I still couldn’t believe someone had been in our house. That someone had invaded our sanctuary with the sole purpose to instill dread and fear. A terrorizing sort of manipulation.
My mind spun with the threat of the two letters that had been left. I’d found one sitting at the front door, and the other had been tucked in the mailbox at the road. The first had simply confused me.
Joseph had something that was mine. I want it back.
But it was the one that’d come last week that made me want to pack up my daughter and run. Hide us away until Mack found who was responsible.
I know you have it. Joseph was a fool. I hope you’re smarter than him. I’d hate to see you end up with the same fate.
The problem was that I had no idea what the it was. What they were lookin’ for and how I was supposed to deliver it. Didn’t they know I’d give up anything for my child? To keep her safe? I just didn’t understand.
I tucked Bailey tighter to my body, and I made the same promise to her that Jace had just made to me.
But mine was the truth.
One on which I’d live and die.
I’m going to take care of you. Protect you. Whatever it takes.
Five
Jace
Good God.
It was hot.
The sun pounded down through the humid air, the moisture like liquid fire on my skin, a fucking sauna set to full blast that would never offer any relief.
I lifted the hem of my already drenched shirt, and I swiped the sweat from my brow before I moved back to my SUV and pulled more lumber off the luggage rack.
So maybe I’d had to get creative in order to get all this shit here.
But hell, growing up, my entire life had been about making do.
So here I was.
I hoisted the stack of two-by-fours onto my shoulder and carried them to the pile of supplies I was making, eyeing the old house that was all but crumbling on its foundation.
Every plank on the porch was rotted, paint peeling from the walls, and pieces of the third-story roof were caving in on one side.
The place was a gorgeous disaster.
The rambling plantation was teeming with history and charm, all of its potential hidden by a layer of rot.
Beauty.
I saw it right there, simmering in the sagging heat waves and begging for reprieve.
My spirit clutched.
A painful, blissful pinch.
Just about every good memory I had was of this place. Of course, it was the keeper of my worst one, too.
It had been her dream.
Our dream.
A dream that was falling down around her.
Dangerous.
As dangerous as the ghosts that lurked in the shadows. As dangerous as the bastards who wanted to cause her harm.
Every step fraught with peril.
Fucking Joseph.
It felt like another sin to still be pissed at him, but I couldn’t help it. What the hell had he been thinking?
Only about himself, obviously.
I dumped the stack of wood, and it clattered onto the growing pile. The sound of it crashing to the ground ricocheted through the bated morning.
Subtlety had never exactly been my strong suit.
I went back to my car to gather the rest of the tools I’d picked up at the hardware store this morning.
At the hatch of my SUV, I blinked at the unopened boxes I’d stuffed inside. An electric saw, sander, hammers and nails, paint and stain, a ton of shit I hadn’t used in years.
So out of practice, so far away from the world I’d built for myself, I wasn’t even sure where to start building this one.
Of course, Faith wasn’t either.
Because when I popped my head back out, still bent over with my hands pressed to the tail end of my car, she was on the porch, glaring at me.
If she wasn’t so damned sweet, that single look might have taken me out.
Wouldn’t have been necessary when I was already getting the wind knocked out of me.
Not when Faith had that little girl hooked protectively on her hip. The kid had her head tucked under Faith’s chin and her thumb in her mouth as she stared out at me with the same color and depth as Faith’s knowing eyes.
It brought a lump the size of the boulder up to lodge itself in my throat.
I tried to swallow around it.
The anguish and awe and fucking jealousy.
Impossible.
Instead, I blinked and tried to pretend like it didn’t hurt so damned bad.
Faith stood on the porch looking like some kind of maternal angel holding her perfect match, light all around her, the girl glowing that glow that had always made me feel like I was sinking my fingers into something good.
She covered her little girl’s ear with her hand, her words seething from between pursed lips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jace Jacobs?”
I hauled a heavy box out of the back of my car. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Trespassin’.”
Low, disbelieving laughter made its way around that lump in my throat. “Trespassing, huh?”
“You are on my land after I asked you not to be.”
“You want to call the police? Go for it. I’m sure Mack would love to pay a visit.”
So maybe my tone was antagonistic, but she needed to know I wasn’t backing down.
Frustration billowed from her, her attention darting from the pile of wood I was making, to my face, and then to my chest before she jerked it away, gulping for something to say.
She hugged her little girl tighter, her words turning to a whispered plea. “I told you, you don’t get to do this.”
“What, help you?”
Protect you?
A huff of air puffed from that delicious mouth. Incredulous. Breaking with the day.
I was nothing but a fool because I wanted to get lost in that sound. In her voice and her need and her despair.
Take every bit of it away.
Fill the spaces that’d gone bad with something good.
Bitterness pounded at my ribs.
That was kind of hard to do when I didn’t have anything good to offer.
Except this.
Maybe for once, I could do something that would make a difference in a positive direction.
For her.
Maybe even for Joseph.
I just prayed he wasn’t looking down and hoping I’d have a slip up with the saw and cut right through an artery rather than the wood.
“You know this isn’t about you helping me.”
“That’s exactly what this is about, Faith. I’m here to help you.”
I’m here to protect you. Take care of you until I get you out of this mess. God knows, if I wasn’t such a selfish bastard, I might have been able to stop it from happening in the first place.
Moving back toward the steps, I dumped the huge box that held the saw and table onto the ground before wiping more sweat away.
I could feel her. The emotion that came from her, like it was pinned to the air, caught up in the stagnant heat waves with nowhere to go.
“I don’t want your pity,” she finally whispered. There was no missing the grief coming through on the words or the way they cracked with the sob she was trying to hold back.
Funny, considering it was me who’d never wanted this girl to pity me.
She was the one who’d made me strive to be better.
Change my situation.
Made me see I didn’t have to be another victim of circumstance.
I dropped my gaze to the ground, hands on my hips, my chest heaving.
Knowing I wasn’t equipped to handle this.
What I felt and what she was going through.
The impact of her grief and my regret colliding might send the rest of the house crashing to the ground.
I had to suck it up and lock that shit down. Remember why I was there.
Standing at the base of the steps, I looked up at her. Her little girl had pried her head free of her mother’s chin, her eyes wary and curious as she peered out at me.
A tremor rolled through my chest.
I tore my attention from the little girl and turned it on Faith, which wasn’t exactly helping matters, either.
My eyes narrowed in emphasis, praying she’d get it. “Pity you? I don’t pity you, Faith. Does it kill me that you’re going through this? Am I worried about you? Do I want to go on a mission to track down whoever is threatening you? Do I wish I could fix it? Yes. But there’s a big difference between the two.”