Page 56 of In Case You Didn't Know
“So I hear. I need to get there to sort things out. I’ve got a helicopter picking me up from the pad.”
“Want me to drive you?” he asks, but I’m already shaking my head.
“No need. I’ll drive myself. You go back to bed.”
Our eyes catch. He knows what a break in means to a security company like mine. Not only are the optics terrible, but we house a lot of secrets in that building. “Call me when you get there,” he says.
“It’ll still be early. One of us should be getting some sleep.”
“I want to help. Call me.”
I nod, giving him a mirthless smile before I head out of the house and to my car. The air outside is cool, the aroma of salt and damp sand coming up from the ocean. I’ve always hated this time of day. It’s quiet. Too quiet. And far too lonely. Like there’s nobody else in the world except for me.
My worst nightmare.
Climbing into my car, I start up the engine and switch the stereo on to break the silence. Linkin Park comes on, and I put the car in drive, letting the anger take over as I drive to the helipad to wait for my ride to Manhattan. When I get there I check my phone – there’s an update that the police have arrived and would like to talk to me when I get to the office, but nothing else.
It only takes twenty minutes for the helicopter to arrive, which is pretty impressive for this time of day. I stand back, feeling the wind rush through my hair and my clothes as the huge machine lands, waiting for the pilot to give me the all clear. As I climb into the cabin, he passes me a headset and shakes my hand.
“Pier 6, right?” he asks, referring to the Downtown Manhattan Helipad next to the East River. At this time of day it’ll be less than a five minute drive to my building.
“Yes please.”
Five minutes later we’re taking off, hovering in the air for a moment before we start moving forward. Liberty shrinks beneath me as we pass over the hotel and the expanse of green, before I see the lighthouse beneath us.
Francie. Memories of last night rush through my mind. I let out a long breath. Was it only a few hours ago that I was telling that toe-socked asshole that if he didn’t leave right away I’d be telling his wife and kids exactly what he’s been doing?
Yes, he’s married. I managed to find that out with a quick, targeted search. And no, I’m not telling Francie about that. No harm, no foul. She didn’t know he’s a cheating piece of shit when she accepted the date and I don’t want her to feel bad.
I will be arranging for his wife to find out anyway, though.
The sun is rising over New York as we fly into Manhattan airspace. The streets are still fairly empty, though, save for the trash trucks and delivery vans that keep this place going. My car is waiting for me when we land, and as soon as I get the all clear, I run out of the helicopter to the waiting car door, where my driver gives me a wry smile.
“Sorry,” I tell him, knowing he must have been woken up the same way as the rest of us. And yes, I’ll compensate him fully for the inconvenience, but I know how annoying it is for a phone call to blast through your dreams.
“All in a day’s work. I heard about the break in,” he says, closing the door and climbing into the front seat. “Is it bad?”
“I believe so. I’m about to find out I guess.” I sit back on the plush leather seat, checking my watch. Is it really only six? For a second my mind flits to Liberty. To her.
And then I bring it right back because I need all my energy on this shitshow. The car pulls away and I take a deep breath. We’re a security company. We’re going to find out who did this.
And when we do, I’m going to make them regret it.
FRANCIE
My thumb hovers over my phone, hesitating over the end call button. I’ve already left a voicemail. One more and I’ll sound like a stalker.
Still, I let the message play through the speaker as I walk barefoot along the sand, the salty breeze lifting my hair. The sun’s high, casting glitter on the waves, and the gulls overhead are crying like they have something to complain about. Maybe they know how hard it is to write a damn fight scene when your brain is stuck on the man who chased off your toe-shoed almost-date last night.
His voice comes through the speaker. It’s smooth and unbothered.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Asher Fitzgerald. If it’s not urgent, leave a message. If you need an immediate response, call my assistant.”
He rattles off a number I don’t bother memorizing.
There’s nothing overtly sexy in the words, but his voice… it hits me like a slow stroke down my spine. Confident. Controlled. I remember the way he said, “I haven’t stopped,” when I asked if he was still watching me. The softness in his voice. The heat behind it.
The way I’d wanted him to keep watching. To never stop.
