Chapter 18: Ruby - Keeping Knight

“Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?”

Micah winds a curl around his finger and holds it for a second before letting it go. “I’m probably messing it up by doing this, aren’t I?” he adds with a sheepish smile. “I just can’t seem to resist.”

Given that we just had sex, and an enthusiastic round of it at that, I can only imagine the state my hair is currently in. Not great, I can say with certainty. Verging on bird’s nest territory, most likely. Whatever Micah’s doing to it isn’t going to make a difference at this point.

Patting my hair out of instinct, I reply, “You’re not messing it up. Not any more than it is already, at least.”

He kisses my forehead. “Your hair isn’t a mess. I think it looks gorgeous.”

I snort softly. “Gorgeous? I know what my hair looks like in the morning. And after what we just did? I shudder to imagine.”

“I like your hair all wild like this.” Micah pulls another curl between his fingers. “When the sun hits it, it turns all different colors. Like it’s on fire.” He kisses me again, this time on the lips. “I think that’s one of the reasons why my cooking was so bad. I kept getting distracted by looking at you.”

“Micah.”

“It’s true. Especially when the kitchen got hot. Your cheeks would get all flushed, and your curls would start springing out, and then you’d take off whatever long-sleeved shirt you were wearing, and you’d only have this cute little T-shirt on beneath. It was hard to concentrate on anything else besides you.”

Fizzy warmth blossoms inside me. Snuggling closer to him, I drape my leg over his. Then I kiss his jaw. “You distracted me, too, you know. Especially when you’d stretch, and your shirt would pull up to show these.” Reaching between us, I trace the lines of his abs. “I got very distracted whenever these made an appearance.”

Micah flexes his stomach. His voice dips. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I kept wondering how many you had. Six? Eight? Was ten even possible, or was that just something authors made up for their books? I could never tell. Not from what I saw in class.”

“And now?” he asks. “Have you decided how many there are?” His hand comes to my breast, and he gives my nipple a gentle tweak. “Eight? Or ten?”

I arrange my features into a solemn expression. “I hate to tell you this, but I can only count eight. So I guess the ten-pack thing is only a myth.”

Micah sucks in his cheek. His lips twitch. “Only eight?” He shakes his head. “I guess I need to get on that, then. Up my daily situps.”

“Oh, I think I can manage with eight,” I tease. “Ten would probably be excessive, really.”

He grins. “Noted. Eight is fine. Ten is too much.”

I laugh. “Eight is more than enough. I don’t want you spending all day doing situps.” My smile fades as I add, “I don’t really care, Micah. I hope you know that. Yes, I like looking at your body. But what’s inside is the important thing. That’s what I love.”

“Just a perk, right?” His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Nothing wrong with some perks.” He brushes his thumb across my nipple. “Like these.”

“I suppose those would be a perk to you, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes.” He props himself up on one arm and leans over to kiss my breast. “I would definitely call these a perk. But.” His expression sobers. “Only a perk. Like you said, I care about what’s inside, Rue. Your hair and your freckles and your sexy little body? They’re incredible. But that’s only a tiny part of who you are.”

“Micah.”

As he looks at me, something dark and intense works in his eyes. “Rue. I⁠—”

But of course, because phones always seem to find the absolute worst time to ring, a familiar trill sounds from the nightstand.

Micah glances over at his phone and sighs. “As much as I’d like to ignore that…”

“I know. You have to answer it.” I’ve spent enough time with Micah to learn the signature ringtone he assigned to designate Fox & Falcon business. All the guys do it so they know when someone is calling or texting about something important.

Though I know the call could be regarding anything—obviously, F&F has plenty of cases aside from mine—my stomach lurches and my pulse jumps.

I want to know who tried to kill me, of course. But I’m scared to find out, too. I don’t want it to be Sylvia. Or Liam. I don’t want it to be anyone I know personally. Having someone try to kill you is bad enough. But for it to be someone you know, someone you cared about? That would be even worse.

“It might be nothing,” Micah says as he reaches over to grab his phone. “Or it could be something involving one of the other divisions. Rogue likes to keep us all in the loop.”

“Maybe.” I hope so. Not just because I’d rather play at being the proverbial ostrich with her head in the sand right now. But the plan was for Micah to work from home today. We’re supposed to have breakfast in the solarium, and then I’ll set up camp in his office and get started on my newest manuscript. I can work on my own, of course—sometimes Micah has to go into the office, so he has one of the F&F employees come guard the condo, just in case. But I like it better when he’s here.

