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  Fast asleep.

  I sighed softly. Poor guy. He'd been working like crazy over the last week. Working too hard, if anyone asked me. He'd never said what the project was that was preoccupying him. It was strange that, whatever it was, it had taken him out of his office and brought him here, of all places.

  Ever curious—okay, snoopy was a better term for what I was—I crept over to him and peeked at the computer monitor. There was an image of a conference room of sorts with a table and some chairs, but the room was empty of people. Remote interviews? Unusual for him to be involved in, but nothing interesting.

  I looked instead at the papers spread on the coffee table in front of him. A photograph caught my eye, and I reached for it. It was a picture of me, sitting on a park bench with my e-reader. The babies were in their stroller right next to me. I remembered that day. Mina was on the grass attempting cartwheels in front of me.

  But who had taken the picture? There hadn't been anyone with us. Was this Jordan’s doing?

  I put the photograph back down and picked up the papers. There were several, all covered in handwritten block lettering and blue ink. Very informal in presentation. They certainly didn’t give an immediate impression of being business related.

  I scanned through them, quickly at first, but slowed down when their meaning began to sink in, the hair on the back of my neck rising as terrifying phrases jumped off the pages.

  “...should have counted on your past coming back to haunt you.”

  “...don’t deserve your happy life, Hudson Pierce...”

  “The safety of your tower is an illusion.”

  “...you think you can protect her?”

  “Hold those children tight.”

  “...someone should take it all away.”

  My hands were shaking, my throat strangled and dry as I gasped. “Oh my God, Hudson! What the hell is going on?”

  8

  Hudson

  Jordan left in the afternoon to follow up on some leads after the interviews from that morning. The timing was good—I was ready for some quiet time to process the re-emergence of my past. Of the old Hudson.

  I leaned back on the sofa in the loft and closed my eyes, waiting for the next victim to show up on the screen and divulge all the terrible things I had done. All the terrible things I used to enjoy were far more painful to relive these days.

  I opened my eyes again when I heard the actor portraying our “author” delivering her spiel. "I'm writing a tell-all that will expose Hudson Pierce for the man he is...anything you have to contribute...completely anonymous...extremely helpful…” And so on.

  Was this whole ruse proof I had never changed? That underneath my family-man persona, I was still the person I had always been? This elaborate set-up to find information on one person who wanted to scare me—was it ironic that I reacted with a manipulative scheme, not unlike the schemes that had put me in this situation in the first place?

  Should I be worried I wasn’t more concerned about it?

  The man being interviewed began to speak, dishing out his opinion before offering any specifics, in a chillingly monotone voice. "Hudson Pierce is a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a human. He deserves his bad karma and ill will for everything he’s done to the innocent people who tried to know him and love him."

  The voice was familiar, but something was wrong with the camera, and the face was coming in blurry on the screen. I could make out the man's body—he wore a suit, not unlike mine. Perfectly tailored, expensive. Crisp and clean. I fiddled with the computer, trying to adjust the settings while the man continued his rant.

  "A liar. A sociopath. A deceitful husband. An inattentive father."

  That voice—why did I know that voice? I pushed more buttons in frustration. I turned off the monitor and turned it back on, IT’s go-to solution. I even hit it a couple of times, to no avail. I was on the verge of calling Jordan and getting him back to the loft to fix it.

  "Unrepentant. His attempts to make amends are shallow and laughable. He hasn't changed."

  I found the button to zoom the camera in and the picture suddenly cleared.

  "He's exactly the person he's always been—a monster."

  The image on the screen was me.

  I awoke with a jolt to Alayna’s frantic cry. "My God, Hudson. What's going on?"

  I sat up, blinking, disoriented. I was still in the loft. The screen on the television was clear. No one was being interviewed. It was all in my head.

  I looked blearily at my wife. "What are you doing here?"

  "No. I asked first." Her voice was tight and high-pitched. She held up a stack of papers, her hands trembling. "What the fuck are these?"

