Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN ADRIAN COULDN’T LOSE
Adrian covered my body with his before the echo disappeared.
“Stay down.”
His voice was against my ear.
Controlled.
Absolute.
I should have been terrified by the gunshot.
Instead, for one completely insane second, all I could register was Adrian’s arm locked around my waist and the weight of his body shielding mine.
Then another window shattered.
Reality returned.
Russo shouted from the hallway.
Adrian pulled me behind the heavy safe.
“Claire.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He ran his hands over my arms anyway.
“Adrian.”
“I need to know.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes met mine.
Something raw existed there.
Fear.
Not fear of being killed.
Fear for me.
It vanished almost instantly.
Russo appeared in the doorway.
“They’re gone.”
Adrian stood.
“How many?”
“At least two.”
“Victor?”
“Couldn’t confirm.”
Adrian looked toward the window.
“Get the recorder.”
I grabbed it from the floor.
Ten minutes later, we were inside an armored SUV leaving Brooklyn.
Nobody spoke.
Adrian sat beside me.
His knee touched mine.
Neither of us moved away.
Across from us, Russo pressed gauze against the side of his head.
“I failed you.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You got Claire out.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
Russo nodded once.
I studied him.
Marco Russo had always intimidated me.
Tonight, for the first time, he simply looked tired.
“How did they know we would go there?” I asked.
Neither man answered.
That was answer enough.
“Someone told them.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Someone inside your organization.”
“Yes.”
“Who knew?”
“Very few people.”
“How few?”
“Six.”
I looked between them.
“Then start with six.”
Adrian almost smiled.
“You sound like me.”
“No. I have better social skills.”
Russo coughed into his fist.
I suspected he was hiding a laugh.
Adrian gave him a look.
The SUV continued toward a location I didn’t recognize.
“This isn’t your penthouse.”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“A house outside the city.”
“I have clothes at my apartment.”
“You’re not going there.”
“Adrian—”
“No.”
My temper ignited.
“You are my boss, not my owner.”
His eyes sharpened.
“And someone fired through a window less than twenty minutes ago while you were standing beside me.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to decide where I live.”
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
He leaned closer.
“But I am asking you not to return to an apartment Victor Sloane has already photographed.”
The anger lost some of its strength.
“Ask, then.”
His gaze held mine.
“Claire, please stay somewhere protected until this is finished.”
Adrian Kane had probably said please fewer than twelve times in his adult life.
I sighed.
“Fine.”
Noah was already at the estate when we arrived.
He ran across the foyer in dinosaur pajamas and wrapped both arms around my waist.
“You came!”
The hug hit me harder than I expected.
I rested my hand against his hair.
“I came.”
“Dad said you might.”
I glanced at Adrian.
He was watching us.
“He says lots of things,” I said.
Noah whispered loudly, “He likes you.”
“Noah.”
Adrian’s warning came from across the room.
Noah grinned.
The estate belonged to Adrian’s mother, though she was still trying to fly home from Atlanta.
It sat behind iron gates north of Manhattan, surrounded by woods and cameras.
I should have felt trapped.
Instead, after Noah fell asleep on the sofa with his head in my lap, I felt something dangerously close to belonging.
Adrian stood near the fireplace.
His tie was gone.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
I had seen him that way only a handful of times.
Each one should have been illegal.
“You can stop staring,” he said.
I looked away immediately.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Your son is a terrible influence.”
“He’s six.”
“That is no excuse.”
Adrian sat in the chair opposite me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Noah breathed softly between us.
Finally, Adrian said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked up.
“For what?”
“For involving you.”
“You didn’t bring Victor back.”
“I hired you.”
“Because I was qualified.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t know this would happen.”
“No.”
“Then stop trying to accept blame for everything.”
His expression hardened.
“I’m responsible for the people around me.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It is.”
The honesty surprised me.
My hand moved gently over Noah’s hair.
“He adores you.”
Adrian looked at his son.
