Chapter 30

What feels like minutes after I close my eyes after taking Cat like I never have before, a loud piercing noise jerks me awake. I spring up in bed and instinctively reach for the gun I keep on the nightstand. It's not the same sound as Cat's screams that woke me earlier. It's the fucking house alarm.

The bed jostles beside me, and I stretch out my arm—the one not holding the gun—to wrap around Cat's waist. As I slide off my side of the bed, I take her with me.

"What's going on?" she asks over the jarring sound of the alarm, her voice trembling with fright.

I let Cat go to pull on the pair of jeans that had been tossed on the chair by the window. Grabbing the robe hanging over the back of the same chair, I hand it to her.

"I don't know."

Someone broke into the house or attempted to break in. Cat isn't stupid. She's aware of this as well. The fear that darkens her eyes gives away that knowledge. Nevertheless, I keep my thoughts to myself.

As soon as she has the robe tied around her waist, I grab her hand and pull her toward the closet. It's not the safe room in the basement, but with the reinforced bedroom door, it's the best place to put Cat on the second floor. Taking her downstairs when I don't know what's waiting down there isn't an option.

"Stay here," I demand, swooping down and giving her a quick kiss.

She tightens her fingers around mine when I attempt to let her hand go. "Stay," she begs.

Fucking hell. I hate seeing fear plastered all over her face. I hate even more not giving her what she thinks she needs. There isn't much I could ever deny Cat.

"Baby, you know I can't," I tell her quietly.

Her eyes say she wants to argue, but Cat knows me better than anyone, so she knows it would be futile. I'm not a cower-in-a-closet-and-wait-for-the-police kind of guy. I'll confront any bastard who thinks they can fuck with me or mine in any way.

Cat's eyes glisten, and for a moment, I worry she's going to beg me to stay anyway, but she blinks back the tears, straightens her spine, and pushes back her shoulders.

"Okay."

Before I can back out of the closet, she smashes her palms against my cheeks and pulls my head down until my lips collide with hers. The kiss is short, but hard, with a hint of desperation.

"Please be careful," she whispers against my lips. "You better come back to me in one piece with not even a scratch, or I'm going to kick your ass."

If the situation were different, I might have smiled at her demand. But since it isn't, I drop a peck on her lips. "You got it, baby." I step back and close the closet door.

When I hear Cat lock the door, I silently move across the bedroom floor and grab a t-shirt from the hamper. It's still dark outside, but my eyes have long since adjusted. The door, which is mostly closed, doesn't so much as creak as I pull it open and peer out into the hall. With the alarm blaring, I can't hear shit, so I rely on sight as I move down the hall. The doors to the kids' rooms are still closed, so I move past them and check the spare bath, the linen closet, and the guest bedroom. I pause at the top of the stairs for a moment before I slowly take them one at a time.

The entryway to the front door is only a few feet away from the bottom of the stairs, so I go there first to shut the alarm off. The sudden silence is deafening. I hold still for a moment, listening intently for any sounds that don't belong. The only sound I hear is the whirl of the ceiling fan in the living room and the low hum of electricity.

Instinct tells me that Cat and I are the only ones in the house, but I still check every room and every window with the gun loaded and ready to shoot any fucker I see. Nothing is out of place.

Frustration slides through my limbs as I make my way back through the house toward the stairs. As I reach the bottom one, there's a loud knock on the door. I peer through the peephole, not surprised to see two uniformed officers on the other side. Flipping the safety back on my gun, I slip it into the waistband of my jeans before pulling the door open.

"Hello, officers," I say.

I recognize Officer Spiel from my few visits to the police department. The other, who looks too young to be wearing a badge, I've never met before.

"Good morning, Mr. St. James. I'm Officer Spiel and this is Officer Lanson. We're here as a courtesy visit. Monroe Security said the alarm at this address went off and when they tried to call to inquire about it, there was no answer. They notified us immediately."

I lost faith in the River Heights Police Department when they failed to inform me of Henry Stephens's release. Seeing them on my doorstep right now doesn't help my opinion, but at least they're doing something right.

