Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) (15 page)

“Shit. Why didn’t I know this? You’re making me cry.” She wipes a hand underneath her eyes. “You pretend to be so together and you have this baggage. Baggage, damn you. Now you’ve screwed up this whole picture I’ve had of Dylan Mercado.”

I rub my hand over my damp chin. “Baby, I never pretended to be anything but real with you. But I made this promise to myself to live each day for the present. I can’t look back at what happened then. You shouldn’t either. That shit hurts too much. Today is what matters.”

“The past matters, too. The people. The mistakes. The lessons.” She sniffles and rests her head against my chest.

I stroke her hair while the ten o’clock news comes on. I’m not listening to the reporter. Instead, I listen to Emerson’s breathing deepen. Feel the softness of her body as it molds against mine.

The weight of the past drifts away, leaving my body exhausted, soothed, languid. The flicker of the television throws shadows across her face as I peer down at her closed eyes.

Her chest rises and falls rhythmically. Sleep has stolen her. I tighten my arms around her waist and pull her to lie down with me on the sofa. Emerson’s eyelashes flutter only for a second before she exhales in a sigh.

I feather a trail of kisses across her lashes. “Sweet dreams, Gorgeous Girl.”

S
ix foot
two inches of hunky male can be a challenge to move. There’s a cramp in my neck from sleeping half underneath said hunky male.

I tiptoe away with the evidence of how hard I slept: dried drool on my cheek.

My toes hit the corner of Dylan’s coffee table. “Fuuuuu...” The rest of my words come out as soundless puffs. I press my hand against my mouth to block the flow of foul words. My pinkie toe screams at the violation. There’s a possibility of an accidental amputation.

Dylan sprawls haphazardly with his arm dangling off the edge. He turns his head into the sofa cushion.

I’m relieved he hasn’t woken. It’s not like this is the walk of shame or anything since we didn’t do more than sleep, but I feel at odds this morning. We’ve passed an emotional threshold in our relationship and there’s no going back. I tiptoe-hobble three steps and bend to search for my discarded boots.

“Where are you going?” His scratchy-throated question taps on my shoulder like a hall monitor.

“Oh! Well, um...I thought you were asleep.” I drag fingers into my mop-like hair, getting them caught in a gnarly tangle.

He looks up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re not leaving without breakfast.”

I frown. “I’ll be late to class.”

He rolls into a sitting position and pulls his shirt down over the toned stomach, much too slow to cover it. “C’mere.”

I feel so naked since he knows everything about my dysfunctional family. Does he think I’m a total loser? Too many institutionalized and incarcerated skeletons in the closet?

“Why? I can’t. Class. Me. Late.” Oh, for Christ’s sake. I’ve been very articulate since walking. When did I lose my native tongue?

Dylan pounces forward in one slick move and grabs my hands. “Five minutes. Surely you can spare some time to start the day off right.” He gives a little tug on my fingers.

I lift one brow in amusement. “I’m glad you think you can improve my morning.”

“I was talking about my day.” Dylan tilts his head to the side and gives me a naughty look that sweeps me from my head to my socked feet. He pulls harder on my hands and I give in, moving to sit beside him.

“Can’t you skip class today? I could go in late.” He leans over and nuzzles the crook of my neck. His stubble scrapes my skin in a motion that makes my body tingle in response.

“Definitely....” What was I going to say? “Not. No. That answer is a negative one.” I force my eyes open and think of my schedule. Eight o’clock class. One hour break...

His mouth shoots lightning bolts of lust into my body. My nipples peak, very interested in whether his kissing might make it south.

My fingers rake into his thick, short hair. He moans against my ear.

“Don’t,” I say and force my hands to grip his shoulders. “Stop.”

He moves back enough to make eye contact, a sultry grin parting his lips. “That’s my girl.”

“Huh? Did I possibly agree to something?” Maybe I have. My body is plotting revolt against the common sense sector of my brain.

Dylan places a tender kiss on my lips and nods slowly in a you-agree-with-me hypnotic movement. “Yes, I think you said you’d stay a while, let me make you some breakfast, try out my shower with me, go—”

The front door opens and cold air sweeps in on us. Jordy’s eyes grow round as he takes in the scene.

He averts his gaze and focuses on some generic spot across the room.

“Shut the door, man.” Dylan’s voice drips irritation.

Jordy grimaces and closes the door. “What are you doing?”

“I live here,” Dylan says. “And quit acting like you caught us naked.”