Mid-ring, Micah taps the phone to answer it. “What’s going on?” He sits up in bed and leans against the headboard as he listens. Reaching his arm out to me, he pulls me to his side and tucks the blanket around us.

I can’t hear what the other person on the call is saying; just the low, unintelligible rumble of a man’s voice. But judging by the way Micah’s body tenses, I have a sinking feeling the news isn’t good.

“When did it happen?” Micah asks. His features fold into a scowl as he listens to the answer. “Are you sure about—” He stops. “Right. Of course.”

A chill ‌catches me, and I shiver. A heavy sense of foreboding closes in.

Micah glances at me. Concern darkens his gaze. Then he hugs me closer and rubs my shoulder. “Of course I want to be in on it,” he says. “If he’s behind everything—” His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. “When?”

He nods as the other person starts speaking again. After about thirty seconds or so, he nods. “That works. I just need to get someone over here first. Beau or Kurt, ideally, since Ruby knows them already.”

My stomach flips.

“Okay,” Micah says. “I’ll be there in an hour.” He nods again. “Roger that.” After a brief pause, his tone darkens. “I’ll take responsibility, Nico. This is personal.”

I’m startled to hear Micah call Rogue by his real name. Aside from the initial introductions, Micah always calls his friends by their nicknames. Which makes me think this is very serious, indeed.

Ending the call, Micah sets the phone down and turns to me. His gaze is solemn. His features could be stone.

“It’s about my case,” I say before he can speak. “Right?”

“Yes.” He takes my chilled hands in his. “It’s about your case. Rogue found something. And we’re going to follow up on it.”

“What did he find?”

“Well.” Micah hesitates. “We can fix this. Okay?”

“Fix what?” A beat later, a thought occurs to me. “Is it my apartment? Was there another bomb? Was someone hurt?”

He rubs my hands to warm them. “It wasn’t your apartment. It was the storage unit in the basement.”

My voice pitches up. “There was a bomb in the basement?”

His face creases in apology. “Shit, no. Sorry. There wasn’t a bomb. But someone broke into your unit last night. They—” He grimaces. “From what Rogue could see on the camera we hid down there, some of your things were damaged.”

“My things…” I swallow against the emotion thickening my throat. Taking several deep breaths, I remind myself that I didn’t keep anything really important down there. All the really important stuff, like my photos and paintings and gifts from my parents, were already moved from my apartment to here.

“I’m sorry, Rue. Once I find out the extent of the damage, I’ll help you fix it. Replace it. Whatever you want.”

I let out another steadying breath. “It’s okay. They’re just things. Just as long as no one was hurt.”

“Not yet,” Micah mutters darkly.

“Not yet?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “Anyway. The other part is the good news. At least, it could be.”

“Good news?” None of this sounds good to me.

“Yeah.” His gaze holds mine. “Rogue caught the guy on camera. And he made an ID.”

“What? You know who it is?”

“We know who broke into your storage unit,” Micah answers carefully. “And it appears—” He grimaces again. “I haven’t seen the footage myself yet. But Rogue said it looked like the man wasn’t trying to steal anything. He was just trying to destroy as much as he could.”

My heart stutters. “Like he was angry with me?”

“Possibly.” Micah strokes his thumb across my palm. “Probably. But we need to talk to the guy. Get a read on him. See if we can convince him to tell us the truth.”

“You think he’ll just tell you? That he vandalized my belongings? That he put a bomb in my apartment? That he tried to kill me? Micah, why would he do that?”

His gaze goes cold and flat. “He’ll tell us. He’ll tell me. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Micah.” I clutch his hand. “I don’t want you getting in trouble. Or what if he tries to hurt you?”

Micah makes a dismissive sound. “He won’t.”

It suddenly occurs to me that Micah didn’t tell me who the man was. “Who was it?” I ask. “The man who messed with my things?”

Don’t let it be Liam, I plead silently. I never loved him, and he turned out to be a real jerk at the end. But I really, really don’t want him to be the one behind all of this.

“His name is Greg Haverford. The superintendent of the building.”

“What?” Instinctively, I shake my head. “It can’t be Greg. He’s so nice. He always comes right away when I have a problem, and everyone in the building likes him…” Trailing off, I realize my description of Greg is eerily similar to ones I’ve heard people give on true crime documentaries. The ones where the regular guy turned out to be a serial killer, and all his neighbors can talk about is how nice he was.