  My breath caught, but years of practice allowed me to hide that from Alayna. The letters. She'd read the letters.

  Fuck!

  The adrenaline left over from my dream quickly found a new target. I could only imagine the feelings boiling inside her right now, but more than anything, I knew I had to stay calm.

  I couldn't let her panic.

  "Give them to me. They’re nothing to worry about," I said, reaching for them, fearing it was too late. The bubble I’d tried to seal her in had popped. And I didn’t know if she would forgive me for putting her there in the first place.

  "Like hell there’s nothing to worry about," she said, circling around the coffee table and away from me, clutching the papers to her chest. Her expression said she wasn’t going to make this easy for me. "I've read them, Hudson. Every word, and every word was frightening."

  I leveled her with my gaze, focused on making my tone as casual and dismissive as possible. "Alayna, I’m sure you know we get threatening letters like this from time to time. It's why we have a security team in the first place.”

  She rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course I know that. I'm not naïve. But those are filled with ‘Down with the one percent’ and ‘Die capitalist pig’ sentiments. Those are generic hate letters written toward anyone with the money and good fortune to be included on a Forbes list." She held the letters out toward me in a pointed gesture. "These talk about kissing your babies goodnight like it’s an episode of My Favorite Murder."

  I ran my palm along my thigh, then stopped, afraid she'd see it for the anxious movement that it was. If she knew I was apprehensive, it would only ramp her up even more. I couldn’t focus on keeping her safe if she was feeling hysterical. With a concerted effort, I relaxed my entire body.

  "It's true that most threats we get are banal and generic in tone, but that doesn’t lend any more credibility to these than any others. I assure you Jordan is on top of this, as he is on top of all security risks, and there is nothing to be concerned about."

  She stared challengingly at me. "You’re telling me you aren’t concerned?"

  "I am not," I lied.

  And I saw her eyes change as she saw right through me.

  "Jesus Christ, it's so bad you won't even tell me the truth." She started pacing the room, bringing her free hand up to rub her chest in a soothing circle.

  "Don't be ridiculous. Why wouldn't I be telling you the truth?" It didn’t sound convincing or comforting, and I knew it. I didn’t have the spirit to bullshit her like I needed to. Like I wanted to. This thing was getting to me. I felt like I was losing control. And I needed control.

  I started to gather the rest of the papers on the coffee table into a pile, in case she hadn't seen them yet. I hoped she hadn't seen them yet. The endless lists of suspects only proved we had no idea who was sending us these threats. Proved that I really didn't have any sort of handle on this at all.

  "I don't know why you’re lying to me. That’s the thing. Unless it's so bad you’re afraid to tell me. Are you afraid I'd get upset? Which really isn't fair, because of course I would get upset because this shithead is threatening my children!"

  "With words, precious. Just with words. It's some angry competitor trying to get under my skin, that's all." Better. Not perfect. I piled everything into the manila folder Jo
rdan kept the investigation documents in. If she couldn’t see my eyes, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to see the lie.

  And if I couldn’t see hers, I wouldn’t have to see her disappointment.

  "Like I said,” I continued the sham, “I'm not concerned about it, and neither should you be."

  "And like I said, you’re lying. I know you. If you weren't concerned about it, you wouldn't have it all spread out here in front of you. Jordan would be working on this alone. You wouldn't be looking at any of this at all."

  She was fishing. She didn’t know that most threats came in and were taken care of without ever being a blip on my radar. It was a guess, and I took advantage of it. "That's not necessarily true. Jordan was here earlier. He went over some of the details on this particular security threat and assured me it was being dealt with. It was standard protocol, Alayna."

  "Yeah, right. You haven't been sleeping. Secret phone calls before dawn. Jordan came to our house on a Saturday morning. Do you really expect me to believe that was protocol?” She stopped her pacing, desperation and anger warring on her beautiful face. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been keeping this from me?”