Without Dylan’s kisses brainwashing me to stay, I’m able to have a clear thought. “I have to go,” I say, disengaging myself from Dylan’s warm embrace. “Sorry I fell asleep on your sofa.”

One of my boots sticks out from underneath the coffee table and I put it on in record speed. Dylan leans over to grab the other and hands it to me wordlessly. At least he realizes he can’t persuade me to stay. I finish dressing, find my coat, and walk to the door. Jordy hasn’t moved and blocks my path.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his serious expression a little unnerving.

“Oh...okay.” I still feel awkward. Jordy has to think I’ve already slept with Dylan and although I haven’t, it’s only a matter of time.

“Good. I’ve been worried since your break-in. The past few days at work have been crazy, but Dylan said he was keeping tabs on you.”

“I’m fine,” I answer and look at Dylan. He stares at Jordy in a strange way that makes me uneasy. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to hear if your friend ran the tags. If I could tell the cops the name of someone sitting outside my apartment, then—”

“Oh, man.” Jordy interrupts me and takes his cell phone from his pocket. “Gotta take this.” He answers the call and walks to the stairs, leaving me staring after him.

I’m surprised since I hadn’t heard it ring. I guess he’d had it on vibrate.

Dylan rises from the sofa and strolls over to me. He rests both hands on the sides of my waist and I turn my head. My morning breath, bird’s nest hair, and smudgy mascara cannot be a turn on. Not that I’m trying to impress.

Right. It’s truly not fair that he looks unrumpled.

“I’ll call you later,” he says.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy.”

“I’ll call you later,” he repeats with emphasis, as if I’m a stubborn child. He lifts a hand and brushes the hair from my eyes.

“Okay.” My chest flutters at his touch and the fleeting press of his hips against mine. I draw away from his magnetic pull and head out before I can change my mind.

M
y professors
probably thought I paid rapt attention all day to their lectures. In reality, I wasted my time going to classes because I was only able to stare at the presentation. Usually an industrious note taker, I failed to even open my laptop during class.

It’s after lunch and I’m walking from the student center to off-campus parking when my phone rings. My heart dances a tiny jig in my chest and I smile to myself as I pull it from my canvas bag.

“Hello,” I say, my tone a little too enthusiastic for my liking, but I can’t help it.

“Hi, Emerson.”

I don’t recognize the voice and pull the phone away to study my display. A blocked number. Returning the phone to my ear, I frown. “Hi. Who is this?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Well, buddy, I don’t know how you got this number, but I don’t talk to strangers. You can take me off your sales list or database, or wherever you got my info.”

“If you’re smart, you won’t hang up on me. You’re lucky I’m patient.”

There’s a definite threat to his voice that does even more to rile me. “Oh yeah?”

“You’re getting others involved in what could be something so simple. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

I stop walking. A few students move around me on the sidewalk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I want you to understand how easy it is for me to touch your life. I’ve been inside your home. I was inside your car just yesterday. I know the people you spend time with.” The calm voice pauses as if giving me time to absorb these words. “Gabby would be the first casualty. Or maybe Dylan or your mother.”

Blood is rushing through my ears, a roaring sound that interferes with my ability to think. “What do you want from me?”

“Your father hid something that you have—”

My knees feel shaky, the joints trembling. I step over to a poplar tree and lean against it. “I don’t have any money. I realize the investigators never found the—”

“I know you don’t.”

“Well, what the hell do you want from me?” My voice cracks at the end. A guy from one of my classes walks by and nods at me with a concerned look. I turn away from his questioning gaze.

“I want what belongs to me. Perhaps your father gave you a flash drive, the location of his backup files, or a place he’s hidden the code he stole.”

“I swear I don’t have anything. My father didn’t give it to me.”

There’s a long pause before he finally speaks. “Maybe this is true. If it is, then visit your father. Persuade him to give you the Eavesdropper code. Tell him we know he copied it. He’ll understand.”

“What if he won’t?” I drop my bag on the ground and tighten my fingers around my cell. “I don’t visit him, talk to him. He might not.”

“If he doesn’t, you aren’t trying hard enough. Or the people in your life are disposable. But I don’t think that’s the case. I’m offering your lives in exchange for something taken from me. “

“But—”

“I’ll be in touch. For now, arrange the visit with your father. Get the information.”

Gabby. Dylan. My mother and father. This man knows everything about my life.

Several seconds go by before I realize the line is dead and my caller is gone. I’m breathing hard and press one hand to my forehead. Think. Is this a call-the-cops situation?