“I don’t deserve how much.”
“You’re wrong.”
His gaze returned to me.
“What did Evelyn mean about the succession documents?”
I asked.
Adrian leaned back.
“My father wanted to separate the Kane family’s legitimate holdings from the criminal structure permanently. Daniel created a trust.”
“And Malcolm opposed it.”
“Yes.”
“If the documents still exist?”
“Malcolm loses any legal claim to almost everything my father built.”
Money.
Power.
Control.
Suddenly the attacks made even more sense.
“What was your father worth?”
Adrian named a number.
I stared.
“That’s obscene.”
“Yes.”
“And you have more?”
“Yes.”
“That is even more obscene.”
For a second, Adrian actually laughed.
Then Noah shifted.
His eyes opened.
“Mom?”
The word came out half asleep.
My heart stopped.
Noah blinked.
Then recognition returned.
“Claire.”
Something cracked inside me.
He sat up.
“Sorry.”
I touched his cheek.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
His eyes filled.
“I forgot.”
Adrian immediately stood.
“Noah.”
“I forgot Mommy.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I called Claire Mom.”
Adrian knelt beside the sofa.
“You were asleep.”
“But what if Mommy thinks I don’t love her?”
My throat closed.
Adrian pulled his son into his arms.
“She knows you love her.”
“How?”
“Because your mother knew everything about you.”
Noah sniffed.
“Even when I stole cookies?”
“Especially then.”
I smiled through tears.
Noah looked at me.
“Would Mommy be mad if I love Claire?”
I couldn’t breathe.
Adrian’s eyes moved to mine.
“No,” he said softly. “Your mother would never be angry at you for loving someone.”
Noah seemed satisfied.
Five minutes later, he was asleep again.
Adrian carried him upstairs.
When he returned, I was standing by the windows.
“You’re good with him,” I said.
“I try.”
“You’re better than you think.”
He stopped behind me.
I could feel him there.
“Claire.”
I turned.
We were standing much too close.
“You should know something.”
“What?”
“The reason I look at you.”
Heat climbed into my face.
“I don’t think we need to revisit Noah’s hallway commentary.”
“We do.”
“Adrian.”
“I look at you because when you walk into a room, I know exactly where you are.”
My pulse became painfully loud.
He continued.
“And when you leave, I notice.”
Neither of us moved.
“This is a terrible time to tell me that.”
“I know.”
“You’re my boss.”
“I know.”
“You’re also possibly at war with your uncle.”
“I know.”
“And someone shot at us tonight.”
His mouth almost curved.
“I’m aware.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
I should have stepped away.
Instead, I whispered, “Then why are you getting closer?”
“Because for once in my life, I’m tired of doing the intelligent thing.”
His hand touched my cheek.
Slowly.
Giving me every chance to stop him.
I didn’t.
When Adrian kissed me, there was nothing cold or controlled about it.
Two years of restraint disappeared in one breath.
His hand moved to my waist.
Mine gripped his shirt.
For several impossible seconds, there was no Malcolm.
No Victor.
No mafia.
No death.
Only Adrian.
Then an alarm screamed through the house.
Adrian pulled away instantly.
Footsteps thundered upstairs.
Russo appeared.
“Noah’s room.”
Adrian was already moving.
We ran.
The bedroom door stood open.
The bed was empty.
The window was locked.
The guards outside were unconscious but breathing.
On Noah’s pillow sat Gerald, his stuffed elephant.
A folded piece of paper was pinned beneath one paw.
Adrian picked it up.
His face turned to stone.
“What does it say?” I whispered.
He handed it to me.
BRING CLAIRE BENNETT AND DANIEL’S DOCUMENTS TO ME.
OR THE BOY LEARNS WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO HIS MOTHER.
At the bottom was one name.
MALCOLM.
My hands shook.
Adrian stared at the empty bed.
May you like
Then he said something so quiet it frightened me more than shouting ever could.
“I’m going to bring my son home.”
