Page 138 of The Defender
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Noah Wilson left the conversation.
The weekend passed in a blur. Brooklyn and I stayed in our suite the entire time, ordering room service and watching nineties movies on pay-per-view. We didn’t mention Chicago again, but the weight of her decision hung over us like a guillotine.
We told Coach, Scarlett, Asher, and Carina about the picture incident, but everyone else was on a strict need-to-know basis. I didn’t want the guys getting distracted when knockouts were coming up. As expected, Coach flipped his shit and tried to get us to move into his house, but we both refused.
One, the three of us living under the same roof was a terrible idea. Two, his house wasn’t properly secured. Even Brooklyn’s flat was safer thanks to the security measures I’d installed a few months ago, but if the intruder was motivated enough, they could find out where she lived. I’d rather we stick with the hotel unless my new bodyguard had other ideas.
The security company I’d contacted had sent over a shortlist of candidates. I already had interviews with them scheduled over the next few days. Once I made a decision, we’d come up with a new security plan together.
I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but Smith’s update wasn’t promising. He finally called me after Monday’s training and confirmed they hadn’t found anything useful from the pub’s CCTV footage. I’d expected it, but I was disappointed nonetheless.
“And you’re sure it’s not Ethan Brown or anyone associated with him?” I got into my car and locked the doors. I was grasping at straws, but fuck, it was bad enough I had one obsessed fan. Two in the space of a year would’ve been laughable if it didn’t make my skin crawl.
“Positive,” Smith said. “I’ll be honest. It’s hard for us to do more than we’ve already done because, like in the previous cases, the photo doesn’t contain an explicit threat. We can’t justify using additional police resources to track down the culprit.”
My grip tightened around my phone. “Maybe it’s not explicit, but that photo is animplicitthreat to mygirlfriend.”
“I understand, but?—”
“No, you fucking don’t.” My frustration boiled over into a full-blown roar. “Whoever the culprit is, they’re obsessed with me. Sending me a picture of Brooklyn is a warning. They don’t need to put a giant red X over her face for me to figure that out. You’re the goddamn police. Are you going to do something toprotect her, or are you going to wait until my next call is from the hospital or a fucking morgue?”
I didn’t lose my cool often. I prided myself on keeping a level head because being smart often trumped being angry. My family and Brooklyn were the only exceptions. I cared too much about them to see reason when they were in danger, and no matter what Smith said, Brooklynwasin danger. Because of me.
A vise constricted around my chest.
“I agree,” Smith said, shocking the hell out of me. “The intent behind leaving the photo is likely malicious, but my hands are tied. This is a low-priority case compared to everything else we’re dealing with. Homicides. Missing children. Organized crime. A potential celebrity stalker with no history of violence doesn’t even crack our top ten. That being said, I’ll go over the surveillance footage again and see if I missed anything the first time.”
I deflated, my anger draining out of me like water from a sieve. I could yell all I wanted, but Smith was right. There was too much going on for them to devote much manpower to my case.
I was hiring private security to protect Brooklyn and me, but would that be enough? I didn’t know what resources the intruder had or how well-trained they were, but they were smart enough to avoid being identified this entire time.
I stared out the window. Drops of rain splattered against the windshield and turned the world gray.
It was Monday afternoon. Brooklyn needed to give the Moores an answer tonight. I’d put off thinking about it all weekend, but I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
“You must’ve worked similar cases before,” I said. “In your experience, how concerned should I be about the intruder turning violent and targeting Brooklyn?”
There was a long beat of silence. “I think you should take reasonable precautions,” Smith finally said. “We don’t know what the intruder’s intentions are, but anyone who possesses this level of obsession and dedication will often turn violent when they’re triggered. If and when that happens, the romantic partner of their fixation is often their first target.”
My gut churned. I thanked Smith and hung up, feeling slightly numb as I drove back to the hotel. I made sure to take a roundabout route to throw off potential tails, and I kept an eye on my rearview mirror for suspicious cars, but my mind was a million miles away.
Smith’s confirmation that Brooklyn was in danger snapped something loose inside me. I was a rope that’d been pulled too tight for too long, and I’d finally unraveled.
Everything was spinning out of control. I couldn’t predict when the intruder would strike next, but I could do everything in my power to make sure Brooklyn was out of harm’s way when it happened.
I pulled into the hotel’s private VIP parking garage and cut the engine. The silence pressed in on me.
I’d spent my life worrying that I would lose the people I loved. My birth mum gave me up, and I was separated from my mother and sister when I was a child. I’d lost touch with my old friends in Paris after I transferred to Blackcastle—partly because of the distance, partly because of their envious reactions to my success.
Some of those broken ties were personal choices, and not all of them were permanent. But that didn’t dislodge my deep-rooted fear that once someone walked away, they’d never come back. Unless I was constantly there, reminding them why I deserved a spot in their life, they’d forget about me or, worse, realize they never needed me to begin with.
But Brooklyn was different. She’d walked into my life through coincidence and stayed by choice. Yes, we had mutual friends, but shechoseto be with me the same way I chose to be with her—through uncertainty, through fear, and through every obstacle life had thrown at us so far. She saw every fucked-up part of me and never flinched, and that terrified thehellout of me because I knew what I’d feel if I lost her. Not just pain. Not just regret. But a hollowing-out so complete I wasn’t sure there’d be anything left.
My thoughts finally solidified into resolve.
I exited the car and took the elevator up to the penthouse. When I entered our suite, Brooklyn was sitting on the sofa, working on her computer.