“Rogue’s sure it’s him,” Micah says gently. “We’ve got a facial recognition program that can ID with ninety-five percent accuracy. The question isn’t if Haverford vandalized your things. It’s if he did the other stuff, as well.”

“And you’re going to go talk to him.”

Micah nods. “I am. Rogue and Houdini will go with me. But I need to be there, Rue.” He stops. “I’m going to be honest with you. If I have to use some unconventional methods to get the information I need, I will. Because this is personal. Someone tried to kill you. Whatever it takes to keep you safe, I’ll do it.”

“But—”

He frames my face with his hands and holds my gaze. “I won’t get hurt, Ruby. I promise. And I won’t get in trouble. We’ll be very careful.”

But Micah said he’d be fine the last time. And he was almost blown up. “You can’t know that,” I argue. “Last time⁠—”

“Last time I wasn’t careful enough,” Micah replies. “That’s on me. But this time, we’ll be prepared. Plus, this guy has no idea we’re onto him.” He strokes his finger across my forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Before you know it, I’ll be back home. We’ll have the information we need to put this guy away. And soon, you and I will be able to do all those things we talked about. Trips and meeting your friends and museums and watching the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center. Soon, this will all be over, and your life can go back to normal again.”

“I just want you to be safe,” I reply stubbornly. All the rest fades in importance.

“I will be.” He lifts me onto his lap and kisses me. His gaze softens as it meets mine. “I won’t let anything happen. Not when I have you to come home to.”

* * *

So when do we get to meet this mysterious guy?

I haven’t had a chance to answer Jordan’s message when Kylie’s comes in.

Is he a felon or something? Is that why we haven’t met him yet?

Jordan texts again.

Is he one of those mimes we see in Central Park? Or the naked trombone player in Times Square?

I laugh as I type my response.

No. He’s not a felon. Or a mime. Or a naked trombone player.

Kylie jumps in.

I know! You’re dating the guy who lives above Jordan. The one who loves to do Irish dancing at two in the morning.

Some of the worry pressing down on my chest eases.

Jordan’s reply blinks onto my screen.

Ruby. If you start Irish dancing with that guy, I may have to rethink our friendship.

I try to imagine Micah dancing an Irish jig. Funnily enough, he looks good doing it.

Looking for more romance to read?

Search Lokepub on Google.

Smiling at the mental image of Micah in a kilt, his muscular legs flexing as he moves, I reply to their messages.

No, I’m not dating the Irish dancer guy. I told you Micah was in the Army. And now he works for a security company. No trombones or miming involved.

As soon as I hit send, I start typing again.

You’ll meet him soon. Things have been crazy lately, but I think they’re finally slowing down. Hopefully in the next couple of weeks.

Assuming Greg is the one behind everything, that is. If Micah discovers Greg is innocent, who knows how much longer I’ll have to hide out here. Not that I want Greg to be guilty. But better him than some of the other options.

The three dots beside Jordan’s name blink for a few seconds.

Are you feeling better, Ruby? I can bring you over supplies if you need anything. I’ll mask up so you don’t get me sick.

Guilt stabs into me as I read her message. I’ve been coming up with excuse after excuse for not seeing Kylie and Jordan—first an important deadline, then a trip to Suffern to help Sylvia with the house, a weekend upstate with Micah, and most recently, an unfortunate bout with the flu.

I don’t like lying to my friends, but it’s safer than the truth. F&F cleared Jordan, Kylie, and Grace last week, so it’s not that they’re a danger to me. But if the person after me decides to go after one of my friends in a twisted attempt at getting back at me for surviving, or he thinks he can use one of them as leverage… It’s just better to stay away from them for now.

After a few seconds’ thought, I reply to Jordan.

I’m feeling a lot better. And Micah’s been taking care of me. But thanks for offering!

Which is true. I am feeling better than I was when all of this started. All my bruises have healed. My nightmares are much less frequent. I haven’t had a panic attack since the one in the supply closet. And I’ve had three virtual appointments with Mabel, the counselor Micah suggested, which have been really helpful.

So at least I’m not lying about everything, I reason. And when Kylie, Jordan, and Grace find out the real reason I kept them in the dark, they’ll understand. Plus, they’ll be so happy to see me with Micah instead of Liam, they’ll forgive anything.

Kylie starts typing, only to stop, then start typing again.

