30. Elijah

It was like trying to communicate from deep within the ocean.

I was aware of a question being asked by the young police officer. Was aware of Foster, peering at me from behind his desk like I was a total stranger and not the person he'd trained all these years. And I knew what the facts technically were—we were back in the Manhattan offices, and for the first time in my entire career, I wore joggers, a sweatshirt and a day's worth of scruff on my jaw. And my coworkers, milling about in the hallway, had all stared at me like I'd committed a grave personal offense against each of them when I walked in.

It wasn't true. There was only one person I'd let down. And I wasn't sure if I'd ever get the chance to apologize to him.

"Mr. Knight?" the officer asked. "Mr. Knight, do you need to take a break?"

I turned to him the way a scuba diver turns in the water. Slow, ungainly, bewildered.

"I'm sorry?"

The officer exchanged a glance with Foster. "Do you need some extra time?"

"He doesn't," Foster said sharply.

A pause, then, "What happened when you went outside to look for Mr. Beaumont?"

"Luke," I said quickly. "His name is Luke."

The glare that Foster sent me could have stripped paint from the walls. But I was still miles beneath the waves and unable to give a shit.

"What happened when you went outside to look for Luke?"

"I shouldn't have let him go out there," I replied. "That was my mistake."

"Do you know why he stepped outside?" the officer asked.

Guilt invaded my every thought and emotion. I couldn't share the real reason why. He went outside because we'd argued after spending an incredibly passionate night together. Then I accused him of running away from his responsibilities and he accused me of living half a life, of parceling out bits of happiness only when I thought I deserved it.

And I should have said, "You are so right. Whenever I'm around you, I can't seem to parcel it out. I only want to take big greedy handfuls of happiness for myself. Want to take risks and throw myself straight into the fire and stop looking over my shoulder, terrified to see a father who's never coming back."

Instead of saying I want to take a big leap with you, I implied that he was nothing to me.

"It'd been a hard night," I said. "We'd been run off the road. Had to swim to safety. I was injured and he was—" Luke, on top of me. Luke, moving inside me, holding me while I slept. "He was still pretty shaken up."

The officer cleared his throat again and scribbled some notes. "And how long do you believe he was out there by himself?"

I pinched my nose. "No more than five minutes."

That was all it had taken for me to regret everything I'd said. But that regret was nothing compared to the feelings that ripped through my body once I realized he'd been taken from me. The agony was like a living thing, driving me to a swift madness as I stalked the road surrounding the cabin. Stalked all the way back to Clarence Craven's house, which remained infuriatingly empty. I prowled the beach with a single-minded intensity, so furious that when Ripley and Sylvester finally pulled up, I almost yanked the rear door from its hinges hoping he'd be in the back seat.

"And you didn't hear anything? See anything?" the officer asked.

"No, uh… I was in the back of the house, the bedroom, trying to put everything back in order. I believe he was taken from the front patio. I didn't hear or see a thing."

The officer peeked at his notes. "And that's where you and Mister…Luke, uh, slept last night?"

Feverish images flickered in from last night. Luke, naked and face down on the bed, writhing as I worked him over with my tongue. The way he whispered I like you so much it scares me and my heart stopped. His fingers, tracing my scar. His hungry mouth on mine as he fucked me, the ecstasy so intense I forgot how to breathe.

You want the whole world? Done. I'll bring it to you on a silver platter.

"As I mentioned earlier, we were in shock," I said roughly. "We were injured. We'd both lost our phones and our belongings in the ocean. The tropical storm was bearing down on us. I'm not saying it was my best decision, but I did what I could with the resources I had."

I didn't have to look at Foster to know what his question was. Who slept where?

"Once I confirmed that Luke wasn't nearby or had just taken a walk somewhere, that's when I realized that he had most likely been kidnapped by whoever ran us off the road the night before. Probably the same person or persons who's been sending him death threats for the past two weeks. The very same who was sending threats to his father before he died."

I clenched one hand around the other, forming a fist to keep my fingers from shaking. I hadn't heard him call out for me when he was kidnapped. Hadn't heard a fucking thing.

So what did they do to him to make him stay quiet?

"All right, well, that's all I've got for now. We'll keep looking through all the other pieces of evidence you've given us," the officer said. "Unless there's anything else you'd like to tell me?"

This is all my fault.

"Nothing comes to mind," I replied.

