Witness (Guardians Book 1) Page 4

  Brock chuckled. “Take a breath, Bailey.”

  “These are the things that go through my mind at one in the morning when I can’t sleep.”

  He smiled. “Well, why don’t we talk, then?”

  “But…” I cocked my head. “You’re a guy.”

  “Glad you noticed.”

  “What I mean by that, is that you are a man and, in my experience, limited though it might be, men don’t typically like to talk.”

  “I’ve got three sisters, Bailey, which means I learned pretty quickly that women sometimes need to process verbally. If they don’t, all hell will break loose.”

  I bit my lip. “You have three sisters?”

  He nodded. “Two older, one younger.”

  “Are you the only boy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow.”

  “Sure. We can go with ‘wow,’” he said with a shrug. “I had a love/hate thing going with the fact I was the only boy, mostly because, since I have a natural tendency to protect, I got in a few fights defending their honor, but now they have families of their own and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Hence the nieces.”

  “Exactly. Three of them.”

  “Wow.” I followed him to the sofa and sat facing him, my back against the armrest and my legs crossed in front of me. “I always wanted an older brother.”

  “Just a brother?”

  “Yes. I hated being an only child, but I also knew that if I’d had a sister, there would be competition. Ali’s the first woman I’ve met who doesn’t manipulate. Again, I’m not the expert, but there’s nothing worse than trusting someone and finding out they had it in for you all along.”

  “Did that happen a lot?”

  I shook my head. “No. Once. But I learned from it. I’m really picky. My mom says I’ll never find a man with my long list of demands.” I blushed, having said too much. “Ignore me. Oxy makes my lips loose apparently.”

  Brock chuckled. “Your secrets are safe with me, Bailey. You can say anything…no judgment and I’ll never repeat it.”

  “I appreciate that.” I frowned. “Any word on the kids?”

  “Yes. Our guy was able to get the pictures off your phone.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “That was really smart thinking, Bailey. It gets us closer, faster.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So, what other kinds of things do you think about in the middle of the night?”

  “I don’t know.” I sipped my water. “Questions like, what are your parents like?”

  “The deep questions, huh?” He grinned. “Ah, Mom and Dad are still together. Thirty-eight years of marriage later.”

  “Well, that’s awesome.”

  “Yeah, it is. Mostly because they still really love each other. Mom’s a teacher, Dad’s an accountant. Middle class all the way. But, man, they adore life.”

  “I wonder what that looks like,” I mused.

  “Are yours divorced?”

  “No, but they should be,” I admitted.

  “How so?”

  “They’re miserable. Mom drinks a lot…and I mean, a lot. Dad’s at the club more nights than he is home. I get it, though. I love my dad. He and I are really close, but my mom, well, she’s part of the reason I live…ah, lived, with Ali. I needed to get out of Vermont, not just to experience somewhere other than the rich, white, east coast, but to get away from her.”

  “I’m sorry, Bailey.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m smart enough to know that that’s my hang up. Here, no one knows me as anything other than Bailey Harper, English Lit major. I don’t tell them my dad’s a retired senator and for the most part, they don’t ask. Dad married himself a younger woman. Mom’s twenty years his junior, and she most definitely married for money…and he has scads of it.”

  “Scads, huh?”

  I giggled. “Oh, my God, Brock. Scads. Seriously, even my mother couldn’t spend it and she makes it her life’s mission to buy whatever the hell she wants. They both come from old money and quite frankly, it disgusts me. They pay for my apartment, which is huge, and they pay for my education, which is even bigger, and I try not to take any of that for granted, but if I have to hear one more time that they were going to marry me off to Josiah Warren, I will scream. I want to work for a living. My mother finds that thought disgusting.”

  “Josiah Warren?”

  “Yeah, of the Warrens of South Hampton,” I said channeling a snooty mock-British accent.

  “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t realize,” he retorted with a chuckle.

  “Which is why I live here. No one knows, or cares, who the hell the Warrens of South Hampton are. You have no idea how awesome that is.”

  “Must be tough, being rich and all.”

  I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rich little girl with mommy issues,” he grumbled.

  “Well, that deescalated quickly,” I whispered.

  God! Why the hell did I tell him all of that?

  No one knew my life story here, not even Ali. I bit back tears and rose to my feet. “I’m really sorry, Brock. I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you.” I turned on my heel and started towards my room.

  Brock was up and standing in front of me faster than I could have imagined, especially, because I didn’t hear him move. He grasped my arms. “Bailey, I’m sorry. That was a total dick move.”

  I stared at my feet. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hey,” he said, and lifted my chin. “Seriously. I’m sorry. I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so grounded.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His head dropped back, and he stared at the ceiling before looking at me again. “I know about your family.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, babe, I do. We did a full background check on you.”