Even though I don't want them in my house, I still step back and gesture with my arm, "Come inside."

Officer Spiel looks around as I lead them into the living room, his eyes alert. "Did the alarm trip by accident or was there an intruder?" he inquires. Based on the way he stands and the tenseness of his body, I can tell he's ready to act if necessary.

"I don't know if someone was in the house or not, but there was at least an attempt to come inside. My wife and I were asleep when the alarm went off, so it wasn't accidentally tripped." Spiel stiffens, his eyes darting around the room. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I left my wife in our bedroom closet while I looked around. I need to let her know everything is okay. I've checked each room and nothing seems to be missing or disturbed, but you're more than welcome to check yourself."

While I'm confident that if there was a person in the house, they're not anymore. The sooner the police check it themselves, the easier it will be to get rid of them.

I take the stairs two at a time and walk swiftly down the hall to the master bedroom. My knuckles rap against the door of the closet. "Cat, it's me."

The words barely leave my lips before the door is thrown open and Cat is throwing herself into my arms, shoving her face into my chest. My grip on her is just as tight.

"Did you find anything?" she asks, pulling back to look up at me.

"No. But the police are here. The alarm company called them when I didn't answer my phone." I look across the room to the nightstand, where my phone still sits.

Her head jerks up and down as she exhales a shaky breath. It is astounding how much this woman can endure and still remain sound of mind.

As much as I hate to bring up a subject that could upset her, the incident tonight proves I need to address it. It's something we need to discuss. For her safety, I have to take the chance and believe she can handle what I throw at her. She needs to understand the extent of the danger she's in.

But that can come later. Right now, we need to get back downstairs.

I dip my head and press a kiss against her lips. "Put some clothes on, baby."

As she does that, I grab my phone and check the screen, seeing two missed calls from Monroe Security. I pocket the device and wait by the door for Cat. A few minutes later, we walk out together. As we pass Ryder's room, Cat stops. I turn to her, seeing a frown forming on her face.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Hesitantly, her hand lifts and she sets her palm on the white door. "I don't know. Something doesn't feel right," she answers so quietly I barely hear her words. "Something isn't right behind this door."

I stiffen, and the hand I have wrapped around hers impulsively pulls Cat until she's behind me. The only two rooms I didn't check were this one and Eliana's. Considering how close they are to our bedroom, an intruder would be foolish to hide there. Besides, if anyone did come into the house, they didn't have time to make it up the stairs and into one of the rooms before the alarm went off, and I was out of the master bedroom checking the house.

As I open the door, my other hand moves to my back to grip the gun, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice. A sudden rush of cold air hits me, sending a chill running down my spine. My eyes move to the window when the red and blue Captain America curtains billow.

The fucking window is open. Cat doesn't come in here, so I know it wasn't her who opened it. We're on the second floor, and there aren't any trees close enough to the window that someone could climb up or down. There's no way someone could have broken into the house, made it up to this room, opened the window, and made it back down the stairs before I left the bedroom. The only logical explanation—and this shit has my blood boiling—is that they disarmed the alarm when they broke in, stayed in the house doing God knows what, while we slept, and then purposefully set off the alarm when they left.

Motherfucking hell.

How in the hell is that possible? We have a top-notch security system. The best money can buy and it's supposed to be unhackable.

Fucking Whisper.

It has to be. It's rumored that he's a genius when it comes to computers. Can break into damn near any system, so long as it's connected to the internet.

The bastard who tortured my family was in my fucking house. Was in my son's room. Only feet away from my wife.

As I slam the window down, rage radiates through me so strongly that my hands shake. When I turn away to leave the room, my eyes are drawn to the mirror above the chest of drawers. I walk over to look closer and blood roars through my ears when I see the scrawled words written in red on the mirror.

My hands broke him. His blood still coats my tongue. I was his ending, just as I shall be yours.

Before I can stop myself, my fist smashes against the mirror. I barely register glass slicing into my flesh, my mind too focused on the violent rage filling every cell in my body, threatening to consume me and push me over into a rampage.

In the black haze seeping into my mind, only the gentle hands on my back and the sweet scent of vanilla and roses pulls me back.