Sounds like you found a good one this time. Although I’m reserving final judgment until after I meet him.

I smile at the screen.

I really did find a good one this time.

While I wait for Jordan and Kylie’s responses, I turn my attention to my laptop, where my newest manuscript is waiting. I’ve been trying to concentrate on it for over an hour, but my mind keeps wandering. I keep thinking about Micah and worrying about all the terrible ways things could go wrong.

But he said he’s prepared, I remind myself. He has Rogue and Houdini with him. And fifty-something, pot-bellied Greg isn’t a match for Micah, let alone all three of them.

Unless Greg has his apartment wired with explosives, that is. Or he has a secret stash of weapons inside. I’ve seen enough movies to know there are plenty of ways for the underdog to come out victorious.

“Not this time,” I say to myself. “Micah’s going to be fine. Soon he’ll be home.”

On the floor beside the desk, Sampson lifts his head to look at me. His gaze is quizzical, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m talking to him.

Leaning down, I pat his head. “Sorry, Sampson. I was just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.”

He cocks his head as he studies me. His ears perk up. His tail swishes back and forth.

Treats? his gaze asks. Are you talking about treats?

Well, why not? “How about a treat?” I ask as I rise from my chair. “Since you’re such a good boy.”

Sampson hops to his feet. His tongue lolls out happily. “Come on,” I tell him as he falls into position beside me. “Let’s go get a treat.”

Just as we reach the kitchen, a piercing alarm blares.

I startle so badly, I drop my phone. Sampson freezes.

Glancing around the room, I try to figure out where the sound could be coming from. The oven? The smoke detector above the stovetop? One of the windows? The front door⁠—

My heart stutters. The front door. Could someone have gotten inside?

I drop to my knees as I scrabble for my phone. I have the security app installed on it. If someone broke in, it would tell me.

My heart races so quickly I’m lightheaded from it. My fingers tremble.

The alarm keeps blaring. Belatedly, I notice a light in the far corner of the kitchen, just beneath the molding, flashing in rhythm with the still-blaring alarm.

Micah never mentioned lights in here. He never mentioned an alarm like this. He said it all works through the phone. That I’d get a notification if there was anything wrong.

But maybe he didn’t think I’d need to know about the lights. Maybe he forgot.

Sampson bumps my leg with his head. The fur all along his back is standing up. His ears are flicking back and forth, as if he’s trying to figure out where the awful noise is coming from.

Though I’m more than a little freaked, having Sampson here is comforting. Before Micah left, he told Sampson to guard me, just like he does whenever he has to leave the condo. “When I give Sampson the command to guard,” Micah explained, “he won’t leave your side. If he senses a threat, he’ll warn you. And if you’re in danger, all you have to say is defend, and he’ll protect you.”

Please, I silently beg, don’t make me have to give the command. Let this be a false alarm. Maybe I triggered something accidentally. Or… I don’t know. Anything other than a person inside the condo, intent on killing me.

Once I have my phone in hand, I hold my breath as I turn it over to look at the screen. A beat later, my breath comes out in a relieved rush. There are no security notifications. When I click into the app, the security system is still armed. Which is great, except why is this awful alarm still going?

Gesturing at Sampson to follow me, I head into the living room. The alarm is just as loud in here. And in the upper left corner of the room, there’s another light flashing.

“What the⁠—”

Then it hits me. The fire alarm. Not for the condo specifically, but somewhere in the building. When I was visiting Jordan one time, the fire alarm in her building went off, and while it wasn’t as loud as this one, the experience was similar.

On the heels of that realization, fear spikes again. Could there really be a fire?

It’s a fear I think most people who live in a skyscraper experience, because escaping from a fire is a lot different when you’re in a building with dozens of floors. You can’t just run out the door or climb out a window. Evacuating everyone could take hours. Depending on where you are in the building, you might be able to get out, or you might have to relocate to a different floor and wait for the fire to be extinguished.

At least you hope it can be.

Heart pounding, I run to the front door and turn on the little monitor beside it that shows a view of the hallway. At first, I don’t think the camera is working because the screen is a blur. It takes me a second to realize it’s not the camera at fault. There’s smoke in the hallway. Lots of it.

“Crap. Crap. Crap.” The alarm is so loud, I can’t hear myself speak. Clearly, I need to get out of here.

But Beau, I think. Where is he? Still out in the hallway? Has he been knocking at the door, trying to get my attention, but thanks to this deafening alarm, I haven’t been able to hear him?

