Kekoa held up a finger. “First,youwere able to pull the information from the computer? Without moí?” He wiggled his brows. “And second, seems extreme that a white-collar criminal would send violent letters threatening death.”
The absence of humor in Kekoa’s flat tone revealed his two sides. One, his lighthearted attitude, was often soothing in tense situations. And the other, the one he was showing now, said he wasn’t finding anything funny in the threats against her.
“What’d the boss do about this?”
“Walsh demanded the Department of Justice act,” she answered Kekoa. “He spoke with attorneys to figure out what kind of charges they could add to Jerry’s sentence, but there wasn’t a lot that could be done to stop them.”
“Walsh also hired a security team to watch over her,” Jack added. “When Garcia and I couldn’t.”
“Day and night.” She gave them a mocking glare. “Jack and Nicolás here ran lead on every assignment in a sweet attempt to keep me tucked away safely in the office. It was smothering.”
“We were looking out for you,” Nicolás grumbled next to her.
“And that was reassuring.” The memory of those days still flustered her. “Until I began to jump at every creak and shadow. Afraid that the barista or mail carrier or any driver in a nearby car might be someone hired to carry out Jerry’s threats against me. It made my life hard, which is exactly what I think Jerry’s intentions were. And why we’re not going to let him do that again. Right?”
Lyla looked at each of them, waiting for their agreement. Kekoa’s was quick, but Jack and Nicolás took a little longer, their eyes meeting before they finally nodded. She bit back the retort of annoyance that wanted to come out of her lips, fearing that if she spoke, they’d change their minds and make her wait until they heard back from Walsh.
Clicking the first name, she forced her voice to be light. “Let’s get started.”
By the time Jack dropped Lyla off at her Alexandria townhome, she was ready to crawl into bed with a bowl of ice cream and a rom-com. Inside, Lyla punched in the code to her alarm, dropped her keys into the basket in her mudroom, and stepped into the kitchen. She paused, backtracked to the door, and twisted the bolt, locking it.
“Your life is over.”
“Don’t stop looking over your shoulder.”
“You’re going to pay.”
Those were the nicest of Jerry’s threats to her. Lyla had forced herself to forget the more vulgar and frightening ones. But after spending the rest of the workday going over the Zane Investments file, it was all fresh in her head. That they still hadn’t heard from Walsh made the situation all the more unnerving.
Lyla dropped onto her couch, tugged the zipper down on each of her booties, and kicked them off. She sank back against the cushions and looked around her townhome. The effects of Jerry’s threats were everywhere. Her windows and doors were protected with a security system that alerted not only the police but also Walsh and her team for their immediate response. Which, according to Nicolás, wasn’t fast enough, so he began taking her to the gun range. Taught her how to use a gun and then, when she felt confidently trained, she bought Cupcake, her Smith & Wesson revolver. She carried it with her for nearly six months before finally accepting Jerry’s threats were just that—threats from an angry man who was caught and taken from his life of privilege to rot in prison. Until now.
Lyla shuddered and rose to her feet, needing a distraction. Back in her kitchen, she checked her fridge and wrinkled her nose at the lack of consumable contents. She closed the door and flipped through the menus clipped to a magnet. What sounded good?
She stopped on a menu for Nightlight Cookies. Yes. Lyla smiled. Fresh-baked cookies sounded like the perfect dinner for a day like today. Using her phone, she quickly ordered a dozen, which would give her enough leftovers to take to work the next day, and then walked upstairs to change out of her jeans and into a pair of joggers.
The smart home tablet on her counter lit up just as her doorbell rang. The security video from her front porch showed her who was at her door.
“What in the world?” Seeing the smiling faces, Lyla hurried tothe door with a new energy. She opened it, and Brynn and Elinor stood there with covered aluminum trays in their hands. “What are you doing here?”
“We brought dinner!” Brynn raised her tray. “Jack’s mom made baked ziti.”
“And the boys are bringing the salad and breadsticks.”
Lyla looked past Elinor. “Boys?”
Brynn raised a brow. “Jack and Kekoa told me to tell you they’re checking tire pressure.”
“Which means they’re doing a security check around my house.” Lyla stepped aside, letting Brynn and Elinor in. “I told Jack I was fine.”
“Garcia insisted,” Elinor said, setting down the tray of ziti. She was the newest addition to the friend group, but her sweet disposition and penchant for nerdy science jokes made it feel like she was the missing link—especially to Kekoa’s happiness. “Can I please ask you to explain once more why the two of you are not a thing?”
Lyla paused and then quickly busied herself setting the trays in the oven. “We’re friends.”
“Friends, likeeww-la-la?” Elinor asked as soon as she turned around. “Or friends likeooh-la-la?”
Immediately, Lyla was reliving the hug, the way her body seemed to tuck so perfectly against Nicolás. She felt silly even thinking about it in the first place.Friends hug. So what?
“For the record,” Elinor whispered, bringing Lyla out of her daydream. “I think you and Garcia are like copper and tellurium.”