As soon as the officer stepped back outside, Foster shut the door behind him and pulled the blinds closed. I felt his eyes, heavy on my profile, but I kept mine glued to the floor. This was our first moment together entirely alone since the disastrous call I'd made to him early this morning.

He perched on the edge of his desk. "They found the car. Should be easy to drag out, though I doubt anything can be recovered from it."

"Yes, sir."

"And I personally spoke to the couple whose house you broke into last night. Explained the situation, and they expressed their sympathies, won't be pressing charges."

I nodded through the guilt carving a path inside my brain. Every single mistake, stacking up higher and higher. "What do we do now?"

"We don't do anything," he said simply. "We've had clients kidnapped and harmed before. In every other situation, we've cooperated with the investigation, provided evidence and then hoped for the best. We've not lost a client yet, Elijah. And we won't this time either."

I bit back a burst of rage. "With all due respect, that's foolish, sir. Luke could be anywhere, Luke could be in danger. Just because we haven't lost people yet doesn't mean we won't."

Foster arched a single eyebrow. "What did you say to me?"

I rubbed the middle of my forehead. "I'm…I'm sorry, sir."

He was quiet for an excruciating few seconds before saying, "Ripley and Sylvester informed me that I signed off on Luke's spontaneous trip to Rodanthe in the middle of a tropical storm warning. And that I approved him traveling with only a single escort mere hours after a physical attack was attempted on his person. All of that was a lie, correct?"

I finally raised my eyes to his. "Correct."

"Why did Lucas Beaumont feel the need to travel to the wetlands in the middle of a storm?"

My right knee started to shake. "He…Luke…he wanted to catch the person who was sending him threats and demanding back a flash drive, which Luke inferred was most likely being used to blackmail someone. His hope was that if he discovered who it was, he could stop the threats, clear the air. There's a person who lives out there, Clarence Craven. Lincoln Beaumont was a well-known enemy of his."

Foster's nostrils flared. "You didn't think to inform us of this? Nor did you think it best to convince our client of the dangers of that kind of vigilante investigation?"

"I did, I…he couldn't be deterred."

Foster's gaze darted back and forth, studying my face. "I asked you multiple times if you were having trouble with Lucas. And each time you told me no."

I didn't respond. My body's responses were swinging wildly between cry and vomit.

Foster leaned forward. I already knew what he was going to ask. Knew it from the moment he'd shut the blinds.

"What is the nature of your relationship with this client?" he asked.

I bounced my knee. Squeezed my hands together. "Personal."

His face went dark. "In what way?"

I pictured Luke's smile when I asked him what made him feel safe. You, Elijah Knight. My handsome shield. Felt torn anew when I tried to imagine how terrified he must be.

"Romantic, sir."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he snapped, spinning off the desk and crossing the room. "Please, for the love of god, tell me you're joking."

I shook my head.

"So you…you and Lucas Beaumont are…what, together?"

I nodded, even though it wasn't entirely true. But we were something to each other. Something that mattered, even if I'd been terrified to say the words out loud.

Foster's head tipped back and he stared at the ceiling. "Three weeks before my retirement and you're telling me you went and violated the single most important rule we adhere to? Elijah, you're in a romantic relationship with a high-profile client who was kidnapped after a series of massive mistakes that you personally made due to being emotionally compromised. Everything that's happened has been your fault. Do you understand that?"

"More than you know," I said softly.

"Good. I hope you do know. After this is through, you'll be lucky to find any job in this field, let alone assume the director position." He slammed his hand down onto his desk and I jumped. "Just…listen. Go home. Keep your head down. Do not come back into this office until I tell you to. When Lucas Beaumont is found, there is a slim possibility this will not get out. Which means there's a slim possibility I can keep you on a desk somewhere."

"Sir…" My throat felt too tight to swallow. "I can't go home and do nothing."

"You can and you will."

"Would you? If it was someone you cared for?"

Foster stared at me like every word out of my mouth was absolutely fucking madness. Who knows, maybe it was. But a switch had been flipped somewhere, deep in my chest, and I couldn't have shut it off if I tried.

"Go. Home. Now," he repeated, then pointed at his office door like I was a pet who'd misbehaved.

I walked back through the offices, avoiding every questioning look, and wandered the streets of Manhattan. Too stunned to do much of anything except panic and worry.

Which was how I ended up at the last place I would have expected.