15. Elijah

Two days later, I rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor and the East Coast offices for Regent Executive Security Specialists in Manhattan. I checked my posture in the reflective glass and noticed the knot in my tie was off-center by an inch.

Cursing softly, I wrenched it to the side and slid it back where it needed to go. Then I checked one last time for missed wrinkles or stray threads. I was due in a meeting with Foster in a matter of minutes and was running late for the first time in my life.

But I'd missed my subway stop, fretting over the hopeful, happy look in Luke's blue eyes as he said we could even make a whole weekend out of it.

The doors opened with a ding and I strode out into the busy environment, pausing to nod at some of the security agents I'd worked with in the past. The offices gleamed in sterling silver—polished, professional. Sleek and anonymous. Foster peeked his head out and brightened when he saw me.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm late and I?—"

He glanced at his watch. "It's thirty seconds past. Relax, Knight."

I peeled open my fingers and felt the ache in my knuckles. "Yes, sir."

"Come in and get the door when you do," he said. "We've got a lot to get to."

Inside, I blinked at the very obvious signs of my boss packing up his office. It was still organized and perfectly clean, but the walls were free of degrees and awards, the top of his filing cabinets oddly empty. He noticed my focus and extended his arm in a semicircle.

"This'll be yours soon," he said. "I'm trying to tie up as many loose ends as I can, but you'll be stepping into a few fires you'll need to put out. Nothing you can't handle, management wise."

I sat in the chair facing his desk. "Thank you, sir. I'm not worried."

"I'm glad you could come in today and tomorrow. I want you in some meetings with upper management and leadership," he said. "It's all the boring stuff, but you know what you signed up for."

A higher salary for my family. A more stable schedule. The kind of position my father dreamed of having but never could. The kind he assumed I'd never have."I signed up for a reason. I'm ready."

"Shame about the Beaumont situation," he said. "Sounds like our police liaison is doing the best he can with what little evidence he has."

Every muscle in my body tightened as remnants of our conversation with Ethel and Clarita came rushing back in. I'd been more rattled by it than I cared to admit. The blackmail piece was a huge complication—and dangerous at that. Clarence Craven's motivations and jumpy behavior when we met felt like a red flag.

And while I wasn't sure Senator Wallace would orchestrate death threats this close to her presidential campaign, Ethel's warning about who was pushing permits through for Lincoln was a fair one.

"Ripley called in before you arrived," Foster continued. "Another email arrived. You're being followed again."

"I'm what?" I asked, surprised.

He turned his screen around to show me and the image there had my stomach plummeting. We'd been tailed. Again. This time to the Historical Society's garden party. Someone had captured Luke and me, though the image was grainy and poorly lit in the dark.

In it, I'm close to Luke—much too close.

I knew the exact moment that was being captured. I'd startled at a sound, had grabbed his wrist tightly though we weren't in obvious danger.

I think you like putting me in my place, Elijah.

"That's not possible," I said sharply. "Sylvester was working the perimeter and that party was full of security. A state senator was there. No way some random civilian's able to infiltrate without our knowledge."

Foster pinned me with a level gaze, staying silent for a beat too long. I'd raised my voice, flustered by the new information and the intimacy writ large on his laptop screen.

"Perhaps it's not a civilian in the way you're thinking," he said slowly. "There can be stalkers anywhere. You know that."

"Of course, sir," I said quickly. "I'm sorry. I'm…slightly taken aback by the picture, is all. I'd assumed the first email was a one-off and shouldn't have."

His eyes searched mine. "Understandable. It's uncomfortable. And there's nothing about Lucas Beaumont you'd like to share with me? His behavior? You mentioned before he was impulsive? Reckless?"

Intriguing. Charming. Secretly in pain. Too handsome for his own good.

"We've developed a better working relationship now that he's more accustomed to round-the-clock protection," I replied. "Nothing I can't handle."

He nodded, seemingly pleased with that answer. "I don't doubt it. Not that you'll have to worry about his protection for much longer. It'll be someone else's job to protect him."

