Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A nnabelle woke slowly, feeling as though her muscles had forgotten how to work properly. She blinked several times, and as her brain began to clear, a sign on the ceiling above her came into focus. Written in purple marker pen on a large sheet of paper, it read: Don’t panic. You’re on the second floor of your building. You’ve been sick.

What the…?

Gingerly, she maneuvered herself onto her elbows and looked around. She was on a mattress on the floor of one of the second-floor office storage rooms, and a man was sitting near her. He was asleep in an old armchair that’d been down in the shop the last time she saw it, his legs stretched out in front of him—his feet almost touching her makeshift bed. He was dressed in worn-in jeans, an old T-shirt with a message too faded to read, and a scuffed pair of boots. A firearm sat on the little table beside him. Above his head, another notice was pinned to the wall: Noah. Protector. The DA’s office hired him and our security team.

Noah?

As she stared at his face, trying to remember if she’d met him, a vague memory of a bulldog dressed as a man fighting in a war zone popped into her head.

Helpful…

But what really confused her was she’d woken in a room that wasn’t her bedroom, with a stranger beside her, and yet she wasn’t afraid.

She did a quick mental survey of her internal state—no racing heartbeat, no desire to run, no stark terror.

Huh?

Cautiously, because her muscles were so stiff, she sat and swiveled until her feet rested on the ground. She wore pajamas. Which was strange because she didn’t own any. These had a Wonder Woman emblem printed on them and were at least a size too big.

“I must be dreaming,” she muttered, because nothing made sense.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” a deep voice said, making her eyes snap up to the man in the chair. “But this isn’t a dream. It’s great to see you awake, though. Good morning.”

His smile could have melted ice cream in winter. It transformed his rugged face into something sensual and sexy as hell.

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “Noah?” She pointed at the sign.

He nodded as he sat up and then reached for the bottle of water at his side. After he’d unscrewed the cap, he handed it to her. “Doc says you need to keep your fluids up.”

Grateful for the water, Annabelle sipped it as she studied him. “Have we met?” she asked once she’d drunk her fill.

His smile turned wry. “Oh yeah, we’ve met. You were a little out of it with a fever and seemed convinced I was a hallucination. Before you passed out, that is.”

Flickers of memories that made little sense danced before her eyes. “You have two sons,” she said hesitantly, not really sure how she knew that.

“Yep.”

Noah smiled some more. It was distracting and had a strange effect on her stomach—like someone had switched on a soda machine inside her, filling her up with bubbles. She glanced at the water bottle and wondered if it was just a bad case of gas.

Sounds began to register, and she noticed voices coming from the other side of the storage room door. She frowned at it, trying to make sense of her strange situation. “Are your sons here?”

“Nope, they’re in Atlantic City, visiting their grandparents.”

The image of a photo surfaced in her head. The perfect American family, all smiling for the camera. “With your wife?” she asked.

A flash of soul-deep sadness appeared in his eyes before disappearing almost as fast. “My wife died five years ago. Cancer”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks flushed with an embarrassment that made no sense.

“You didn’t know.” Noah rested his forearms on his knees and leaned toward her. “The voices you can hear belong to my team. We’re with Benson Security. We specialize in keeping people safe and, well, some other stuff, but the main thing for you to know is that your assistant DA hired us to take care of you.”

“I got that much.” She pointed to the sign on the ceiling.

Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. “One of my younger teammates was worried you’d wake up and start screaming. He figured a bit of information might head that off.”

Annabelle shrugged. “I think the signs are cute. And they worked.”

His soulful eyes captured hers, making it hard to look away. It was as though the surrounding air had become charged. If she’d drawn it, she would have made the room’s background dark, then had threadlike lines of gold darting between them.

She blinked, and the moment was gone. “Why did the DA’s office hire you?” she asked before drinking more water.

He ran a hand over his short, sandy hair and winced. There was a nasty-looking wound where some of his hair should have been.

“What happened to your head?” she asked, not waiting for his reply to her first question.

“First,” he said, “either the DA’s office or the cops has a leak, and the guys you’re testifying against found out your location. Second, they came to stop you from testifying, shot out a monitor screen, and part of it embedded itself in my head.”

A wave of memory almost knocked her back onto the mattress. “The panic room! Gunfire! My apartment!”

Annabelle shot to her feet, threw the door open, and ran out into a room full of people. She screeched to a halt as they all turned to smile at her.

“Nice jammies,” a tall, redheaded man said with a grin.

Two exact copies of him stood at his side.

And that’s when she knew what had happened. Her greatest fear had come true.