"Hunter." Cat's gasp jerks my gaze from the shattered mirror to find her standing in front of me, her head bent as she takes my bloodied fist gently into her hands. "What did you do?"

My eyes briefly lift to the ruined mirror, satisfied it's destroyed enough that you can't make out the words.

There's no point in answering Cat's question since it's pretty obvious what happened.

I'm not sure if she's in a hurry to doctor my hand or if she wants out of the room as soon as possible, but she tugs hard on my forearm until I follow behind her.

Before she can pull me toward our room, I stop her by planting my feet against the floor. "We'll take care of this in a few minutes. The police are still downstairs."

As she bites her bottom lip, her eyes fly back to my hand, where I'm certain blood drips onto the hardwood floor from the tips of my fingers. She pulls out a hand towel from the linen closet. Lifting my hand, I allow her to gently wrap the cloth around it.

The muscles in my jaw ache from clenching my teeth so hard as we come up to Eliana's room. I stop and crack the door open. The window is closed, but a quick glance at the mirror on the wall above the vanity shows more writing. I don't have time to look at it right now, but I'm sure it's another message.

I blow out a huff of heated air and close the door. I'll come back here later to see what was written.

Officers Spiel and Lanson are just leaving the kitchen when Cat and I get downstairs. I introduce them to my wife. As I expected, neither found anything in their walkthrough.

Spiel's eyes fall on my wrapped hand, blood already seeping through the cloth. "What happened there?" he asks.

"I punched a mirror." His eyebrows rise. "It kinda pisses a man off when someone breaks into or attempts to break into his house. Even more so when he and his wife are sleeping and are unaware."

He jerks his chin up in acknowledgement and looks briefly at Cat, huddled against my side.

"Do you mind if we take a look upstairs?" Spiel asks.

"I would prefer you didn't," I tell him. Although I haven't dealt much with Spiel, Trevor has mentioned him a few times, and he seems alright. There's nothing here that could implicate me in a crime, but I don't like cops nosing around in my shit. "The upstairs has already been cleared. You'll find nothing up there, just like you found nothing down here."

Lanson doesn't like my answer, but there isn't shit he can do about it.

Cat and I walk the officers to the front door, and Spiel hands me a card with his number. "Call me or the station if anything else happens."

Nodding, I shove the card into my pocket, crumpling it. I'll toss it in the trash later. As a kid growing up on the streets, you quickly learn you can't depend on the police, which was reinforced by recent events. I take care of my own, have for years, and don't plan to change now.

Once the door is closed behind them, Cat grabs my wrist and pulls me into the kitchen. She's silent as she pushes me down into a chair, though her eyes look haunted.

When she approaches with the first aid kit we keep under the sink, I take it from her and set it on the table. With my hands on her waist, I pull her forward, so she's straddling my lap with her legs on either side of my thighs.

"Are you okay?" I ask, cupping my uninjured hand against her cheek.

"Yes." She lifts a shoulder. "No." Her eyes drop from mine. "I don't know."

My chest aches with her uncertain response. "I'm so sorry, baby."

Her gorgeous eyes meet mine once again. "Why are you sorry? None of this is your fault."

She's wrong. It's all my fault. If I had been home when those bastards broke into my house, my family would still be intact, and my wife wouldn't be close to a mental breakdown. If I had gotten my hands on the boys who tortured my family before they were arrested and convicted, they'd be dead, and one of them wouldn't be walking free. If only I had gotten my hands on Whisper, my wife wouldn't be in danger.

Instead of acknowledging her statement, I make my own. "There are things we need to talk about, Cat."

Once again, she avoids my eyes by grabbing the kit from the table and lifting the lid.

"I know," she finally says quietly, pulling out a roll of gauze and a pair of tweezers. "And we will. Later." She lifts my hand, unwraps the cloth, and begins carefully plucking the glass from my knuckles.

Later could be minutes from now, but something tells me Cat's definition of the word in this instance is hours or days. She has an appointment with Dr. Armani this afternoon, so I'll wait until we get home before I force the conversation we're both dreading.