The sensation that rippled through me at those words—it'll be someone else's job to protect him—had me wanting to claw the chair in two with my bare hands.

"Absolutely, sir. I'm looking forward to it."

Foster shifted a few piles of paper on his desk, accidentally knocking over Sunday's edition of the Times. I bent to pick it up and blinked at the face staring back at me: Lincoln Beaumont.

One of his business associates had written a memorial piece about his life in the Opinion section. Scanning it, I picked out phrases like "much adored businessman" and "a fervent believer in giving back." At the bottom, the colleague had asserted that his buildings had changed the landscape of the Hamptons "for the better." There was also mention of the crowds of people who'd gathered at his funeral weeks ago, with lines stretching around the block.

My chest seized up, remembering the look of raw vulnerability on Luke's face after his nightmare. The flat tone in his voice as he said the man definitely believed starvation was a motivator.

Sitting up, I set the paper back on the desk. "Regardless of who's behind these threats, we know…well, I know, that Lincoln Beaumont was…is…"

"He was what?"

"He wasn't…a good man. He wasn't a moral man."

Foster paused, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "Are you saying that your client did something illegal in your presence?"

"No, sir."

"Then questions of his morality or immorality are of no concern to us," he said. "Our priority is clear—protection from harm. Ensuring high-status individuals with significant wealth and notoriety can move through this world in peace, without fearing for their lives. You're an honorable person, Elijah, and always have been. But my recommendation, especially for taking on this role after me, is to worry less about client ethics and more about client retention."

At the start of all this, I hadn't been overly impressed with Luke's theories about who was behind the threats and what that said about his father's secret actions. Even if I personally found his behavior to be unsavory, that didn't mean he was a criminal.

Except I couldn't really claim to know what happened behind Lincoln's closed doors. Even my own father hid his unsavory behavior with an ease and comfort that still boggled my mind.

Foster's phone rang and he picked it up with a clipped, "Yes?"

I heard muffled speaking on the other end, then his eyes darted to mine. "I'll send him down right away."

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Your brother is here," he said.

I went still. "Christopher is…here?"

"Apparently. He's asking to see you."

My mind raced with a hundred different scenarios, none of them good. Christopher and his family lived in Brooklyn, but I hadn't seen him in almost nine months. We'd come to a tenuous truce on the subject—he stopped complaining that I worked too much while I tried not to feel too guilty about it.

I half rose from the chair and Foster said, "Go, it's fine," before I'd even opened my mouth to ask.

In the elevator, I was so keyed up I should have taken the stairs instead. It was an automated response, developed over the years from Christopher and me being terrified that Dad had returned to skulk around the edges of our family, trying to manipulate his way back in.

As adults, it had taken a few years for us to drop the habit of saying "Don't worry, Dad's not back" whenever one of us called each other unexpectedly.

So it was only normal to want to collapse in relief at the sight of him in the lobby—seemingly safe and unharmed. He brightened when he saw me and then a tiny blur of motion tackled my legs. I bent to scoop up my nephew Skylar immediately, unsure what to do with the starburst of emotion that lodged in my heart when he threw his tiny arms around my neck.

"The prodigal son returns," Christopher boomed, giving me a hug as big as his son's. "I took Sky into Manhattan for the day and he asked if we could walk by your job and surprise you."

He reared back, still squeezing my shoulders. "I told him we had a one in a million shot you'd be here, yet here you are. This is the best day ever."

Before I could respond, he shook his head. "I know what you're gonna say and don't worry. We've got tickets to a movie that starts in twenty minutes, so we won't bother you for long. Though you could come over for dinner if you want. Shana and the twins would love to see you. We could even Skype Mom in from the road. Rumor has it, she adopted another dog while in Texas."

Working the night shift all those years had taken their toll on our mother, health-wise, so we were all relieved when she was able to retire with a small pension that allowed her to do what she'd always dreamed of—travel around the country in an old RV, adopting rescue dogs along the way. But her finances were still tight, and every medical bill and health concern sent me spiraling with worry.

