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“My understanding is that’s exactly why you went to Eric. Because you knew they couldn’t be trusted and you felt he could help. And he is helping. He’s the reason you’re alive right now.”
“I have coffee,” Mia exclaims, joining us, two mugs in her hands, one that she hands me and another that she hands Grayson.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the mug. “I think I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t calm my nerves. I’m really worried.” I eye Grayson. “He told me he hasn’t had an attack in years.”
“Not since college,” Grayson confirms.
“But he did today. Driven by the emotional trigger of his father. That was obvious.”
He eyes Mia and seems to share a silent conversation with her before he refocuses on me. “The last time I saw him like that, he left Harvard the next day. He knew Isaac was pushing his buttons. He put distance between the two of them. He removed the triggers.”
This comment doesn’t take me to a good place. “And yet he knew his father was a trigger, and he just went right to him.”
“He’s not a college kid anymore,” Grayson reminds me. “He’s a man who walks into problems, rather than away from them. I know this. I see it every day.”
“Is that good or bad?” Mia queries, crossing her arms in front of her. “Because if he really cares about Harper, and they, the Kingstons, I assume, tried to hurt her, well, I’m worried. What if the numbers in his head calculate the odds of them succeeding next time as too risky. He might take the action, but the wrong action. We both know how much he hates that family.” She looks at Grayson. “A man held me at gunpoint and you tried to get him to shoot you instead of me. Think about Eric doing the same.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, or who held a gun to her head and I don’t ask. I can think of only one thing. She just said that Grayson tried to take a bullet for her. “Eric’s trying to take the bullet for me, too.” I take a sip of my coffee, just to do something, anything, to keep from losing my mind and it doesn’t work. I’m going to crawl out of my own skin. “I need the phone to try to call him again.”
Grayson breathes out, scrubbing his jaw and dialing the number before handing it to me. It rings and rings, and I walk to a coffee table and set my mug down. The table is black stone—a part of the black theme to the room and it feels like a theme. He lives in darkness and numbers, and it’s not okay. Voicemail picks up and I leave a message he may never hear. “I need you to come back herealive right now. I need you, period. I do. Come back so I can tell you that in person.” I disconnect and dial again, and again, and every time, I land in voicemail.
When I finally hand Grayson his phone back, Mia comes to the rescue. “Let’s busy ourselves unpacking. It’ll distract your mind.”
“I have such a bad feeling about this night,” I whisper.
“Hewillbe back and safe,” Mia promises me.
I need her to be right.
No.
I just need Eric. Here. Now.
Eric
In the short time it takes for me to get an uneventful update from Adam, and exit my apartment building alone, my phone rings with a call from Grayson. “Sorry, brother,” I murmur. “Not now.” I hit decline. If anything important is happening, the Walker team will contact me
I place the phone on mute and cut right, walking toward my father’s hotel, bypassing the use of a hired car with a driver that might remember my travels. I push through the fog-laden, cold night for another three blocks and once I’m at the hotel, I dial my father.
“Back of the building in the alleyway.”
He snorts. “I’m not meeting you in the back of the hotel.”
Just the sound of his voice cuts me all the way to my black soul he helped create. “You afraid of the dark? Good thing I’m not or Harper would be in a dark warehouse dead right now.”
“I heard what happened, son. Why do you think I’m here?”
“You mean you ordered someone to kill her.” It’s not a question.
“You’re confused, son,” he says, using a familiar snide tone, “which is why we need to talk. Here. Now. In my room.”
“Not a chance in hell. You have five minutes and then I’m gone. Back service door.” I disconnect the line and a notification pops up with a voicemail from Grayson. I ignore it and head down thealleyway toward the back of the building. If my father won’t come to me, I’ll go to him, but on my terms, in my way. I walk to the rear of the building, finding the alleyway dark, with a dim overhead light spiraling down on a dumpster. I take a position in a dark corner by the door I’ve named, where I’ll wait to discover how desperate my father is to talk to me.
Three minutes pass and I become aware of someone else in the alleyway and he isn’t my father. A man, based on his build, dressed in all black steps behind the trashcan and disappears. Waiting on someone, and of course that someone is me.
Chapter sixty-three
Eric
