I knew his eyes well enough to know that in less than a second he had crossed a spectrum of emotions.
“But, I’m completely fine.” If I kept saying those words over and over maybe they would be true. I could downplay the kidnapping for his sake. The worst parts had faded in three years.
“No.” He shook his head. His jaw was set in formidable opposition to what I had told him. “How could that happen? Who let it happen?”
The inference about Kimble was clear. “Don’t blame him.”
Knight stood tall. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t blame him? Hasn’t he always been in charge of your private security? How is it not his fault? It’s on him. Shit, Kennedy, how did I not know this?”
I hesitated to reach for him. I thought if I could touch him, draw him to me he might calm down. Couldn’t he see that whatever horrific scenes he was imagining, I had survived them? I was here with him.
“There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other. I’m trying to fill you in, but you’ve got to listen to the entire story. You can’t shut down on me before I explain. Please, Knight,” I pleaded for him to stop feeding his anger and focus on what was in this room—us.
There were reasons to tell him about the kidnapping. It had the potential to end his hatred of Kimble. I needed a break from the contempt between them, but what did broaching peace cost?
He exhaled. “I’m listening.” I could tell the effort it took for him to be still. His knuckles turned white against his sides. I felt the tension. The pain.
“Thank you. Maybe I should pour us refills.” I reached for the bottle of rose.
“I’m going to need something stronger,” he argued. He strolled to the bar and opened the lid on a crystal decanter.
“All right, so this is what happened,” I started once we had both returned to the sitting area. “It wasn’t long after my father died when things began to change quickly for me. I had already taken on the Martin organization, but inheriting it was different. As long as my father was fighting for his life, I think we believed I was safe. What family would harm an only child during that time? Even if I was an adult child, codes were supposed to be followed. The traditions of New Orleans were supposed to shield me. There were still contingencies. I had bodyguards. More cameras. More protocols. More vetting than ever for anyone at work.” I took a sip of the sparkling wine. I didn’t have to look at Knight to know his eyes were on me.
“Things were bad. My father was home from multiple hospital stays but he had a nurse twenty-four hours a day. He had days, maybe hours. He was barely breathing. My memory is a little fuzzy on the exact timeline. It was then that we all let our guard down. We expected the other families to back off. To let us let him go.” I stared at my bare feet. “It turns out that was exactly what they wanted. My father asked Kimble for a last favor.” My voice started to crack. I’d never retold the story. It was becoming more difficult.
“It was back in Philadelphia…and Kimble left.” My voice quieted.
The way Knight’s lips pressed together told me how desperate he was to bark out something nasty about Kimble.
I closed my eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I should have kept my gaze on Knight. Let him ground me to the present. Hold me in the now. Once I was in my head, I was right back in the nightmare I’d spent years trying to forget.
Four Years Ago
I was exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into my pores and made every muscle ache. I felt the fatigue crawling along my neck and reaching into the base of my skull. I had another headache, one that was quickly turning into a migraine. I needed to lie down in a room with the blinds drawn or I’d be plagued with it for two days. I didn’t have two days to spend in the dark. A few hours at most.
The weeks had blurred together. Endless appointments with specialists. Arguments. Discussions. Tears that were spawned out of frustration and anger more than grief. Followed by tears of guilt for not caring more than I did. The emotion was topped with trying to run the entire organization on my own. It wasn’t unexpected that it was time to take the reins. Only, it wasn’t supposed to be horrible timing. There were measures my father had in place.
There were still loose ends. One of them Kimble had been sent to tie up. I didn’t know what it was and that made me nervous. When Kimble returned from Philadelphia tomorrow, I was going to insist he tell me what last errand he had run.
I neared my father’s room. I paused outside his door. I hated walking inside, now more than usual.
It didn’t seem long ago when it smelled like cologne and cedar. Now I could only smell antiseptic and meals that were left out too long. He had stopped eating the day he was discharged from the hospital. The cook had given up on him touching the chicken or steamed vegetables. She had resorted to breakfast foods and eggs smelled horrible when left out.
I tapped the door open with a quiet push. He was sleeping, propped up on five or six pillows. The nurse seemed to be able to make him more comfortable than I could. If I even tried to adjust a quilt he sputtered, struggling to swat my hand away. I didn’t bother to venture any closer. I turned the handle and closed the door. I should have stood next to his bed, if only to say something inside my head, but I missed my chance that day.
I gripped the side of my head. The migraine was working its way from one temple to the other. I closed my eyes and the pain made me dizzy. I clutched the balcony railing. I didn’t know how I was going to make it to my room. Suddenly, there was an arm around my waist.
“Here, I’ll help you.”
I winced, trying to remember which one of the employees was offering their help. I couldn’t distinguish the voice, but everything was muddled. The gray was mixed with black. It felt as if my muscles were being sucked into quicksand. I’d never felt so heavy.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I leaned into a sturdy shoulder. I wasn’t sure, but it felt like I had been pivoted in the hall. The world swayed out from under me. I couldn’t open my eyes. His arm moved around me, holding me upright. That was the last coherent memory I had before I woke up.
When I finally came to, I didn’t have any way to tell what time or even what day it was. My head no longer throbbed, but I couldn’t say the same for the rest of my body. Where in the hell was I? The room wasn’t my bedroom. It wasn’t even a room in the mansion. There wasn’t a shred of familiarity in this place.
My body reacted before my brain caught up. The chill prickled across my skin.
“Oh, shit,” I groaned. The room was dimly lit and damp. I heard a constant drip of water. Someone had left the faucet running in a sink attached to the wall. Was I in a basement or an attic? I heard footsteps walking above me. This had to be a lower level of some sort.