Chapter 22
Iwas half asleep, sprawled across Travis’s chest as we lay watching a movie later that evening. Buster was nestled in the crook of my legs. Able and Pip were snoozing on what had become a shared dog bed in the corner.
When Travis’s phone rang on the coffee table, he made no move to answer it, and I nestled further into his warm body.
When it ceased ringing only to start up again immediately, he shifted me gently so that he could answer. “Yeah?”
His body immediately tensed underneath mine. “When?” I moved off him, sitting up to look down at him worriedly. “Yeah, we’re here. You got Armstrong and Hale en route?” He listened a beat. “Good. Might come to nothing, but I’ll get prepped. Roger that.” He hung up and immediately put a gentle hand on my face. “Roy showed up at May’s place tonight. He probably needs cash. Sid didn’t want to leave May unattended, so he didn’t give chase when Roy took off. On the off chance he’d head here, Dec and Theo are en route, and I’m going to go get myself armed.”
My eyes popped wide with worry. “Should we leave?”
He eyed me steadily. “Fuck no. Let him come. I’d be fucking thrilled if he was stupid enough. It would let me end this shit once and for all.”
The sheer ferocity in his expression had me nodding. I trusted Travis without question and knew he’d keep me safe. I also knew he could handle himself.
“Okay, what do you want me to do?” I asked, determined to sound stronger than I felt.
His gaze softened with pride. “That’s my girl. If he comes, I want you upstairs in our bathroom. Shut the door, and don’t come out until I come to get you.”
“The bathroom again?” I groaned dramatically.
He cracked a smile before delivering a firm kiss to my lips. “I’ve got this, babe, no worries.” His easy confidence was infectious, and I relaxed a bit. “Give me a second.” He stood, scooping up Pip and calling to Able. I assumed he’d lock them in the office when he went in to get his weapons.
I sat on the couch, the movie a blur in the background as I tried desperately to keep my fear in check. Travis was essentially a trained weapon. I knew he’d never let anything harm me.
It was a good thing, too, because a moment later Able let out a low growl and the lights went out.
“Em, stay right where you are.” Travis’s authoritative order sounded from the hallway.
“Well, I can’t see anything, so that won’t be hard,” I called back, trying to keep the tremble from my voice. Able continued to growl, something I’d never heard him do, as I sat frozen in place.
I saw Travis’s silhouette move toward me and could just barely make out the goggles and bulletproof vest he wore, a gun in his hand. “Night vision,” he explained, tapping at the goggles.
My eyes popped wide. “What are you ready for World War 3?”
“Can never be too prepared.” He clipped.
“At least we’re not both blind,” I blathered nervously as he pulled a bulletproof vest over my head, tightening it with fast and steady movements that spoke of years of experience.
He’d started to lead me toward the stairs when a gunshot blasted through the room, the sound of glass shattering nearly as loud as the gunshot itself. I let out a shriek as Travis pushed me behind him, his gun aimed toward the sound.
“Don’t fucking move!” Roy’s frantic call sounded from somewhere near the patio door. My vision was still adjusting to the darkness, but I could now make out shapes and impressions.
“All right, Anderson, why don’t you calm down so we can talk about this?” Travis’s voice was steady as he replied.
“There is no fucking calm, not anymore!” came Roy’s hysterical shout. “All I needed was that fucking client list. It was going to be so simple,” he complained. “I’d be able to get them to do business with me again. Then she had to be there,” he snarled. “You were already my mother’s favorite. You’re not even blood.” He howled in angst. “Of course, it had to be you that fucked this up for me.”
I bit my tongue against offering him the reality check that clearly his investment banking days were long over. No client in their right mind would trust him with their money, list or not.
“Can’t have loose ends,” he ranted to himself.
“This doesn’t have to escalate, Anderson,” Travis cut in his voice deep and authoritative. “You can walk out of here alive. I know that’s what your mother wants.”
A scoffing sound filled the air. “You mean I can leave here in cuffs and rot in jail. Five years ago, I had a mansion in Malibu. I drove a Bentley. Did you know that? I had women all over me. Then it was gone. I want that back. Ineedit.”
“All right,” Travis agreed easily. “Let’s talk about how to get you there.”
With cool calculation, Travis was switching gears; there was no reasoning with a madman—only pacifying.
