Guarded from Sabotage (Blade and Arrow Security Bravo Team #2)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANTE

This is a first for me.

I’ve given women gifts before, but never at the risk of making them cry.

When I buy presents for my mom and sisters, it’s usually something off their Amazon wishlist, so I know they’ll be happy with whatever I pick. On the rare occasion that I dated someone long enough for gifts to become a part of it, I stuck with safe things like flowers or candy or silly stuffed animals.

But for Sarah, I want to give her something with more thought put into it. Something that shows I’ve been listening during our conversations the nights I stay at her place, when we talk about our childhoods and interests and hopes for the future. I want to give Sarah a gift that actually means something instead of a generic bouquet or a fancy box of chocolates.

Plus, that might be weird; giving Sarah flowers when we’re not actually dating, even though our evenings together feel an awful lot like it. In less than a week we’ve already fallen into a routine—cooking dinner together, chatting for ages at the table, and eventually heading into the living room to watch something on TV. Sometimes we’ll give each other friendly hugs or Sarah will grab my hand to get my attention, but those are just things any friend would do.

Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Because as much as I feel this crazy attraction to Sarah, as much as I like her; as her protector, there’s a line I can’t cross.

It doesn’t mean I can’t give her a gift, though. Right? Friends give each other gifts.

After all, I gave Erik a case of his favorite beer for his birthday. For Rhiannon’s birthday, I bought her a gift card from the local spa so she could get a massage. And I sprung for tickets to bring Matt to a Cowboys game even though I’m a diehard Bills fan.

So it’s not that strange to give something to Sarah, especially when she’s been going through such a terrible time. And if I can do something to cheer her up, to bring out that beautiful smile that lights up her face… Why wouldn’t I do it?

Although, now that I’m putting everything into a gift bag, I’m starting to have second thoughts. Maybe it’s not a good idea to give Sarah the movie she said makes her cry every single time she watches it.

But she was going on about this movie— Beaches —the other night, talking about how much she loves it and how no one will watch it with her anymore. “Hanna flat out refuses,” Sarah explained with a little laugh. “She says if she hears the song The Wind Beneath My Wings one more time, she’ll fling herself off a bridge.”

As I’ve never seen the movie or heard the song, I couldn’t say much about it. But when I told Sarah that, she got all excited and grabbed my hand, saying, “You have to see it, Dante. It’s kind of an old movie, but it’s so wonderful. And the part at the end, with the cat… it gets me every time.”

I’m not so sure about liking it, but if Sarah wants to watch it with me, I will.

And that’s where my idea for the gift came from. Or gifts, as it is. I went online and found a copy of Beaches , plus the book it was based on, and a special edition book with all the songs and behind-the-scenes photos from when they filmed the movie. I know it’s a little old school when we can find all of it online, but if I pack it all up in a gift bag with some candy and popcorn and a box of tissues…

Cheesy? Too much? Am I crazy for giving Sarah something that has a high probability of making her cry?

Maybe. But then again, maybe she’ll love it, and I’ll see that gorgeous smile that never fails to steal my breath. Maybe she’ll hug me and I can enjoy the feel of her in my arms for a few seconds, at least.

Tomorrow. I’ll see Sarah tomorrow when I pick her up from work, and we’ll have dinner and watch Beaches and if she cries, at least I’ll be there to comfort her.

Shit. I can’t remember the last time I thought about a woman this much. I’m not sure I ever have. And if these were normal circumstances, it would be fine. Sarah would be living her normal life, she wouldn’t be a client, and I could ask her out on a date. There wouldn’t be this invisible barrier between us.

I should do something to get my mind on other things. Squeeze in an extra workout. Check my email. Go over the paperwork for our upcoming jobs again. Maybe Erik or Matt want to hit our new favorite bar in Seguin to grab a beer and play a game of pool.

Or I can adjust the tissue paper in this gift bag again, wondering why in the world it doesn’t look like it does when my sisters wrap their gifts. Is there some special trick to it? Some way to arrange this fragile paper so it doesn’t look like it’s been trampled by a herd of elephants?

I’m just starting my fifth attempt to make this gift bag look nice— is it my hands? Are they too big? Am I making myself crazy for no reason? —when my phone buzzes, and I grab for it, glad for the distraction.

Then I see Xavier’s message, and my stomach sinks.

Hey. Sarah’s been in her room since I brought her home from work. She says she’s ok, but I’m pretty sure she’s crying in there. I asked if she wanted me to call Hanna and she said no. I don’t want to push her, but if something’s wrong…

Shit. She’s been home from work for at least an hour by now. Has Sarah been in there crying the entire time? What happened? Why won’t she tell Xavier about it?

Another text appears before I have a chance to respond.

Maybe you could try talking to her. She might talk to you.

