Page 36 of Under Control

She had no idea who he was…or what he did.

Turning, she casually prodded, “You own this place?”

He looked up from the sink after pouring two glasses of water, narrowing his eyes as he saw directly through her words.

“I bought it about a year or so ago,” he stated very matter-of-factly—but cut it off there.

His tone bothered Danica, as she clamped her mouth shut. Clearly he was not taking any questions and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Obviously determined and on a mission, he grabbed her hand once again and showed her upstairs to the third floor. He took her into a bedroom that was long and narrow, with light-gray painted walls and dark-gray stained wooden furniture. Opening up through a patio door, there was another private balcony overlooking the ocean. The room felt cozy and warm, if not a little barren. There were hardly three pieces of furniture in the room, matching the tone of the rest of the house—like no one lived there.

At least there was a beautiful little happy green plant on the bedside table, which Danica silently mouthed a greeting to as she approached.

All living things are important.

Carrick sat her down with a glass of water, ordering her to drink and asking her if she needed anything. He laid out a T-shirt on the bed—one of his, clearly—that was a white V-neck. Then he left her alone—leaving the room and heading back downstairs, muttering something about grabbing her black backpack from the pickup for her.

She knew that wasn’t all he was doing, though, because he was soon talking on the phone one level down, keeping his voice low, likely so that she wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on. She could only imagine what was happening at that point, but was there really much point in asking Carrick any questions?

He’s in damage-control mode.

Frustrated and alone, Danica picked up his shirt and suddenly, as if something cracked in her façade, tears started to stream down her face. Finally, she didn’t need to be a big, tough girl. She could be vulnerable. She could be her soft, sensitive and emotional self. She didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

Things had gone very wrong that night, and now she and Carrick were hot targets. The latter occupied her mind most of all, which was a truth she was almost unwilling to acknowledge. Andriy would spare her if she married him—but he would kill Carrick. And he wasn’t going to rest until he did. Danica knew how her family did business.

They had too many friends.

They were too powerful.

It was almost impossible to escape them.

Almost.

She looked closer at the little plant on the side table and reached over to toy with a tag that was sticking out of the side of it. She pulled it a little closer to read what the tag said and realized it was a hand-written inscription. It looked like a gift card.

“Carrick, for your new home,” the tag read. “A new beginning. Let the past be the past.”

She dropped the tag, pushing back the plant, feeling like she’d stumbled across something deeply personal. She looked back over her shoulder, wondering what his deep secrets were.

“Let the past be the past.”

Whatwashis past?

A question she was sure he would never answer—not for her.

Shedding her slinky black dress, she threw on his shirt and perched on the edge of the bed, sitting silently to hear the ocean. Her mind was spiraling. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe in the power of the water and its security and safety.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to do,” she cried through whispers, pleading with the greater power of the universe that she deeply believed in. “Can I trust him? Please, guide me.”

But, after a few minutes, she stopped praying. Even she realized how shaken she was—how high the cortisol was in her body. She couldn’t think, let alone meditate, and it was clear that she needed to sleep. She just didn’t want to, she realized, as she touched the soft pillow on the bed.

Behind her, she heard the bedroom door opening, and Carrick stepped toward the bed. His presence in front of her once again caused her senses to awaken, like she’d just been splashed in the face with cold water. There was just something about him when he was near. She felt an energy that she’d never felt before.

Carrick sat down on the bed beside her, but she didn’t look at him, remaining curled up. She couldn’t feel that level of intensity right then. She kept her tearful eyes on the ocean, unwilling to share with him what she was going through.

“It’s been a lot, but you have to recover,” he instructed her, all hardness and determination. “This fight is just beginning.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered as she looked up at him, her lip trembling. His untiring gaze locked on hers, and she quietly admitted, “I’m so scared.”

---