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19

Blaise

“Iwant to help them all.”

“‘All’ isn’t in the cards, Blaise. We’re down to ten cases.” Out of hundreds. “Choose five.”

Granger and I are seated on the couch, pouring over the missing persons’ files again. The last time he was here, we didn’t come to a consensus on what cases to help with and which ones to send a personal note to notify the family that my foundation won’t be helping them find their missing loved ones.

We’ve been helping families for two years and have come to the conclusion that not everyone is truthful. There are people out there who take joy in sending us bogus missing person’s cases. It’s the reason Granger and I take so long to weed out the legitimate ones from the falsified stories.

“Pick five. Pick five.” I glance from one manila folder to the next. The files are spread out on the coffee table. Before I can choose, my cell phone rings.

It’s the front desk.

I pick up the call. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Stassi, there is a visitor here to see you.”

“Who?”

“It’s Gia Stassi, ma’am.”

Maddox’s sister?

“Bring her up.”

“Of course.”

“Collins?” Granger asks as soon as I end the call, noting the front desk’s number lighting up my cell’s screen.

“Gia Stassi.”

“I see. Should I leave?”

“That’ll be up to her, Granger.”

We wait in heavy silence. Like with me, the world knows of Gia Stassi’s trauma, not because she’s the little sister of a billionaire, but for what was done to her rapists. Did Maddox mutilate those men? Does it matter? The men are forever scarred, mentally and physically, and so is Gia.

The doorbell rings. We stand. I approach the door. At the door, I check the image on the screen.

Were I clueless as to what had happened to Gia, I would think she’s a normal woman. Long hair the color of dark roast coffee cascades around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes are bright blue rather than bluish-green like her brother’s. She appears younger than twenty-two and is out of place in the colder weather dressed in a white tube top covered with butterflies, paired with a see-through royal blue skirt with slits down the sides from her bikini line to her ankles.

In that outfit, Gia is a mix of innocent beauty and sexiness, the see-through material giving everyone a view of her lace-trimmed boy short panties.

I must’ve kept her waiting longer than what she’s used to. Arms crossed and foot tapping, she glares at the camera. I open the door, and though she probably knows who I am, I introduce myself anyway before I step aside to let her in.

Gia steps over the threshold. I close the door and turn around, not surprised she’s staring at the large, formidable male staring back at her in the middle of the living room. Gia is as tense as a piece of string strung tight. A prey caught in the predator’s line of sight. And yeah, I can see Granger as the predator. He looks ready to pounce on Gia with the hunger in his eyes.

I make introductions.

“Gia, this is my bodyguard and friend, Granger Ward. If you would like him to leave—”

“It’s not necessary. What I have to say won’t take long.”

Beneath her terseness is something I recognize. Curiosity. Does she wonder how Granger got the scar on his face? Or is she curious as to whether her brother knows that his wife is alone with her rumored lover?

“Can I offer you tea or something to eat?”