I’m not going to dissect the reasons why Xavier would say that; not when my worry about Sarah is growing bigger by the second. Instead, I just tap out a quick reply.

Ok. I’ll call her. Hopefully, she’s fine. She could just be watching a movie or something. If not, we’ll figure it out from there.

Maybe it’s nothing. She could be watching one of her sappy movies—her words, not mine—and be too embarrassed to tell Xavier why she’s crying. Or she could be upset about one of her clients. Maybe it’s the buildup of stress and worry overflowing.

But when she answers, I immediately know something’s terribly wrong.

As she picks up, she takes a shuddering breath. “Dante?” A small sob slips out. “Why are you—” Another shaky breath. “Is something… wrong?”

My stomach plunges even lower. But I gentle my voice as I reply, “Nothing’s wrong here, Sarah. But I heard from Xavier that you might be upset. So I wanted to check on you.”

“Oh.” She sniffles. “I didn’t realize… I was trying to be quiet.”

Shit. What is she trying to hide from Xavier?

Anxious energy pulses through me, making it impossible to stand still. As I pace across the living room, I say, “Sarah. Can you tell me what happened?”

There’s a long pause, when all I can hear are her shaky breaths and soft sniffs. Then she says quietly, “I got put on leave. Unpaid. They—” Her voice cracks. “They said I… I’m too much of a distraction. And”—another sob—“they said I violated the… privacy of the clients.”

“What?” My voice rises. “You? There’s no?—”

“Someone hacked all my social media.” Sarah’s words tumble over each other. “There’s all sorts of horrible stuff posted. Lies and insults about my coworkers. My boss. Derogatory things about my clients. It’s awful, Dante. I can’t fix it. I can’t even get into the accounts. I don’t know what to do.”

“They can’t fire you for that, Sarah.” My teeth grind painfully, but I keep my tone calm. “People get their social media accounts hacked all the time. That’s not cause for firing you.”

“I’m not fired. I’m on leave. And my boss said… I’m hurting the clients by being there. First the police showing up, and the car, and now this… plus, I’m still on probation…” She trails off and starts crying in earnest. “I would never… do anything to hurt the kids. Ever.”

“I know. Of course you wouldn’t. And we’ll fix this.” I head to the front door and grab my keys from the hook on the wall. “I’m coming over. Okay?”

In a tiny voice, Sarah says, “But it’s not your night. I’m sure you have things?—”

“No. I want to be there. With you.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause, and then softly, “I’d really like that. If you were here.”

Hand on the doorknob, I reply, “I’m on my way?—”

But I’m cut off by tremendous thuds echoing across the line, like something heavy hammering on the walls of her apartment.

Sarah lets out a surprised yelp.

My pulse accelerates, doubling in speed. “Sarah. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shakes, and her breathing quickens. “Someone’s at the?—”

There’s more banging. And now, shouting. Sharp, commanding voices yelling unintelligible things.

“Dante…”

“Stay where you are.” Urgency sharpens my tone. “Let Xavier handle this.”

In the background, I can hear Xavier shouting to Sarah, “Don’t move! Let me?—”

Glass shatters.

The hammering sound intensifies.

Then a deafening crash.

Sarah shrieks.

Shit! What’s happening?

I’m bolting down the hallway when I hear someone yell, “Get the windows! Get the windows! Move in! Police! Police!”

I blow past a startled Niall just as Sarah whispers, “I don’t know what’s happening. They?—”

“Don’t move! Police!”

There’s a dull clunk, and the call cuts off.

Sarah!

“Someone fucking swatted her.”

It’s the first thing Xavier says when I reach him. His expression is thunderous, and he’s practically vibrating with anger—the muscles in his jaw twitching and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

“How did this happen?” I bark; tension and worry straining my voice. “She’s supposed to be safe . What’s the damn point of protecting her if she’s traumatized in her own damn apartment?”

Xavier glares at me. “What was I supposed to do, Dante? There were ten fucking cops there. They weren’t going to listen to me. All I could do was tell Sarah it would be okay.”

I retort, “But she’s not okay. She was arrested. Shoved in a damn cop car and brought down here. Shit. She must have been terrified.”

“I know.” Guilt darkens his eyes. “You don’t think I felt fucking horrible? She’s crying, and I’m pinned against the wall as a cop cuffs me.”

Shit.

This isn’t Xavier’s fault.

It’s mine.

I should have insisted on Sarah staying at Blade and Arrow. But I thought she’d feel more comfortable in her own apartment, thought we could keep her safe there. I never imagined something like this happening.

While I was in the car rushing over here, I called my contact at the police department to get the details.

A series of anonymous calls came in, accusing Sarah of having a breakdown. They claimed she had bombs in her apartment and was planning on blowing up the entire building. They said she’d been alternating between depression and mania, and the loss of her job pushed her over the edge.

