HEADLINES AND HEARTSTRINGS

Chapter 12: Crossfire

Adrian

The call came at 10:47 p.m.

Marcus never called unless it mattered.

I answered before the first ring finished.

"What happened?"

"Gunshots."

The single word froze the blood in my veins.

"Where?"

"Miss Carter's apartment."

I was already on my feet.

"Is she alive?"

A pause.

The longest three seconds of my life.

"We don't know."

The phone slipped slightly in my hand.

For three years, I had buried my emotions behind cameras, interviews, and carefully rehearsed smiles.

But in that moment...

Every wall I'd built cracked.

"I'm on my way."

I ended the call without waiting for another word.

---

The elevator felt painfully slow.

I jabbed the close-door button three times even though I knew it wouldn't make a difference.

The mirrored walls reflected a man I barely recognized.

Tie loosened.

Hair disheveled.

Fear written plainly across my face.

The elevator doors opened.

I sprinted through the underground garage toward my Aston Martin.

"Adrian!"

Claire's voice echoed behind me.

I ignored her.

"Adrian!"

She caught up just as I reached the driver's door.

"You can't go alone."

"I'm not waiting."

She grabbed my arm.

"This could be a trap."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I don't."

For the first time since she'd started working for me eight years ago...

I raised my voice.

"If anything happens to her because I wasted another minute standing here..."

I couldn't finish the sentence.

Claire slowly let go.

"I'll send Marcus your location."

I nodded once before climbing into the car.

The engine roared to life.

I drove faster than I ever had in my life.

---

Red and blue lights flashed against nearby buildings long before I reached Lena's street.

Police cars.

Ambulances.

My heart sank.

No.

No.

No.

Please...

Not again.

I parked without bothering to straighten the car and pushed through the gathering crowd.

A police officer stepped in front of me.

"Sir, this area's restricted."

Marcus appeared from nowhere.

"He's with me."

The officer reluctantly stepped aside.

Marcus didn't waste time.

"This way."

His expression told me everything.

This was bad.

Very bad.

"What happened?"

"Power outage."

He walked quickly toward the apartment entrance.

"Someone cut the electricity to the entire block."

"A coincidence?"

"No."

His answer came immediately.

"Professional."

We climbed the stairs two at a time.

"There were two shooters."

"Targets?"

"We're still determining that."

My chest tightened.

"Lena?"

Marcus stopped outside her apartment.

"The bullets never reached her."

Relief flooded through me so suddenly that my knees nearly gave out.

I closed my eyes.

Just for a second.

Thank God.

Marcus noticed.

"You care about her."

It wasn't a question.

I looked away.

"I care that innocent people don't die."

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"Right."

He clearly didn't believe me.

The truth was...

Neither did I.

---

The apartment looked worse than before.

Crime scene tape stretched across the entrance.

Forensic officers dusted every surface.

Furniture had been overturned.

Glass covered the kitchen floor.

Lena sat on the couch wrapped in a gray blanket.

She looked physically unharmed.

But her hands trembled around the cup of tea an officer had given her.

The moment she looked up and saw me...

Something changed.

The tension in her shoulders eased.

Just a little.

"You came."

Two simple words.

They shouldn't have affected me.

They did.

I walked toward her slowly.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"I'm okay."

She wasn't.

Anyone could see that.

"You don't have to keep saying that."

A weak smile appeared.

"I'm starting to think you don't believe me."

"I don't."

She laughed quietly.

It lasted barely two seconds.

Still...

It was enough to make the room feel lighter.

"Mr. Knight?"

A detective approached us.

"I'm Detective Owen Brooks."

He held out his hand.

I shook it.

"We've reviewed the preliminary evidence."

"And?"

"The shooters weren't aiming inside the apartment."

Lena frowned.

"They weren't?"

Brooks shook his head.

"They fired at your security officers.

It seemed they intended to eliminate the protection."

"So..."

Lena swallowed.

"They were clearing the way."

Nobody answered.

