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“Come back to me, Numbers,” Chase whispers against my hair. He kisses my temple as my world fades to black, with Cynthia’s words rattling in my head.
“Trent…” Wheeze. “Oldani…” Wheeze. “Sto—”
CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO
CHASE
All night, I lay next to my woman, watching over her as she slept in my arms. She crashed hard after her adrenaline dropped. I’ve seen the effects shock can have on the body, experienced it a time or two in my SEAL days in the field. I took care of her as best I could, trying to make her comfortable before she fell into a deep sleep.
I don’t wake her when the alarm goes off, turning off our phones to stop anything from interrupting her rest. My queen will wake when her body is ready to face reality. Forcing her to confront the day before she’s ready could deal her mental health another setback.
To pass the time, I work on my computer, firing off an email to P.L. Moore Financial’s board members. We found their thief, retrieved most of the money stolen from their clients, and reinforced their cybersecurity. We expect to be paid for the services we provided. I don’t bother explaining the Oldani account, since they weren’t aware of its existence thanks to Cynthia hiding it from their attention to protect Trent.
Withholding the account information would make it easier for Piero to recover it without having to go through the legality issues tied to the firm. Our team could continue to hunt for the Bianchi money back at headquarters now that we had a better idea of how Cynthia operated her scheme.
An hour after emailing the financial firm, an eight-figure number is deposited into Mercy Raven’s Security account. Right on the nose for what Simone predicted we’d earn from this investigation.
Our job is done, and we’re going home.
Simone stirs on the bed, little whimpers pouring from her sweet mouth. “Trent. Oldani. Sto,” she murmurs in her sleep.
Hearing her say her ex’s name in her sleep is disheartening, but I hope I’m overreacting. She’s been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Sleep-talking randomness isn’t unusual when exposed to extremely stressful situations.
Moving my laptop to the coffee table, I cross the room, crawling back in beside my woman. I wrap my arms around her, spooning her curvy body and breathing in her flora musk.
“It’s okay, Numbers. I’ve got you.”
Simone groans, turning in my arms to face me. She opens her tired eyes, and gray clouds stare back at me. “Chase.”
“Numbers,” I say, a smile in my voice. I’m relieved to see her alert. The shock from yesterday has worn off. Though I’m aware she’s far from okay. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” she admits, rubbing at her temples. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. We’re done in Sacramento. When you’re ready to get up, we’ll pack and head home to Fort Collins.”
A sad smile forms on her lips, her eyes crinkling in the corners as a tear sneaks out and tracks down her smooth cheek. “Home,” she says the word like a caress, filling my heart with optimism.
We’re going to be okay. With a bit of time, and possibly some therapy, we’ll be living our lives to the fullest with each other.
Five minutes later, Simone is out of bed, getting dressed. She puts on a maxi dress, the one she wore when I saved her dangling from a tree limb. It’s what she likes to wear for comfort, and it’ll be perfect for her ride home in the SUV. I want her at my back on my hog, but it won’t happen today. Maybe tomorrow, if she feels up for it on the second leg of our trip.
While she gets ready, I pack my things, stacking them by the door to go out to our vehicles. Simone has finished brushing her teeth and is putting her hair in an elegant twist off her neck when there’s a knock at our door.
It could be one of my brothers or Candy, but a lesson in my past where our VP beat my and Punk’s asses with a sex baton taught me never to open the door without checking through the peephole first.
One look through the lens has my inside running cold. “Fuck,” I mumble. I open the door, glaring at the orange weasel hell-bent on fucking with my happily ever after. “What do you want?”
Trent’s lips are a thin line of determination. It’s obvious he came here with a purpose and he’s not going to coward out.
Interestingly, he’s dressed for the business day. One would think after what transpired yesterday, he’d take a few days off. However, I, too, like to stay busy to cope with grief.
“Your team didn’t come to work today. The board informed me you closed the case and they’ve settled your accounts. I…” He swallows, straightening his shoulders. “I came to speak with Simone.”
I can read between the lines. The fucker is here to win back my woman.
“Who’s at the door?” Simone asks, coming out of the bathroom with her toiletries in her arms. She dumps them into her suitcase on the bed before turning to face the door. Her eyes lose focus for a second as she whispers, “Sto.”
That’s the second time today I’ve heard her say that word. What the hell does it mean? Is it even a word?