I don’t want to leave the safety of the condo. Not without Micah. But I can’t stay in here, either.

It takes me several tries to get up the courage to open the door. But I think about all the times Micah’s called me brave and force myself to do it.

When I push the door open—just a few inches, so I can peek out to look—the acrid scent of smoke burns my nose. My eyes immediately start watering. Instinct screams at me to get back to the safety of the condo.

But Beau is out here. And I have Sampson. Sampson, who I have an obligation to keep safe. And I can’t do that if we hide in the condo while the building burns around us.

So I poke my head out further to look up and down the hallway. Through the heavy smoke, I spot a woman in red a few doors down. She’s carrying something large and white in her arms. A cat? A dog? A designer purse?

In the other direction, towards the elevator, there’s a firefighter in full gear, waving people along. His voice rises above the alarm, commanding people to stay calm and head for the stairs.

Glancing up and down the hallway again, I search for Beau. When I saw him earlier, he was wearing a dark blue shirt and khaki pants. But now, there’s no sign of him.

Shoot. Micah’s going to be so upset when he hears about this. Which reminds me that I should probably message him to let him know his building is oh, you know, on fire.

Backing through the doorway, I let the door close slightly while I turn my attention to my phone. With the door mostly shut, it’s easier to see. Easier to breathe. Blinking my eyes to clear them, I quickly send Micah a text.

The fire alarm is going off in the building. There’s smoke in the hallway. They’re telling everyone to take the stairs. I’m fine. So is Sampson.

Then I tuck my phone back into my pocket and take a deep breath, readying myself to go back out there again.

But before I have a chance to push the door back open, someone else does it for me. In the doorway, the fireman I saw just before is standing there, regarding me through the smudged plastic visor on his helmet.

“What are you doing?” he shouts. “You need to get out of here!”

“I know!” I glance down at Sampson. His ears are back. His tail is tucked down. “Follow, Sampson,” I order. Then I look back at the firefighter. “Where should I go? Up or down?”

He just stares at me. Then he glances left, then right, as he scans the hallway.

Cold dread fills my stomach. I can’t explain why. It’s just there.

From my pocket, my phone vibrates.

“I’m going!” I shout at the firefighter. I make a move to step forward, but he’s blocking the doorway. Gesturing at him, I motion for him to get out of the way.

He doesn’t move.

My heart leaps to my throat.

Something’s wrong. Something worse than a fire. Something very bad.

At once eager to leave the condo, I try to push my way past the firefighter. But as soon as I take a step forward, his hand whips up, and he shoves me back. Hard.

I stumble backwards, only just catching myself before falling. The firefighter shoves his way inside with me, and I watch in frozen horror as he yanks the door shut behind him.

With every flash of the emergency light, his helmet glows. Light bounces off his visor, preventing me from seeing his face.

I turn to bolt, but he grabs my arm and jerks me back.

Still beside me, Sampson bares his teeth.

The man gripping my arm bends over so his head is close to mine. “Don’t fucking move,” he orders. “Or I’ll shoot you right now.”

Then he pulls a gun from his coat and levels it at me.

My heart stops. My lungs seize.

As I’m staring at him, the alarm cuts off all at once. The silence it leaves behind is deafening.

Now I can hear Sampson growling. Snarling with such intensity, his body vibrates from it. For the first time since I met him, he looks dangerous.

I could give Sampson the command to attack. Micah taught me how. I can tell Sampson wants to do it.

But the gun.

Like he’s reading my mind, the firefighter turns the gun on Sampson. “I don’t like how he’s looking at me,” he says. “Maybe I’ll shoot him first.”

Horror explodes inside me. “No!” I step in front of Sampson. “Hold, Sampson. Hold.” My voice shakes with fear as I repeat desperately, “Hold. HOLD.”

Gripping Sampson’s collar, I try to keep him behind me. “He won’t attack,” I blurt. “Not with that command. He won’t hurt you. Don’t shoot him. Please.”

The man with the gun regards me. Then he cocks the trigger and points the gun at my head. “Move,” he orders.

“Why? What—” My feet take several unsteady steps back as the firefighter advances on me. “I don’t understand. What do you want?”

“What do I want?” The barrel of the gun jabs my forehead. “It’s a little too late for that, Ruby. You had your chance.” With his other hand, he flips up his visor. “But you picked wrong.”