She’d completely lost her mind.

As Annabelle started to shake, Noah stepped in front of her. He gently grasped her shoulders, making her look up at him.

“Take a breath,” he said calmly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

She took several breaths. “Tell me the truth,” she whispered, “am I in an asylum and suffering from delusions? Am I hallucinating? Did I have a psychotic break?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You had the flu, and you’ve been out of it for three days. But you aren’t imagining anything.”

She leaned closer to him. “I’m seeing three versions of the same man.”

Noah fought to hide a smile. “They’re triplets.”

Her hazel eyes stared at him. “How do I know this is real and not some psychotic delusion? It’s just like that Buffy episode where she’s in a mental institute, dreaming about life in Sunnydale. That episode shattered my faith in the Buffyverse. After that, I wasn’t sure if it was real or not.”

Noah’s lips twitched. “I’ll help you out here. Buffy isn’t real. The triplets are. They’re part of my team.”

He moved to her side. But it wasn’t close enough to give Annabelle the reassurance she craved, so she closed the distance even further, almost plastering herself to his side.

“Annabelle,” Noah said as he gestured to the people dotted around the room, “meet the Benson Security team tasked with keeping you alive and well. Introduce yourselves, guys.”

“I’m Harris,” the man who’d commented on her pajamas said, “and these are my brothers, Evan and Logan. You don’t need your eyesight tested. We’re identical triplets. We’re also IVF babies. I’m pretty sure our mother ordered us up this way on purpose just so we’d have to spend our lives telling people they weren’t seeing things. Her sense of humor’s dodgy at best.” His broad Scottish accent lent itself to the surrealness of her situation. “Evan is our computer geek, Logan’s our procurement officer, and I’m public relations.” His descriptions seemed to amuse his brothers.

“You’re… from Scotland?” she asked.

“Aye, but we work here now.” Harris’ smile was dazzling, but it didn’t have the same effect on her as Noah’s.

“I’m Violet Lee.” A petite Asian woman, looking to be in her early thirties, stepped forward as she spoke. She had the same accent as the triplets and looked angry. “I used to be a police detective, but now I work for Benson Security.”

Annabelle looked up at Noah. “Is everyone on this team from Scotland?”

“Only the crazy ones.”

A confident and polished African American woman in a gray business suit approached them. Her curly black hair sat neatly around her face, and the lines around her eyes testified to maturity and experience.

The woman held out her hand. “I’m Rochelle Davis, former FBI, and I head up this team. We’re very pleased you’re feeling better, Annabelle, and want you to know we’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe and comfortable. You are very brave to testify, and we have a lot of respect for your courage.”

Annabelle shook her hand. She felt solid. And real. It was reassuring and gave her the confidence to ask the question that terrified her: “You won’t try to take me away from here, will you?”

“No.” Rochelle smiled warmly. “We’ve turned this building into your safe house instead.” She gestured behind her to the large open-plan space, which was double the size Annabelle remembered. “I’m afraid we took some liberties and set ourselves up in here. I promise we’ll put everything back as we found it when it’s time to leave.”

“Oh, come on,” Evan groaned. “It was a pain in the backside taking that partition wall down. Please tell me you don’t intend for us to put it back up.”

“Actually,” Annabelle said before his boss could reply, “I like the space better this way.”

“That’s it,” Logan said to his brothers. “She’s perfect. I call dibs on her.”

Annabelle’s eyes went wide as Noah raised his voice. “Nobody’s calling dibs on the client.” He looked down at her. “They’re idiots. Ignore them.”

To Annabelle’s surprise, a giggle escaped her.

As he gave her a rueful smile, a gorgeous, tall Latino man crossed the room.

“I’m Rodrigo De la Cruz.” He held out his hand. “Noah’s right,” he said with a faint Spanish accent. “If one of the toddlers bothers you, talk to an adult in the room, and we’ll deal with them.”

“I get the feeling people are picking on us,” Logan said to Harris.

“It’s insulting,” Harris agreed.

The door to the office space opened, and another woman walked in. She was graceful and painfully thin. Her chestnut hair was cropped to a feathered cap that set off her delicate bone structure. She wore a high-necked blouse, wide-legged pants, and designer running shoes. In her hand was a folder and an iPad.

When she saw Annabelle, she smiled. “You’re awake. Has anyone given you something to eat or drink yet? Or shown you where your clothes are?”

“Uh, Noah gave me water.” Annabelle glanced down at her pajamas. “Clothes would be good.”

