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24

Blaise

The next day is worse than the night before. There’s an awkwardness between me, Hale, and the other bodyguards that wasn’t there before.

Finally, after a full day of their curious stares and whispering, I march to Cillian’s office. He’s been holed up in there with this Six guy and his wife since they arrived at the estate late afternoon.

No introductions were made. I was given a terse, “Stay in your room. I will come for you,” before Hale, with a tip of his head, bossed me to my room.

God, I’m not a kid, but if they’re treating me like one, I’ll act like one. Goodness, Granger will surely accuse me of being a brat.

I rasp my knuckles on the door. No answer. I turn the knob and barge inside Cillian’s office. The man and woman seated across from him turn in their seats. I suck in a breath at her beauty and his handsomeness. Like Granger, the scar transecting Six’s face doesn’t lessen how good-looking he is. His scar lends him a dangerous don’t-fuck-with-me look.

“Can I help you, Blaise? Or can this matter of yours wait?”

Six and his wife wait for me to say something. I shift from foot to foot. Being a brat sucks. I back out of the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. What I have to say can wait.” I’m ready to shut the door, when Six’s wife speaks up.

“Blaise, pull up a chair and come sit with us. We’re working on your kidnapping case.”

That gets my attention. I hurry inside the office, shutting the door behind me. I grab the closest chair and put it next to Six’s wife. She introduces herself.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Emilia Shanahan, and this is my husband, Six.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I clasp my gloved hands in my lap.

Emilia and her husband aren’t gawking or peppering me with questions about my life and growing up a Lexington. Instead, they give me a friendly smile. I relax into the chair.

“Blaise, have you heard from any of your bodyguards?” Six asks.

“Shaw, Owen, and Marco text me every day.”

“That’s nice. What my husband meant is the ones assigned to you when you were thirteen.”

“After my parents’ deaths.”

“Yes,” Emilia says.

“I haven’t. Roman said they were given security positions elsewhere.”

“Did your great-uncle notify you of your grandfather’s toxicology results?”

“He didn’t. I read about my grandfather’s cause of death in the papers. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. The tox screen was negative.” I wring my hands. What point are they trying to make with this line of questioning?

“After your rescue, did your kidnapper make contact?”

“No. He made a deal with my grandfather. Grandfather upped the ransom to five million from a million. The guy gave him the promise he would leave me alone.”

“At any point in time, did you send men to locate your kidnapper?”

“No. So long as he kept his promise, I was supposed to keep mine. I would never search for him. That’s what my grandfather promised in my place.”

“Yet he made contact on the morning your grandfather died.”

I rise out of my chair so fast, it tips over.

“How do you know that? No one is supposed to know. Did you contact the authorities? He’ll kill me.”