  "I'm not keeping anything from you. There's nothing to keep. It's a few letters that reached an alert level, and we only received them recently."

  "One of them mentioned me being on bedrest, Hudson. The twins are almost a year old.” Her eyes suddenly went wide as something occurred to her. "That picture of me with the babies—you have someone following us, right? Our guys took it? It wasn’t... that wasn’t someone else, was it?"

  Fuck. She'd seen the picture too. No wonder she wasn’t buying my calm demeanor. "Listen to me," I said as steadily and reassuringly as I could. "You are safe. The babies are safe."

  "Then why is your eye twitching?"

  "Alayna…" I hated that she could see right through me.

  And I loved it too—that she knew me well enough to read my motives and gestures, the tiny tells that went unnoticed by everyone else. No one had ever truly seen me like my wife.

  But I sincerely needed to do better than this.

  It was bigger than simple reassurance. I had to convince her that she didn't need to worry about this. For her own sake. Not only was I not willing to lose her to the hands of a predator, but I was also not willing to lose her to the anxiety of her own mind.

  I stood up, walked over, and put my arm around her. I offered her the comfort I knew she’d always taken in my touch, knowing the strength of my body was there for her alone. With my other hand I took the letters out of her grasp and threw them down on the table. Then I lifted her chin with one finger. "You are overreacting. All of this is Pierce life as usual."

  Her brown eyes looked deep into me, and for a moment I thought I had her.

  But then her gaze drifted to the left, toward the computer screen. "Do you have suspects? Is that what this is all for?" She pulled out of my arms and walked around the coffee table to look at the screen again. It was still empty, just a room with a table and two chairs. "Do you have the person who’s doing this? You know who it is?"

  She sounded so hopeful, I almost let her believe it.

  But I couldn't let the lie go that far. I wasn't that man anymore. I refused to be the monster I feared I still was. And that was the gift Alayna had given me—that choice.

  I needed to give her a gift now—one of peace.

  "Alayna, I promise you that this is being taken care of, and you don't need to worry about it. Go home."

  She whipped her neck sharply toward me. "The fact it needs to be dealt with at all means I need to worry. The fact you’re sleeping in the loft means I need to worry. The fact you are lying to me is as good as admitting it.”

  "I'm not admitting anything. And I’m not discussing this with you any longer. You are safe. Go home," I repeated, and gently took her by the elbow to escort her out of the loft.

  "I'm safe, meaning you got the guy? Meaning you know who it is?" She wasn't going to let it go. Her tenacity had attracted me to her, but at times like this I could do without it.

  "You're safe, meaning I have extra security on you. On all of you. Jordan has bodyguards at the penthouse and at Mina’s camp. They’ll follow you everywhere you go from now on." I started walking toward the door.

  She wrestled out of my grip. "Extra security? Damnit. I knew that guy was following me today. Why didn’t you just tell me?"

  "Because there's nothing—"

  "If there's nothing to tell, nothing to worry about," she interrupted me. "Then you wouldn't have to up our security team. Stop patronizing me, Hudson. I’m not an idiot. And what about you? Did you increase your security team too?"

  I set my jaw and looked at her sternly. Why did she have to choose today to come visit, of all days?

  "I upped your security as a matter of precaution. And to make you feel safe. My own security is exactly what it always has been because the risk is null and there is no reason to increase it.” My blood pressure was rising, I could feel it. Why didn’t she understand I was doing this for her? That everything was for her?

  “You mean you upped it to make you feel safe. You weren’t even going to tell me about any of this.”

  I would have. Eventually. Perhaps.

  It didn’t seem relevant to argue that now.

  I needed this fixed. And for that, I needed her gone. “I am telling you there is nothing to worry about, and I mean it. I'm handling it. Trust me."