The idea of it would be laughable if it didn’t result in such terrible repercussions.

Her cozy apartment trashed. Her sense of safety destroyed. Another trauma right on the heels of an already awful day.

And sweet, gentle Sarah caught in the middle of it—roughly cuffed and dragged down to the station to be interrogated about a crime she knew nothing about.

Shit.

My emotions keep bouncing between clinging guilt and simmering fury—guilt that I wasn’t there to stop this, and fury at whoever’s behind it.

But that doesn’t mean I should take it out on my teammate.

“Sorry, Xav.” I dip my chin in apology. “It’s not your fault. I’m just…” My jaw clenches. “After everything else, and she gets put on leave, and now this…”

“I know.” Understanding fills his gaze. “It’s crazy. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to do this to Sarah. She’s such a sweet person, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and these targeted attacks on her?—”

“Where is she now?” I glance around the small waiting area, as if I can summon Sarah just by thinking about her.

“She’s talking to one of the officers. But I think they’re just asking her about who might have made the calls now. After you told them everything that’s been happening, and Quint got involved, I think they knew it was a hoax.”

“We need to get her out of here. Bring her back to B and A, where she’s absolutely safe.”

Xavier nods. “Agreed. Quint said he’d work on it.”

And speaking of Quint, our friend and officer with the San Antonio police department comes striding down the hallway towards us, his features set in a grim expression. He lifts his chin at Xavier, then turns to me. “Dante. I’m sorry about all this.”

“Is she still a suspect?” I ask. “How soon before we can get her out of here?”

Quint meets my gaze. “No, she’s not a suspect anymore. As soon as you called, I made sure the investigating officers knew about everything that’s been happening to your client. And given that there was no evidence in her apartment…” He trails off, frowning as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t fix what already happened. I know.”

No. It doesn’t. Sarah’s apartment is still a disaster and she was still arrested. Frightened. Subjected to things she didn’t deserve.

But I know the police have to follow up on these kinds of things. And I know it’s not Quint’s fault. He’s one of the good ones—when Cole left the Army, he joined the force here in San Antonio, and Quint was his partner. Over the years, Quint’s been a friend to Blade and Arrow, and he’s been nothing but supportive of our new branch here.

“We’ll fix her place,” I reply. “And we’re bringing Sarah back to Blade and Arrow. With things escalating like they are… She could have been hurt. I know it’s never the intent, but in swatting cases?—”

“People have been killed ,” Xavier adds, fueling my anger again. “And—” He scowls. “You might want to talk to some of the guys on your SWAT team. They didn’t need to be that rough with her. Sarah wasn’t resisting.”

They were rough with her?

My molars grind into dust.

Forcing a calm to my voice, when I’m feeling anything but, I ask, “Can you check on Sarah? See if she’s cleared to leave yet?”

“Of course.” Quint claps my shoulder, his gaze apologetic. “And I’ll make sure the commander of the team knows.”

But before he can move, two figures come through the doors at the end of the hallway. One is tall and uniformed, the other petite and dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants.

Sarah!

Any concerns about appropriate behavior are cast aside as I rush towards her—not running, but not walking, either. The need to see her is too intense to worry about client dynamics and friendship and the dozen other reasons there are to keep my distance.

As soon as Sarah spots me, she glances at the officer, and he gives her a quick nod. Then she hurries ahead of him, her gaze glued to mine, until we come to an awkward stop only inches from each other.

For a moment, I just look at her, taking stock.

There are tiny lines of strain etched across her forehead and between her eyes. Her eyes are pink and swollen from crying. She’s shivering, goosebumps all over her bare arms, no doubt from the arctic-level air conditioning.

Overall, she looks scared and sad, but physically okay.

Except. There are bruises blossoming on her wrists. Dammit . Why did they have to be so rough with her?

“Dante?” Sarah’s voice wobbles. Tears well up. “You’re here .”

“Of course.” And I say a silent screw it and pull her into my arms.

I don’t care about what’s right. All I care about is comforting her. Holding her. Reassuring myself that she’s okay; that she’s safe.

I need to feel her body against mine more than I need to breathe.

She snakes her arms around my waist and sags against me, burrowing her face into my chest.

Tiny shudders ripple through her body, and I hug her closer, murmuring, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

“Dante. My apartment—” Her voice breaks.

“I know.” Rubbing her back in small, soothing circles, I say, “We’ll get it fixed for you. I promise.”

She lifts her head from my chest and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “But where will I go? It’s all ruined…”

Without thinking, I press my lips to her forehead. “You’re going to come back to B and A with me. And I’ll take care of everything. Okay?”

Without hesitation, she nods, and the trust in her eyes is everything.

“Okay.”