  “So then, what was all that bullshit about me telling you everything and there’d be no judgment?” I challenged. “Sounds to me like you’ve already made your mind up about me, and I don’t really like what you’ve decided.” I pulled out of his grasp. “And quit calling me ‘babe.’”

  I escaped to the bedroom, shaking with anger. Why wouldn’t I learn? God, I was so gullible. A gorgeous man asks me about all of my secrets and I spill them because he seems sincere.

  Idiot.

  Flopping onto the bed, I grabbed my Kindle and focused on the screen, trying to forget the sexy FBI agent just down the hall.

  * * *

  Brock

  I made my way back to the living room and settled in for a long night. Bailey was a complication and a distraction I hadn’t expected. I was an FBI agent attracted to my charge. Not good. Not good at all. I had to shut it down. But I couldn’t get her off my mind and she was worming her way into my soul.

  My cell phone buzzed, and I saw Dallas’s name pop up. “Hey, Dal.”

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “Yeah. All’s quiet here.”

  “Quiet out here, too. I’ll see you in a minute.” Dallas was on street watch, but truth be told, not a lot happened in the sleepy little neighborhood after eleven.

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and Dallas entered the safe house, using our code knock. Even so, I had my gun at the ready. Dallas dropped his bag on one of the chairs and I holstered my gun. “You wanna sleep first?” Dallas asked.

  “Nah, I’m good. Go ahead.”

  Dallas nodded. “’Night.”

  “’Night, brother.”

  Dallas headed into the bedroom and I found a baseball game on some sports channel. I lasted about an hour until my focus was pulled from the television to the hallway. As if I wished her into being, Bailey walked out of the mouth of the hallway and made her way to the kitchen. I was drawn to her ample rear end as she moved.

  I’d always been a T&A guy, and Bailey didn’t disappoint on either. She wore a tight pair of yoga pants and a black, lacy camisole that hid enough
, but still made me want to peel it off her. She grabbed a bottled water and walked back toward her room.

  “Hey,” I said. “Still can’t sleep?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No. Just wired.”

  “Wanna watch the game with me?”

  Bailey wrinkled her nose. “Baseball? Um, no, I’ll pass.”

  “Might put you to sleep.”

  “I’m just going to go read,” she said.

  “You sure?”

  She frowned. “Brock. We are not friends. You are my jailor, for all intents and purposes, so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna pass on watching a stupid baseball game with you tonight…or ever.”

  She strutted her adorable little ass back down the hallway and I focused back on the television. Goddammit, I’d fucked up. Royally.

  Bailey

  I FOLLOWED A nurse back to the x-ray room in the medical offices attached to the hospital. Brock was close behind, but giving me a little space, considering I had been chilly toward him. Dr. Stone had requested an image of my arm to see how it was healing, so Brock drew the short straw to drive me.

  It had been two weeks and four days since my world had been turned upside down, two weeks and two days since I’d been sequestered ‘for my own protection,’ and two weeks since I’d bared my soul to Brock.

  About a week into my hiding, Brock had set up a call with my parents. My mother was melodramatic (no real sound of concern, just a lot of wailing), and my father was detached. Brock and his merry band of captors had come up with a pretty lame story that I had flown to Aspen with a new boyfriend and had lost my cell phone, so the number I was calling from was the new one. He seemed happy with that…well, not happy, but not concerned, which was the same in my opinion.

  When I hung up, Brock had been pissed. When I’d pressed him as to why, he’d noted that they weren’t worried.

  “My mom is worried,” I lied. I wasn’t interested in his observations when it came to my parents. Regardless of the fact he was probably trained to notice these things.

  “No, I don’t think she is.” He rubbed his forehead. “I think she’s disingenuous.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Babe―”

  “Stop calling me ‘babe’!” I snapped.

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “Look. Parents who keep a woman on as tight a leash as you, don’t just worry, they watch.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I have more that I have to figure out.”

  Not knowing what to make of his words, and with Brock looking like he could kill someone, I dropped the conversation. I wasn’t interested in knowing why he was so pissed, or in getting any more emotionally involved with him.

  “Have a seat,” the receptionist said, pulling me out of my thoughts, when I walked up to the desk. “And we’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks.”

  It didn’t take long before the tech called for me and led me down the hallway, Brock following. He stood outside while the woman took the x-ray, and then walked with me to Dr. Stone’s office on the second floor.

  I was met by another medical person who led me down to exam room two, where Brock waited with me until the doctor arrived. Once Dr. Stone greeted us, Brock left the room without another word.

  “How’s the arm?” Dr. Stone asked as he washed his hands.

  “Good. No more pain,” I said. “Just itchy as hell.”

  “That’s to be expected. What about the ribs?”

  “Not quite as good.”

  He smiled, typing furiously on his keyboard. “Okay, let’s look at these pictures and see what we see.” After a few minutes, he faced me with a smile. “It looks great, Bailey. The bones are fusing in the right order. I think you can get the cast off in about a month. The ribs might take a little more time, but overall, you’re healing a lot faster than expected.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Stone. I appreciate it.”