Nobody needed to.

---

An hour later the apartment had finally emptied.

The police promised increased patrols.

I knew it wouldn't matter.

Whoever was behind this operation was always two steps ahead.

Marcus locked the apartment door before turning to Lena.

"You're not staying here."

She folded her arms.

"I live here."

"You used to."

"I can't just abandon my apartment."

"You can."

"I won't."

Marcus looked at me.

I sighed.

"I'll handle this."

He nodded and stepped into the hallway.

Leaving us alone.

Lena glared at me.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Use that calm billionaire voice."

"I don't know what that means."

"You absolutely do."

Despite everything...

I almost smiled.

"You aren't staying here."

"There it is."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

We stared at each other.

Neither willing to back down.

Finally I said,

"My penthouse has six guest rooms."

She blinked.

"Is that your way of bragging?"

"No."

"It sounded a little like bragging."

"It wasn't."

She tilted her head.

"Seven guest rooms?"

I sighed dramatically.

"Now you're just guessing."

For the first time all night...

She genuinely laughed.

"I knew billionaires couldn't resist correcting people."

"And reporters can't resist provoking them."

"Occupational hazard."

She looked around her apartment.

The smile slowly disappeared.

"I don't want to leave."

"I know."

"My parents bought me this place."

The confession surprised me.

"My mom picked those curtains."

She pointed toward the living room.

"My dad built that bookshelf himself."

I looked where she was pointing.

Suddenly...

It wasn't just an apartment.

It was home.

And someone had violated it.

"I understand."

"No."

Her eyes glistened.

"I don't think you do."

I stepped closer.

"My parents died when I was twenty-three."

She froze.

"I came home one night to a house that suddenly felt empty."

Silence settled between us.

"I know what it feels like when a place stops feeling safe."

She didn't speak.

Instead...

She quietly looked away.

"I'll only stay a few days," she whispered.

A small victory.

"I'll have Claire bring some clothes tomorrow."

She looked back at me.

"You've already decided, haven't you?"

"Mostly."

"You really are impossible."

"So I've been told."

She rolled her eyes.

"I still don't trust you."

"I know."

"But..."

She hesitated.

"...I trust you more than whoever keeps trying to scare me."

For some reason...

That hurt more than it should have.

Because she still didn't know the truth.

The closer she stayed to me...

The more dangerous her world would become.

And yet...

The selfish part of me was relieved she had said yes.

Because tonight...

For the first time in years...

The thought of losing someone terrified me more than the secrets I was hiding.

....

By the time we arrived at my penthouse, it was well past midnight.

The city glittered beneath us, oblivious to the chaos of the last few hours.

Normally, I found the skyline calming.

Tonight, it looked like thousands of tiny lights hiding thousands of tiny lies.

Claire was already waiting by the elevator.

The moment the doors opened, she walked straight to Lena.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

Lena smiled tiredly.

"Thanks."

"I've prepared the guest suite for you."

"You didn't have to."

Claire gave her a sympathetic look.

"Tonight, I think I did."

Lena nodded, too exhausted to argue.

As Claire led her down the hallway, Lena glanced back at me.

"Good night... Adrian."

It was the first time she'd called me by my first name.

No "Mr. Knight."

No teasing.

Just... Adrian.

I watched her disappear around the corner before I finally exhaled.

Marcus stepped beside me.

"You've crossed a line."

"I know."

"No."

He folded his arms.

"You don't."

I looked at him.

"The moment you brought her here, she stopped being just a reporter."

I didn't respond.

Because he was right.

---

An hour later, the four of us sat around the dining table.

Coffee cups.

Laptops.

Stacks of reports.

The atmosphere had shifted from panic to strategy.

Marcus projected a map of the city onto the television.

"I've tracked the movements of the two shooters."

Claire looked up.

"You identified them?"

Marcus nodded.

"They're professionals."

"Former military?"

"No."

"Private contractors."

He enlarged a grainy security image.

"I've seen them before."

