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“Seraphina is in Brooklyn.”
What the fuck was she doing in Brooklyn? Didn’t she tell him Israel had banned her from New York? What the hell was she doing?
Christ.He searched through his phone until he found the number of someone he knew could be trusted and stabbed at it until it dialed.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
“Shit, I know it’s you. What do you need?”
“Seraphina Cook is in New York, Brooklyn specifically. I want her protected.”
“Uh, doesn’t she have her own people for that?”
“She does, but now she has your people too.” He hiked his duffel higher on his shoulders. “I want updates every hour on the hour. Do it discreetly. She can’t know you’re there.” He paused. “And if anything happens to her, don’t let me find you.” He ended the call and blew out a shaky breath.
What are you up to, Sera?
All the questions about Seraphina’s recent moves as well as his worry for her safety kept him company, and by the time he arrived at his mother’s, he was in desperate need of a distraction.
“Mom!” He let himself in and glanced around. The house was silent, all the blinds still drawn even though it was just after midday. “Mom, where are you? Your favorite son is home!” When he didn’t get an answer, he went through the house. Patricia’s purse and keys were on the kitchen table, along with her phone.
He smiled.
She was probably sleeping. Some of her meds made her sleepy.
He made his way to her bedroom and noticed the door was ajar, so he pushed it open gently, poking his head in and whispering, “Mom.” The blinds in there were also closed, but enough sunlight filtered in for him to see the perfectly made bed was empty.
And his mother was sprawled out on the floor on her back, her eyes closed, blood staining the beige carpet around her head.
30
She was being watched.
Seraphina knew the weight of a man’s stare, and that weight had settled between her shoulder blades the moment she strode out of her hotel and waved down a passing cab. Not an admiring gaze, but caustic, observing, analyzing.
She’d accepted the Turners’ invitation to join them for dinner at a restaurant in Flatbush. She’d called just as they were headed out and at first, for a moment, she’d wondered if the extra eyes weren’t for them, sent by Israel and Reggie. They were the type to do that, be protective of Reggie’s parents. But long after she’d issued her apology to Reggie’s parents for kidnapping them—using them as pawns in order to get her son’s attention—and made her way back to the hotel, her watcher remained.
She’d come with no backup, no bodyguards, no protection, and no weapons. She walked the Brooklyn streets as vulnerable as she’d ever been, and it was as if the sharks out there scented her blood in the water and were circling for a closer look.
Israel had to know about her Seattle visit. Maybe it was him checking up on her. He’d know then that she’d blatantly broken the rules. She wasn’t supposed to be in New York. It was laughable to say that her son had banned her—a grown ass fucking woman—from the city. The state.
But he had.
She’d kept to that rule for as long as she was able, but things were different. And she’d take Israel’s wrath, just as long as she got to do this. It had been wrong of her to include Reggie’s parents in her shit. She’d wanted them to know that. To know she regretted it. So she’d taken a chance.
Would her son understand?
She didn’t know.
Maybe the eyes on her were his people, and it was only a matter of time before he retaliated.
That sense of being watched, feeling like a rat patrolling the four corners of a cage under scrutiny, was never pleasant, but this one—whoever and whatever—didn’t feel malevolent.
At least, not yet.
That could change.
