and unfolding it between my fingers.



I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Goodbye, Landon.



I won’t say anything. I promise.



And I promise I never told anyone. Believe me, or don't. Your choice.



You’ll always be safe with me.



-Reb



Every inch of my body prickles with a cold sweat.

Safe. That's what she said.

More than the gut-punch at knowing she’s gone, it’s that single word that hits so hard. I know what she saw in my journal.

The darkest part of me, a part of myself I still haven’t reckoned with, a part I’ll never unload until the day I can find and confront my father’s killer, and find out if I have the strength to take another man’s life when he’s not an enemy combatant determined to kill me if I don’t end him first.

And Reb, little Reb...

Has been fucking protecting me all these years.

She isn't lying. I'm not sure if she's ever told a serious lie in her whole damn life.

I’ve hated that she saw that part of me. Hated that she knows what I’m capable of. Hated like I didn't know I could, knowing she’s been protecting me.

It's like I'm underwater. Lungs heavy. This crushing feeling bleeding inside me.

I can’t let her leave like this.

I have forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours till the end of next weekend, and my life belongs to Milah Holly and Dallas Reese.

Forty-eight hours to find that little cat of a woman, drag her back here, and set things right between us.