Page 71 of The Union
“Depends,” Dad said. “If that’s truly the case, and I don’t find anything in his head—hostility or manipulation or otherwise—then we could use a person on the inside, especially if he has a friend at Camden Industries.” He rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, seemingly preparing to dig in and work hard at something. “Afterward, it’s time to gather the troops and lay out all our intel and where we stand. Then we can make some clear decisions on our next steps.” He pushed off the doorjamb. “I’m going back to Jo’s.”
“One more thing, Pops.” I swallowed, my adrenaline kicking into gear.
He cocked an eyebrow, resting an arm on the tall dresser.
I leaned my elbows on my knees. “I’m not exactly a romantic.” My dad didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. At least I wasn’t aware of one. I’d never seen him with a woman, and I had no clue how he’d treated my mom since she died before I even knew her. But when he talked about her, he had love for her in his voice.
He grinned, keen on hearing more.
“I’m going to propose to Layla again, and I want to do it properly. She knows it’s coming, but I want to surprise her somehow. Jo thinks I should have a nice setting. I’m not asking how to do it, but I would like to know how you proposed to Mom.”
He beamed. “Your mom adored old historic buildings.” He glanced past me with a faraway gleam in his eyes. “In particular, she loved the Mount Washington Hotel in New Hampshire. One of the oldest hotels around. That night was spectacular, and to see her light up…” He blew out a breath, staving off the emotions that were hopping off him and onto me. “I proposed in a horse-drawn carriage on a summer evening under the stars.” Tears clouded his eyes.
I swallowed my own feelings. I’d never gotten the chance to know my mom. She’d died of leukemia when Jo and I were still in diapers. But I would give anything for her to be at my father’s side, to be here with Jo and me. “I’m not sure I can top that.” I half laughed.
He rounded his gaze on me. “It’s not about who has the better grand gesture.” He tapped his heart. “It’s in here, son. Make sure Layla knows how much you love her. And you’ll know when you’re in the right place to ask her.”
“Pops, I want her with me for eternity. But I know that’s impossible.”
Sadness washed over him. “You can’t look at it that way. Live now. Live free, and cherish her every moment you have.”
I chuckled. “Free, huh? Given what we’re up against, and that our kid might be hunted like me, free isn’t the term I would use.”
“You know what I mean, Sam. Have you thought about a ring?”
I picked at the seam of my jeans. “Kind of. I do want to have one before I propose.” I had money saved.
He raised his finger. “Give me a second.” He ducked into the closet, and a minute later, came out with a small blue-velvet bag. “I thought of this when the topic came up in the infirmary. Anyway, your mom wanted you to have this for your bride-to-be.” He pulled out a ruby ring.
My eyes widened at the beautiful stone that would fit Layla’s fiery personality perfectly. “That looks similar to the necklace she gave Jo.”
He held the ring up to the light. “Your mom loved the precious gems. The ruby is a carat and needs to be cleaned and can be resized for Layla.”
He handed it to me just as a bloodcurdling scream pierced my eardrums.
26
LAYLA
Beads of sweat rolled down my back. I inhaled and exhaled, blinking and trying to regulate my breathing like I’d been running for my life. Actually, I had, or felt that way in my dream.
Two figures burst into the room, and it took me a beat to zero in on Sam. In a flash, he was grabbing the sides of my arms.
“Baby doll, breathe.” He picked hair off my dampened face.
I shuddered, swallowing and then choking. “I’m good.”
“The fuck you are. Was someone trying to kill you in your sleep?” he asked.
I homed in on his worried expression. “Rianne.”
His grip tightened, and a sharp prick of something in one of his hands dug into my skin.
I glanced at my right arm. “What’s in your hand?”
He froze, regarded Steven, who stood at the foot of the bed, then quick as a whip, he put whatever was poking me into the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re not a good liar.” I was too groggy and freaked out to push him to tell me.