  She shook her head, frustrated tears brimming in her eyes. "You expect me to—"

  I settled my hand at her waist, turning her once again toward the door. "I expect you to go home. And I don't want you to fixate on this, either."

  I knew as soon as I said it was the wrong thing to say. The tension between us tripled in thickness, growing mean and thistly.

  She leaned away from me, her spine straighter, her eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell me because you were worried about my mental health. That's it, isn't it?” She looked ready to spit daggers at me if she could. Daggers I likely deserved, but would take in a heartbeat if it meant I could rewind time and take that back. “Well, fuck you, Hudson."

  "Alayna. Precious. That's not what I meant." I reached out for her, but she stepped back.

  "Oh, I know what you meant. Thank you. Thank you for validating all my fears of what my husband secretly thinks about me." She stepped back again and headed to the door, walking away from my arms, denying both of us the comfort we’d always found in each other. "If you're stupid enough to come home tonight, plan to sleep on the couch."

  "Alayna…” Her name tumbled out of my mouth with no plan for what to say next.

  She paused, her hand on the door knob. The rise and fall of her shoulders indicating she had to take a deep breath before she turned to face me, but finally she did turn. “What?”

  I didn’t want her to leave angry. I didn’t want her to leave hurt.

  But I needed her to leave. I needed her safe.

  Only finding the person who was threatening her would give me what I needed, and every moment she was out of security’s sight was another worry for me to shoulder. So I didn’t apologize. I didn’t call her back. Even though I knew the price we were both paying for it.

  "Once you get home, don't go anywhere. All right?"

  She didn’t answer, but I knew she heard me. Heard how serious I was.

  It seemed only to fuel her anger. She threw open the door with a huff and stormed out.

  "I love you," I shouted after her.

  "Fuck you, Hudson," I heard as the door slammed shut behind her.

  I deserved it. Every last fuck you. From her and everyone else who wanted to give it. All I could do was hope she could find a way to trust me again once this was over. I ran a hand through my hair, and sent a text down to the bodyguard in the lobby to let him know she was on her way down. Once he confirmed he had eyes on her, I called Jordan.

  "Alayna knows about the extra security team now," I sa
id when he answered. "No need to continue hanging back."

  Jordan was silent for a couple of seconds. "Did you tell her? Or did she find out on her own?"

  I wasn't in the mood for his I-told-you-so. "Jesus, Jordan, does it matter?"

  "I like to have a sense of how cooperative she's going to be. Remember, I’ve worked with her in the past. But I think I understand now. Good luck." He hung up.

  Right now I needed more than luck. I needed a glass of scotch and a goddamn miracle.

  Just before five, I rode down to my office, took my desktop phone off the do not disturb function, and pressed the button to check in with my secretary. "Anything pertinent I need to know before you leave for the day?"

  "It was relatively quiet, actually," Patricia said. "I hope you were able to get a lot of work done. Did Laynie slip out when I wasn't looking?"

  That was one way of putting it, yes. I didn't really want my secretary knowing I'd spent my entire working day up in the loft. The fewer people who were alerted to my unusual patterns as of late, the better.

  I definitely didn’t want her knowing I’d fought with my wife.

  "She needed some time alone, so she slipped out through the loft." It was concerning—disgusting, almost—how easily I fell back into my old patterns of deceit.

  "That's probably heaven for her right now. A couple of hours napping in a bed with no kids within earshot." I could hear her smile, and I very nearly felt guilty for lying. Nearly.

  "I'm sure it is." God, I was such an asshole. "If there's nothing else—"

  "Oh, Lee Chong needs to talk to you urgently. He said call any time tonight. He left you a message with the details on your voicemail. I told him I’d be sure you listened to it and got back to him as soon as possible."

  Interesting. Lee Chong owned space near The Sky Launch. We were hardly friends—barely even acquaintances. I'd spoken to him maybe twice in my lifetime. Needless to say, I was curious as to what would prompt an urgent call from the man. "I'll be sure and do that."