My stomach tightened.

"Where?"

Marcus looked at me.

"The night Ethan died."

The room went silent.

I slowly stood.

"What?"

"They were outside the warehouse."

I stared at the image.

It had been three years.

Three long years.

Yet I recognized one of the men immediately.

"The scar."

Marcus nodded.

"He had it back then too."

Claire frowned.

"Why wasn't this in the police report?"

"Because the footage disappeared."

I clenched my jaw.

"Convenient."

"Very."

Marcus closed the file.

"Someone erased every trace."

For years, I'd convinced myself I was chasing ghosts.

Now...

The ghosts had names.

---

I walked onto the balcony, needing air.

The cool breeze did nothing to quiet my thoughts.

Three years ago...

"Ethan."

He laughed as he climbed into my car.

"You know, one day people are going to find out we're related."

I smiled.

"Then let them."

"You really think it'll be that easy?"

"No."

"But I'm tired of pretending you don't exist."

His grin faded.

"Adrian..."

"What?"

"If anything ever happens to me..."

I frowned.

"Don't say things like that."

"I'm serious."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a black journal.

"If I disappear, don't trust the police."

I stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I found something."

"What?"

He hesitated.

"I can't tell you."

"Ethan."

"The fewer people who know, the safer you'll be."

I laughed bitterly.

"You always were dramatic."

His expression didn't change.

"I'm not joking."

That had been the last real conversation we'd ever had.

The next morning...

He was dead.

---

The balcony door slid open behind me.

I didn't need to turn around.

"Lena couldn't sleep?"

I asked.

Claire stepped beside me.

"No."

"Neither can you."

"No."

She handed me another cup of coffee.

"You've had enough caffeine to stay awake for a week."

"I wasn't planning on sleeping."

She leaned against the railing.

"You like her."

I nearly choked on the coffee.

"I beg your pardon?"

Claire smiled.

"I've known you for eight years."

"So?"

"I've never seen you panic over anyone."

"I didn't panic."

She laughed.

"You almost drove through three red lights."

"I stopped."

"Barely."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"She's involved because of me."

"No."

Claire looked at me carefully.

"She's involved because she chose the truth."

Her words lingered long after she walked back inside.

---

At six the next morning, I found Lena standing in the kitchen.

She wore one of Claire's oversized sweaters, her hair tied into a messy bun.

She looked... comfortable.

Almost like she belonged here.

The thought caught me off guard.

She was attempting to make coffee.

Attempting being the key word.

I watched silently as she pressed random buttons on the expensive espresso machine.

Nothing happened.

She frowned.

"Traitor."

I cleared my throat.

She jumped.

"I wasn't losing."

"You were negotiating."

"Exactly."

I walked over.

"You're supposed to fill the water tank first."

"Oh."

She blinked.

"That explains a lot."

"It usually helps."

She folded her arms.

"I liked my explanation better."

I couldn't help smiling.

"There."

I pressed one button.

The machine hummed to life.

She stared at it.

"So it only listens to billionaires?"

"Apparently."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I don't like your coffee machine."

"My coffee machine doesn't seem to like you either."

She pointed a finger at me.

"Tell it we're starting over."

I laughed.

A real laugh.

The kind I hadn't heard from myself in years.

Lena looked genuinely surprised.

"You laugh."

"Occasionally."

"I was beginning to think it was just a rumor."

Before I could answer, Marcus walked into the kitchen.

"I hate interrupting..."

"You don't," Lena muttered.

"I really don't."

He handed me a sealed evidence envelope.

"We recovered fingerprints from Miss Carter's apartment."

My smile vanished.

"And?"

Marcus looked directly at me.

"They belong to someone who died three years ago."

The room fell silent.

Lena frowned.

"That's impossible."

Marcus slowly opened the envelope and slid a fingerprint report across the counter.

At the top of the page was one name.

Ethan Blake.

I stared at it.

My heart stopped.

No.

That couldn't be.

I buried him.

Didn't I?