Page 30 of Guarded from Corruption

JADE

Sometimes I almost forget why I’m here.

Almost.

Like this morning, when I walked into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed with sleep, and Niall greeted me with a steaming cup of coffee made just the way I like it—black with a metric crap-ton of sugar—and said cheerfully, “I’m making chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. With whipped cream on top. That’s your favorite, right?”

For a second, I couldn’t speak. My chest was too tight.

I mentioned that once, back in sophomore year of college, when Niall was on leave and he took Shea and I out for breakfast. While they tucked into their cheesy eggs and greasy bacon and made gagging noises at my pancakes, I explained that my favorite nanny used to make them that way.

“They remind me of her,” I told them quietly, missing Flora all over again.

Flora would make me the pancakes as a special treat whenever my parents missed one of my swim meets or recitals, and she’d practically empty the whipped cream can on top of them, declaring the breakfast, “A sweet breakfast for my sweet girl.”

Flora was wonderful. She taught me all the fun things my mother was too busy for—how to put on makeup, what to expect at my first school dance, how to know if a boy liked me or was just being a jerk. And then my father decided I needed a nanny who could speak Mandarin, and Flora was let go.

But as I stared at Niall in stunned silence, he backpedaled. “Was I wrong? I can make eggs instead. Or a bagel. I don’t know why I assumed you still liked them.”

“No. I do.” Inexplicably, tears burned behind my eyes. “I still like them. I just… I’m surprised you remembered.”

Then he smiled at me, and my heart did a little flip. “I remember lots of things about you, Jade.”

So that was pretty great, even if I’m not sure what it means.

Did he remember because he just has a good memory? Because he’s used to observing everything as part of his job? Or was there more to it?

And why am I still thinking about this hours later?

Why am I thinking about pancakes and how handsome Niall is when he smiles when there’s so much else going on?

There’s my anxiety, which I’m trying to get under control, but it still flares up at unwelcome moments. Like when I insisted Niall go to the gym while I stayed back in the apartment alone, and I ended up waxing the floors until they were so slick I nearly wiped out on them.

But Niall just hugged me—he gives me spontaneous hugs now, and I like it—and told me the floors never looked better. And he put on a pair of socks and did this silly skating routine across the living room floor and had me laughing so hard I forgot why I got anxious to begin with.

So that’s another example of how Niall helps me forget.

Or when Matt stopped earlier to share some updates on my case, and I felt like I was about to throw up from nerves until Niall reached over and took my hand. Suddenly, my focus shifted to the feel of his warm fingers wrapped around mine, the comforting weight of them, and the little sizzles that zipped up my arm.

It was easier to listen subjectively with Niall on the couch beside me, his thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand.

Not that what Matt told me was terrible. But it wasn’t great, either.

On the plus side, he’s hacked into the hidden cameras at my apartment, so if anyone goes there looking for me, he’ll know. “If we see activity there,” he explained, “we can try running facial recognition on them. If we can get a name, that’s huge.”

He’s also doing extensive research into everyone I know, which feels icky and reassuring at the same time. While I don’t love the idea that someone I know could be involved, I can’t bury my head in the sand and pretend it’s not possible. Just like it’s possible this could somehow be related to my father’s company.

As Niall gently put it, “It’s possible a competitor arranged for you to be taken, Jade. They could have been hoping to use you as leverage over your father. I know it sounds terrible, but we have to consider it.”

That wasn’t a nice thing to think about. Another not nice thing? The four other women missing from San Antonio and Austin that bear a strong similarity to me. Not in exact looks, but they’re all attractive, late-twenties to early-thirties, and have some striking feature; like long, platinum hair or emerald-green eyes.

“We don’t want to jump to conclusions,” Matt told me gently, “but the similarities… it’s suspicious.”

“It could be unrelated,” Niall added quickly, shooting Matt a sharp look. “We don’t know that it has anything to do with what happened to you.”

But it could. There’s a good chance.

If only I’d remembered more when I was there. If only I’d paid more attention when I escaped. If only I knew where they kept me.

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