“Typical.” The new woman turned to Rochelle. “Do you need her for anything, or can I get her cleaned up and fed before you brief her?”

“She’s all yours,” Rochelle said. “Annabelle, meet Katrina Raast. Our resident project manager and reminder that we all need to learn some manners. We have another team member, Abasi, but he’s patrolling right now. You can meet him later.”

Katrina appeared to tense at the mention of her last teammate, but she quickly recovered and handed the folder to Rochelle before smiling at Annabelle. “Come on, we’ve stocked the kitchen on this floor, so I can cook you some breakfast while you get showered and changed. There are clothes for you in the bathroom down the hall. You must be desperate to get cleaned up after being in bed for days.”

Annabelle sucked in a breath as she reached up to touch her hair. If it looked half as bad as it felt, she was sporting a greasy, knotted mess. How humiliating!

Noah squeezed her shoulder. “You’re fine. You look exactly like someone should after they’ve been ill. Go with Katrina, and we’ll talk soon.”

Annabelle hesitated, suddenly anxious at the thought of having him out of her sight. A strange montage of memories flashed through her mind—Noah giving her medicine, feeding her soup, mopping her brow…

“You took care of me,” she said, awed. It had been a long time since anyone had been there to care for her when she was ill. However, the awe was soon shattered by another thought that heated her cheeks. “Who changed my clothes?”

“That would be me,” Katrina said. “I apologize for the Wonder Woman pj’s, but I shopped in a hurry.”

“Oh.” Annabelle’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Katrina said. “Let’s get something other than chicken soup inside of you.”

Annabelle found herself looking up at Noah for reassurance.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You’re safe in this building, and Katrina might look delicate, but she can shoot circles around anyone in this room.”

A little embarrassed, Annabelle reluctantly left the warmth of his side Katrina. “What do you mean, cook me something down here? I can get something from my kitchen upstairs after I’ve cleaned up.”

Katrina’s face was filled with sympathy as Annabelle walked with her out into the hallway. “Your apartment sustained some damage during the gunfight, but the cleanup crew’s been in, and we’re just finishing up in there. It’ll be good as new by the end of the day. Better even. We’ve upgraded your security system and fortified your panic room—so bullets won’t get through the walls in the future.”

Annabelle tripped over her own feet. “Gunfight? Bullets in the future? Exactly what state is my home in?”

She was almost afraid to go see. The news was hard to believe. Everything was. There was a security team in her building. Workmen in her loft. And tales of near-death experiences she could recall only as a haze-filled dream.

“It’s okay.” Katrina patted her shoulder. “I promise you’ll feel safe and secure in your home. We won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t try to process everything all at once. For now, just focus on getting cleaned up and having breakfast. You’ll need your strength to deal with all the information that will come your way today.” Her lashes lowered as she spoke. “I know how hard it is to get your head around all of this, but the best way to do that is to focus on one task at a time.” She took a deep breath, looked up at Annabelle, and smiled. “And right now, your priority is definitely a shower.”

“I smell, huh?” Annabelle tried to sniff herself, but she was too close to judge.

Katrina held up her index finger and thumb, her eyes sparkling. “Teeny bit.”

“Shower it is, then. But afterward, I have questions. Lots of questions.”

“And we’ll answer them all. Now hurry up. Food will be ready when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Katrina,” Annabelle called as she entered the old bathroom.

“It’s my pleasure,” came the reply.

After steeling herself against the grime of the unused room, Annabelle was pleasantly surprised. The bathroom had been thoroughly cleaned—in fact, it gleamed. A small stool held some of her clothes, folded neatly and freshly laundered. The spotless shower boasted a new showerhead, and there were plenty of products lined up on the shelf. Warm, fluffy towels hung on a heated towel rack that looked brand new.

Noah’s team had taken liberties while she’d slept. Rearranging offices, tearing down partitions, and adding the things they needed. She stood for a moment, waiting for outrage at their behavior to hit, but it didn’t. Instead, she found herself experiencing a sense of wonder.

It’d been a long time since the building was full of people, not since her aunt died and her curio shop closed, and Annabelle had gotten used to being alone. Sure, she chatted with the delivery people who came to her door and had online friends. Some of those friends visited and even stayed over, but not as frequently as she’d have liked. In truth, the corridors of the old warehouse often echoed around her.

But not today.

Today, the place was abuzz with people and activity.

It was a shame it’d taken a threat to her life for her world to expand. Annabelle shuddered at the memory of bullets flying but tamped down her fear. She was home. Surrounded by security specialists. Safe.

She hoped.