Alethea's Redemption(2)
“Intensity? You mean because I won’t accept the fantasy that nothing bad could ever happen to us again? I can’t pretend everything is okay when it isn’t.” Her gut clenched painfully. Don’t you think I want to be like you? You probably still forget to lock your door at night because you think bad things only happen to other people.
“Nothing is ever okay for you, Al. That’s the problem. You always find an issue because you always look for one. Always. You never let yourself believe that things can be good. Abby found her happily ever after. I found mine. Why can’t you simply be happy for us?”
Alethea blinked back the emotion that welled within her. You have to fight for that kind of happiness. You have to protect it every day or someone will rip it away from you. “The truth is your best defense.”
“Against what, Al?” Lil took a deep breath, then said quietly, “Please, stop. You have nothing but a gut instinct and some glitches to go by. Just stop. I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”
Swallowing her frustration, Alethea looked out the window again. “Call me if you need me.”
Lil hesitated, obviously torn. “I’ll call when it’s over.”
Unable to stop herself, Alethea snapped, “Why would I care about the news if I’m not happy for either of you?”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Al. I know you care. I just . . .”
“I know. Go . . . go be with your sister. She needs you.”
After Lil hung up, Alethea laid her phone down on her glass coffee table. She flipped on the television. Every channel she checked showed live feed of the hospital where Abby and Dominic were headed. The press was indeed everywhere. Men in dark suits were scattered through the crowd, evidence that Dominic’s security was already in place.
Chaos always leaves an opening to slip in unseen. She’d tested enough event security plans to know that. All it takes is determination and a good lie. Those who would do the most harm rarely walk in the front door. They come in through crevices, like cockroaches. Does Dominic have the laundry room covered? The kitchen? How about the locker room? Is someone counting uniforms?
I’d ask Dominic or Marc Stone, his head of security, but they don’t want to hear from me. If they did, they would have asked me to look over the security plan before it was implemented.
Lil wants me to back off and give them time to get over our last encounter.
As the news continued to stream images of the crowd gathering around the hospital, one video showed the building’s back entrance. No one was stationed at the door near the trash. Maybe someone is inside.
Or maybe anyone could walk in that door. As the camera panned away, she saw a brief flash of movement that looked like a kitchen staffer exiting the door and lighting a cigarette. Smoker breaks. Did anyone consider how often people prop otherwise secure doors open?
Unable to watch the television a minute longer, Alethea strode to her bedroom, changed into casual street clothes, and brushed her long red hair up into a bun, which she concealed beneath a brunette wig. She wiped off most of her makeup. The tennis shoes she chose were necessary to her mission, regardless of how much she disliked wearing anything but heels.
Her stomach was churning—always a sign that she needed to act. Anyone could walk in that back door. She’d never be able to forgive herself if something happened to Abby or her baby.
No, they don’t want me there, but they just may need me.
Dressed in his usual black Brooks Brothers suit, Marc Stone listened to the chatter in his earpiece as his security team spread throughout the hospital. They were on the street, in the alley, in the hallways—everywhere someone might lurk. Some were dressed in suits, ready to form an impressive wall of defense when Dominic and Abby pulled up to the hospital’s emergency entrance. Some were dressed casually, to blend into the crowd and observe.
Years of working for Dominic Corisi had not only made Marc quite wealthy, but had also taught him to prepare for anything when it came to dealing with the public. The fairy-tale version of Dominic and Abby’s whirlwind romance had made them instant celebrities in a way that wealth alone wouldn’t have. As loved as he’d once been hated, Dominic was now practically American royalty, and that came with a different set of challenges. Abby’s popularity made her a sought-after photo op and attracted a fair amount of unwanted attention from overzealous admirers of both sexes. Icing on the cake? The baby. The paparazzi were locked in a wild competition to produce the first photo.
Keeping them at bay was his responsibility.
And his privilege.
“The stork is in view,” his point man, Craig, announced from the emergency entrance. Marc rolled his eyes. The young man was full of drama and flair. His training was extensive and admirable. He was intelligent and dedicated, which was why he’d been hired, even though he’d never shot his gun outside of a practice range. He was the best set of eyes Marc had, but his enthusiasm for his job was sometimes exhausting.