"I miss you, Uncle Eli," Skylar said, smiling at me with eyes just like his dad's. He looked so much like Christopher as a kid that it never ceased to provoke a cognitive dissonance. Never ceased to have me listening with one ear for the sounds of our dad waking up. Used to be I could predict his mood based on whether he whistled while making his coffee.

No whistle meant I sent Christopher out to play with his friends all day, with strict instructions not to return until dark.

I ruffled Sky's hair with one hand. "I miss you too, kiddo. Every single day."

"Where have you been?" Christopher said softly. "Mom told me it's been tough to get in touch with you. You're not avoiding your much more attractive younger brother on purpose, are you?"

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. "Work's been busy."

He wrinkled his nose. "It's been nine months since I last saw you, Eli. You could come around more, you know? I want my big brother back."

I stepped closer, lowered my voice. "I've been busy for a reason. I'm taking over the company. I'll be the youngest director in their history. And the lead-up, the training, it's been a lot. Plus, I'm still in the field with the Beaumont family out in Cape Avalon. But all of this means a much bigger salary. It's for you. For the kids. And for Mom."

His eyes softened. "We didn't ask you to do that. Not if it means we'll see you even less than we do now."

"You don't have to ask," I said. "I'll always take care of you. It's—" I swallowed because I love you and said, "I'm your brother and I want to help."

Christopher rubbed the top of his head. We were traipsing through a conversation so well-worn it was frayed at the edges. "I know you do. And I hate sounding like a broken record here but…we want to see you. Please?"

I was never sure how to say it, so I never did. Never sure how to explain what it felt like at fourteen, when Dad finally left for good and I watched my mother sigh in relief. How the relief then turned to a barely concealed panic at the loss of his second income, like ripping the cord for a parachute that only opened halfway.

I'd never told my brother what it was like to step up and take on the responsibility of caring for him. Someone needed to help my mom, because the member of my family who bragged the most about being responsible had fucked off like we were nothing but an afterthought.

Even something as innocuous as having dinner with my family had me itchy and restless, forever trapped in that feeling like I was fifty miles down the highway and realizing I'd left the burner on. More work, more hours, more money. There was always more to be done to ensure my family never struggled again.

Skylar reached up and tapped my nose, laughing, while Christopher eyed me with a tender worry that made me feel like an asshole.

"I want to see you too," I said quickly. "And you're not a broken record. It's on me, anyway. Let's do something soon, okay?"

"You promise?" he asked. "'Cause if not, this kid knows where you work now. He'll stake it out."

I sent my nephew a tiny smile. "Is that true?"

He nodded somberly then clutched at my arms again until I gave him another hug. It was too much and not enough, all at once. The love, the fear, the worry. The cycle I couldn't seem to break.

My phone went off with notifications for a dozen different meeting reminders and emails. With a soft chuckle, Christopher gently extricated Sky from my arms and gave me a salute.

"That's our cue to leave, but I'm so happy we did this. So happy we saw you."

I glanced over my shoulder, nagged by something Luke had said to me. Nagged by the way he'd said it, as if each word was a thorn, ripping up his throat.

You know nothing about what it was like growing up with that man, Elijah.

"Can I ask you something before you go? About Dad?"

My brother went rigid. "Did he call you?"

"No, nothing like that. It's a client I have. From what I can understand, his dad was like ours," I said quietly. "Well, not exactly like ours. But the dynamics are similar."

Christopher winced. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"His dad left my client this business when he passed away. A huge business, with a ton of clout and responsibility. And my client wants to give it up. The money, the power, the privilege." I held my brother's gaze. "If something like that happened to you, with the dad we had, what would you do?"

His eyebrows shot up. "With the company?"

"Yeah."

"That's easy." He hefted Sky around his waist and kissed the top of his head. "If Dad gave me his business, I'd burn it to the ground."