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“Holy shit,” Zilla breathed as she saw the man’s profile. “It’s Jacob.”
It took me a second to place him. The man had the kind of face you never looked twice at, but he was built like Ronan. Lean and wide through the shoulders. Long strong legs. A hard face that was flushed and covered in sweat.
Zilla, before I could stop her, darted into the hallway. “The fuck, man? Are you following me?”
He said nothing, his eyes walking all over Zilla as if he was making sure she wasn’t bleeding or hurt. “I followed the car,” he said.
“You ran after the car?” Zilla asked.
“Only part of the way.”
“You want some water or something?” Zilla asked.
“I’m fine.”
Zilla stomped off swearing under her breath into Ronan’s kitchen a little like she owned the place, which was Zilla’s natural state. I heard the water in the sink run and the slamming and opening of cupboards.
“Where’s Eden?” Ronan asked.
“Gone.”
“She didn’t tell you where?” I asked.
“She doesn’t owe me that. She paid me. I did a job.” Jacob took the water Zilla handed him. He didn’t drink it, just took it so she wasn’t holding it.
“How long have you been following my sister?” I asked.
“Since your engagement to the senator.”
Zilla and I both reeled. “Why?”
“Eden is interested in weak spots. In this case, Ronan’s,” Jacob said.
“And I’m a weak spot?” Zilla asked, looking slightly…dimmed at the thought.
“You are the weak spot,” Jacob pointed at me.
“So why’d you sneak into my room at Belhaven?” Zilla asked.
“Because I know what it’s like at night in that place,” he said, looking Zilla straight in her eyes, almost pinning her in place with his intensity. “And I never saw you as weak. You have more strength than anyone gives you credit for.”
Zilla blinked, stunned for the first time in a very long time, into silence. And the killer accountant, who may or may not have run over the Brooklyn Bridge to get to her, blushed. He actually blushed, and this hallway was suddenly too small for the four of us.
“Who do you work for now?” Ronan asked.
“Eden, when she comes back. If she comes back.”
“You think she’s dead?”
“I think she’s scared enough to stay away for good. She’ll find another old rich man to marry and move on.”
“Will you work for me?” Ronan asked.
A look crossed over his face, something small and painful. “I don’t want to kill anyone anymore. I won’t do that job.”
“What if someone tries to hurt her?” Ronan asked, pointing at Zilla.
“Then they’re dead.”
“Excellent. You’re her bodyguard until all this is over. I was going to have her stay here so I could keep an eye on her, but this is better.” Ronan snapped into action, walking back into the living room with all my jewelry in a plastic bag and the bankers box of secrets, and I didn’t know how Ronan could just trust this man with my sister, much less everything else.
Ronan didn’t trust me.
But he and Jacob were the same, somehow, in some deep, stunted way. Trust was physical, never emotional, because they’d scoured what they could of emotion out of themselves.
Except Jacob ran across the Brooklyn Bridge to get to her. And Ronan…killed the senator.
It really was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked him, following him into the small room where he had a computer and another bed.
“We want him on our side rather than the Morellis’,” he said, grabbing what looked like a business card and another phone from the desk. “I called my contact at the FBI and had him checked out. He’s Special Forces, black ops. He’s been treated for PTSD and depression. Including a stint at Belhaven. He’s a killer who doesn’t want to kill anymore. And he’s in love with your sister.”
“How do you know that?”
“The man ran from Manhattan following my limousine.”
“And that says love?”
“It says something, doesn’t it?” I thought of him and his twenty men coming to Bishop’s Landing to save me from a situation I didn’t need saving from. I thought of how he married me in that church he hated. How he promised to worship me.
And now he spoke about love? Maybe he did know the word. And just needed practice.
He crossed the room and cupped my head in his hands. “Do you trust me?”
I nodded, the fine hair at the nape of my neck pulled taut by his fingers on my skin. I opened my mouth to say yes, but something else popped out entirely.
“Do you trust me?” I asked, and it was as if I sucked all the air out of the room.
“It’s not the same thing,” he said. But it was. It was as simple as learning a little German.
“I love you,” I said. There. It was out there, where it couldn’t be taken back. Where it was real. And had to be dealt with. “I love you so much, Ronan.”