I picture a scene from the last movie I watched where the killer waits for one wrong move by the heroine. Somebody always dies. Life is so much more complicated than books and movies. My stomach knots, and I suck in to fight off the sudden panic.

Dylan would know what to do. He knows my secrets. He could help me figure out if I should call the police.

I don’t have him on speed-dial, so I scroll through my contacts. When I find his name, my finger stops an inch from the phone icon. Of course he’d help me. He’d help no matter the cost to himself. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take today.

“Emerson?” A male voice interrupts my turbulent emotions. Toby steps in front of me.

“Hey.” I blink away what might show on my face. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Evidently.” Toby wears his usual smile, but there’s concern etched into his features now as well. “Everything okay?”

My brain functions on sloth mode as I attempt to deliver an answer. “Oh sure.”

“You don’t look like it is. Anything I can do to help? Your hands are shaking.”

“No. Bad day.” I glance at my cell. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Gotta go.”

Toby takes long strides to keep up with me as I power walk to the parking lot. “Want to study later? How’d you do on the stats quiz?”

“Wow. Sorry. I should’ve thanked you.” I slow my pace. “I made a B, all because of you.” My brain is on autopilot, coming up with words that seem, thankfully, normal.

“Good.” He nods. “I can tell you’re in a hurry, so I’ll call you later. I’d love to have you look at my interview stuff.”

I am an ass. An ass with life or death problems. “Yeah. Do. Call me.” I answer as cheerfully as I can. Then I head to the parking lot without another glance at him. As soon as I get into the car, I notice the bag from yesterday in my passenger seat. Echoes of the voice on the phone hit me in a Hiroshima blast: ‘I was in your car yesterday.’

The brown paper bag rests where I left it. I hold my breath as I carefully trace a finger along the edge and flip the paper up and open. It’s not a sandwich or snack from Gabby as I’d assumed yesterday.

There’s a piece of paper in the top of the bag. Extracting the note with two fingers, as if it will detonate, I unfold it.
Your father stole something that belongs to me. I believe you have it.

The rest of the note contains instructions for logging onto a chat room at 8:00 pm. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead. A time I missed last night because I didn’t open this bag.

I pull out a photo lab envelope from the bottom of the sack. Inside is a stack of printed 4 x 6 photos.

Each photo represents a different part of my life, recent past through last week. I hold the first one with shaky fingers. Gabby is laughing as she gets into her friend’s car. The second photo is of me talking with Jenny as she drops off the baby. The third shows Dylan standing at my door.

Bile rises in the back of my throat and I breathe deeply through my nose, pushing it down, pushing the fear away.

I thought I was freaked out earlier during the call, but I’d been caught off-guard and confused. Not now. This is the work of the person watching me from an SUV. My whole life and the people I love are in danger because of my father.

My cell rings and I glance down at it on the console. I half-expect the same caller to be following up with me. Instead, it’s Gabby.

“Hello,” I answer dully.

“I’m home. Want me to make dinner?”

My chest aches with the burdens of my day. “Gabby, is the door locked?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check. Now,” I say, a sharp edge slipping into my tone.

“I’m not twelve. Come on—”

“I said check it.” I pull air into my lungs and close my eyes. “Please.”

“Sissy, you are a weirdo. You know?”

Her footsteps tell me she jogs from one room in our tiny apartment to the front door. “Okay. Locked now.”

Hairs along my arms do a wave like so many cilia on a centipede. “Shit. You mean, it wasn’t? We live in the hood. Lock the door.”

I can almost hear her eye-roll. “Whatever.”

“Gabby, I love you.” A large lump lodges midway in my throat.

She’s silent for too long. “Gabby, are you there?” My heart thrashes against my chest.

“Yeah. I’m here. And you should get more sleep. You’re so crabby.”

“I know.”

“I’m making pasta. It’s a frozen thing, but you’ll like it.”

“Great. Don’t answer the door for anyone.”

“You’re acting like a weirdo again.” Her voice goes up a note as she sings her response. “Hurry. I have to run something by you.”

“I’m coming home soon.” I toss the phone onto the passenger seat beside the white bag of photos.

I press END and start my car. I’m backing out when my cell rings. Dylan’s name pops up on the display.

WONK. I hit my brakes.

The driver behind me shoves his hand out the window and waves his middle finger.

My cosmic lot in life seems to have gone from bad to worse lately with the small exception of Dylan.

Dylan.

I ignore his call and feel my heart splinter at the thought of losing him.