  He nodded. “Do you have any questions or concerns?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m good.”

  “You have my number, so feel free to call me. But if you have any medically-related questions, you should call the main number.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, but then frowned in confusion. “Wait. What else would I call you for?”

  “Whatever,” he said. “If you have any questions or something doesn’t feel right, feel free to call me on my cell.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The fact my doctor was giving me his personal cell phone number seemed weird to me, but he wasn’t being creepy, so I chalked it up to him being Dallas’s brother and being nice. I mean, let’s be honest, this entire situation was weird and creepy.

  “You’re all set,” Dr. Stone said, pulling open the door and I nodded and walked out.

  “You okay?” Brock asked, pushing away from the wall.

  “Yep. Got about another month to go.” I headed down the hall, but found my arm grasped and my body turned to face Brock.

  “You look freaked. Did something happen?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m always freaked,” I said with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure this might be my permanent expression for a while.”

  Brock frowned, but didn’t ask again as he guided me to the elevators, finding one open. We stepped inside, and the doors closed just as Brock said, “It’s gonna be okay.”

  I ignored him. “Are you with me tonight or is Dallas?”

  “Me tonight, Dallas tomorrow,” he said. “Is that okay?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  For the most part, Brock left me to my thoughts as we drove from the medical offices at the hospital back to the safe house. Brock was on constant alert, scanning the road and rearview mirror, watching for tails. This meant I had a few precious moments to think without him invading my space.

  “What’s up, Bailey?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell somethin’s bothering you.”

  “Listen, Einstein, I’m in a permanent state of being bothered,” I ground out. “I’m just trying to deal, okay?”

  “Are you worried about your arm? What did Alec say? Are you in pain? Do you need me to call him?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to fall for the concern in his voice. “I already told you. It’s all good. I have his cell…if I have any questions, I’ll call him.”

  Brock’s face went lethal. “Sorry?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “He gave you his number?”

  “It wasn’t weird,” I said. “He just wanted to make sure I could get hold of him if I needed to.”

  “Fuck!” The light turned green, but Brock didn’t move and received a honk from behind. He hit the accelerator and sped through the light.

  “Brock, slow down.”

  He did and took a deep breath. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Of what?”

  “Alec. I’ll take care of it.”

  “There’s nothing to take care of,” I snapped in frustration.

  He didn’t respond as we drove into the quiet neighborhood of the safe house. He hit the garage door button and maneuvered the SUV inside. I undid my seatbelt and pushed open the door.

  “Wait,” he warned. “You know the drill.”

  Yes, I did know the drill. I knew the drill too well. I shouldn’t know the drill. I should be looking for a job, or heading home, or all of the above.

  Brock drew his gun and pushed open the door to the house. His body rigid, his face contorted in a way I’d never seen it before. I followed him inside; unclear as to why he was so pissed. He did a quick safety check, secured the windows and doors, and then radioed to Dallas we were inside, and all was clear.

  I made my way to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ll be back in a
minute.”

  He walked out the back and I flopped on the sofa with a frustrated groan.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Brock stormed back through the door. He still looked irked, but not as mad as he was before.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. I was currently slicing an apple at the kitchen island.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to ask questions you don’t want an honest answer to?” he challenged.

  “Fine, Brock. Whatever,” I snapped, and threw the knife into the sink.

  He closed the distance between us and took my arm gently.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Fuck!”

  “Well, that’s helpful,” I grumbled, and tried to pull my arm away.

  Without warning, his mouth was on mine and I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck and opening my mouth for better access. His tongue thrust inside as I slid my fingers into his hair, but all too soon, Brock broke the kiss. “Fuck!”

  I stared up at him in shock.

  He settled his hands on top of his head and took a deep breath. “I’m totally fucking this up.”

  “What?”

  “You, this. Us.”

  “Us?” I raised my hands and shook my head. My heart was slamming against my chest, sure I’d heard him incorrectly. “I hadn’t realized there was an ‘us.’”

  “Me neither,” he grumbled.

  “Well, you sound really happy about whatever it is you think you’ve ‘fucked up,’ so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Wait.” He slid his hand to the back of my neck and smiled. “I’m being a class A jerk, Bailey, and I’m sorry about that. I guess I just didn’t expect you, or the feelings that came along with that, and I’m processing the hell out of all of this the absolute wrong way.”

  “I don’t know if class A is totally correct…class D maybe.”

  “You’re gorgeous. You know that?” His eyes softened as he stared at me. “But that’s not the best part about you.”

  “It’s not?”

  He shook his head. “You are stronger than any person I’ve ever met, and you have this innate ability to see the good in people, but when you see the bad, you don’t bullshit yourself into ignoring it.”