“Tyce—” Linc stepped forward and Tyce shook his head and stepped into the cold, dark night.
Sage stared at the door for a long time before turning back to her family. She tried to smile but she could feel her chin wobbling, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “So,” she said, trying for jaunty but failing miserably, “anyone have any idea what I can do about this gaping, bloody hole where my heart used to reside?”
* * *
Tyce, standing in his studio, released a violent curse and threw his custom-made palette knife across the room so that it bounced off a wall. Annoyed and frustrated, he punched his fist through the big blue abstract canvas before shoving his hands into his hair.
He had to get out of his studio, get out of the warehouse. He couldn’t think in here, couldn’t create, couldn’t paint. The portraits of Sage were all facing the wall but he knew that they were there and he was constantly tempted to turn them around, to waste minutes and hours looking at her glorious face, remembering how they loved each other.
Your choice, moron.
It had been two weeks since he’d seen her and he’d spent every minute of each day missing her. The news was out that Lachlyn was a Ballantyne and the press had gone nuts, as he’d expected. Surprisingly, Sage’s pregnancy wasn’t reported on and, for big mercies, he was grateful.
He’d called Lachlyn to find out if she was okay, if she needed his help to deal with the press, but she’d moved into The Den and he heard that Linc had hired a bodyguard to accompany her wherever she went until the furor died down. The press had camped outside his warehouse for half a day but wet, snow-tinged rain had sent them scurrying back into their holes.
He had to get out of this place, get some fresh air. Tyce walked out of his studio and onto the catwalk and heard voices below him.
“You guys do know that this is breaking and entering, don’t you? We could be arrested for this.” Tyce immediately recognized Beckett’s voice so he rested his forearms on the catwalk and waited to see what they were doing.
A voice he’d never heard before replied in a laconic drawl. “I’ll be arrested and my PI license will be revoked since I picked the lock.”
Linc walked further into the warehouse, followed by Jaeger and Beckett and lastly, a guy he didn’t recognize. Unlike Sage’s brothers, Mr. Ex-Military’s eyes were darting around the warehouse looking for threats. His eyes shot upward and immediately clocked Tyce standing on the catwalk.
Super soldier—because the guy was a fighter, anyone could see that—gave him a quick nod.
“Whose stupid-ass idea was this anyway?” Jaeger muttered.
“Mine,” Linc said, his voice rock hard. “I’m done with the situation and we’re going to sort it out. I don’t care if he has six black belts and a lightsaber, the imbecile is going to listen to us. If that takes one of us getting the crap kicked out of us, then so be it.”
Tyce lifted his eyebrows at the desperation he heard in Linc’s voice but he still remained quiet.
“Speak for yourself,” Jaeger said.
“Reame can handle him,” Beck said.
“You never told me that he had a couple of black belts,” Reame said, looking amused. He looked up at Tyce. “Do you?”
Tyce almost smiled when three heads shot up to look at him. “A couple. In Tae Kwon Do and Krav Maga.”
Reame swore and held up his hands. “He’s all yours,” he told the Ballantyne brothers, but Tyce knew whose side he’d be on if blows were traded. It wasn’t his. As always, he was alone.
“What the hell do you want?” he demanded. “And what’s so important that you broke into my place to tell me?”
“No breaking, only entering. I’m Reame Jepson, by the way.”
He’d heard of Linc’s oldest friend, the man the Ballantyne siblings had known since they were children. Not only were they great friends but the ex-soldier’s company also handled the security for Ballantyne International and, from what he understood, many other Fortune 500 companies. Tyce gave Reame a brief nod but kept his eyes on Linc. “Say what you have to say, then get the hell out of my warehouse.”