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Prologue
Caleb
It’s about time for life to get back to normal. The threat against Jasmine is gone. She and Zeke have set up house together in my neighborhood, not three blocks away. It’s definitely a fixer-upper, but Alex, Damian, and I are pitching in to help, along with my dad. They got a great deal and a fast closing on the house because it was in a state of disrepair.
They’re set to move in in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, we’re all devoting our time to helping out. Even Chloe and Sabrina are picking up paintbrushes, although more paint is landing on them than the walls. Jasmine surprises me. She likes to dig in and get dirty. One night, I dropped over to find her helping Zeke with the kitchen sink. Both of them were under the sink working on the pipes.
My buddies have fallen in love with the girls of their dreams. I’m happy for them. My mother is thrilled for them, but it’s increased the badgering for grandchildren, and she complains that I’m her only hope. I love my mother, but she’s relentless.
While my brothers have found their perfect mates, I seem doomed to be stuck with a neighbor who makes me crazy. She’s fucking adorable and sweet as honey. She’s got big jade-green eyes and the hourglass figure of Marilyn Monroe, only hotter, but more importantly, she’s not for me.
She’s way too nice, too trusting. I would scare the shit out of her. As a matter of fact, I think I already have. I caught the pretty brunette, her hair up in a ponytail, pushing an old lawn mower far too big for her. It was rusty and spitting out white smoke. I had no choice, I had to intervene. Perhaps I was too abrupt, but I did finish the job for her as my way of apologizing.
I may have stood a chance with her, but then I found her looking into the engine of her car, trying to change her spark plugs, following instructions from a book.
I know I overreacted. I blew my top, and now she avoids me at all costs. I’ll never forget the look on her face, her lower lip quivering as I shouted at her. “Do you want to blow yourself up? Maybe take out the whole neighborhood?”
“I—I—” She never got any further.
“Do us all a favor and let a professional mechanic do the job.” I took the wrench out of her hands. “Never mind, I’ll finish it.” She ran inside after that. I saw her glance from the window. When I was done, I dropped the keys in her mailbox.
The next morning, I found homemade pecan chewies on my doorstep, with a simple note that said, “Thank you. I never meant to blow up the neighborhood.” Since then, I’ve only seen fleeting glimpses of her as she’s driving off to work.
“Caleb. Caleb!” Alex’s voice disrupts my thoughts. “Jesus, man, where the hell did you go? We just got a call out. Hostage situation at the Richmond Library.”
My veins turn to ice. Gwendolyn Honeyton works at that library. I rush out of the station, Alex running out after me.
“Christ, it better not be her,” I say as we hop into the cruiser.
“Who?” Alex asks, but I’m too busy bobbing and weaving through traffic. I pull the police car up to the curb with a screech of tires.
I climb the stairs to the closest cop and ask, “What’s the situation?”
“The guy’s let out all the kids and patrons. He’s kept the librarian with him. We just confirmed with one of the parents her name is…”
“Gwendolyn Honeyton,” I finish for him. Alex’s confused expression urges me to tell him more. “My neighbor.”
“Holy shit,” Alex responds.
ONE
Not My Fault
CALEB
“Give me the gist of what’s happening?” I demand of the officer, while I pull on the vest Alex has handed me before he does up his own.
“He’s holding her in one of the back rooms and keeps calling for his kid, Joshua. The librarian approached him and asked him to lower his voice because he was scaring the other kids. He started running through the library asking for his child. When he couldn’t find his son, he pulled out a gun and began talking crazy. He said they were keeping Joshua from him. Insisted they were hiding him,” the officer says. “He just went ballistic.”
“Where’s the kid? Does anyone know?” I ask, my eyes glued to the building.
“We finally got ahold of his wife. Eliza and Malcolm Taylor had a son named Joshua. Joshua’s dead, sir. He was killed three months ago by a hit-and-run driver, on his way to the library,” the cop tells me. “They were a typical family, and it was a horrible accident. Malcolm and his wife have been having marital issues since it happened. He just snapped.”
“Shit!” I let out a breath. “We’re dealing with a bereaved, unstable father, wielding a gun.”
Alex, who’s been silent up till now, asks, “Do we have eyes on the inside?”
“They have a security feed we’re trying to tap in to. We’re hoping there’s one in the room where he’s holding her.”
