Page 26 of The Stolen Dagger
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KATHERINE
“ H ow much longer?” I asked Mack from the passenger seat of his truck.
It had been about sixteen hours since I had decided to trust the man who had been stalking me for the past week.
Mack was a man of few words, but he explained he only did what he did because Hunter had arrived in town. He said it was his way of warning me to stay on my guard without actually revealing who he was.
Either way, he apologized for the library and the encounter on the side of the road. He said he wasn’t seasoned with using a gentle approach for “collecting” someone.
Choosing to believe Mack was the better of two evils, I agreed to go with him, and we were now on our way to Las Vegas.
I shifted in my seat, unable to keep still with all the nervous thoughts swirling inside my head. But could you blame me? I was on my way to see my father.
My father .
The same man who raised me, to an extent. The same man who also left mom and me five years ago, which was right about the same time we found out she had cancer.
I guess running away from your problems runs in the family .
Looking back, I had been furious with him but also heartbroken. I couldn’t even remember the last thing I had said to the man I called Dad before he disappeared out of my life for good.
Or so I thought.
According to Mack, my father had been looking for me for the past year. When he learned about Adrian and me, and the dagger being in my possession, his search became more imperative.
But his desperation to find me because he was my father was harder to believe than anything else, seeing as I hadn’t talked to or even seen the man in years. I didn’t buy his “concerned dad” act for a second.
And that was exactly what I would tell him when I saw him.
My thoughts turned then to Drew. Did he find the letter I left him? He was probably angry at me for leaving.
I wanted to call him when we left, but Mack explained it was better that no one knew where we were at the moment or where we were going. Word might get back to Adrian, and the element of surprise was the only advantage we had.
At the moment, Adrian thought I was still in Oklahoma.
“We’re here,” Mack announced.
We were still about thirty minutes outside Vegas as Mack pulled onto a secluded back road that led to my father’s house.
No, not a house. A fucking mansion.
I gaped at the three-storied Spanish-style mansion that came into view. The exterior was a cream rock-like finish with a clay-tile rooftop. I counted at least four balconies just on the front side of the house with wrought iron detailing.
The structure stretched so expansively that it could have had its own zip code. Even though I could only see the front of the house, I was sure the property went on for miles.
“My father lives here?” I asked, voicing my thoughts aloud, but Mack answered anyway.
“What did you expect for a man of his … stature?” Mack asked, sarcastically. “A two-bedroom with a view?”
“Well, no, but this is …” excessive.
The landscaping was gorgeous and must have taken hours to plan out. Sculpted bushes lined the wide driveway and guided us directly to the arched front doors that were made of carved, dark wood. The double doorway looked just wide enough to fit a bus, if that was even possible.
There were a handful of guards stationed outside the front of the house. Not to mention the two guards we passed farther up the road.
I could even see a few patrolling around the sides of the estate to the back. They all wore black suits and had a string of coiled wire in their right ears, all carrying handguns.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Don’t mind the guards,” Mack said as he parked along the circular drive in front of the house. “They’re just here for protection, and they know who you are. You won’t be harmed.”
I nodded, too overwhelmed to find my voice.
Mack exited the truck, and I followed silently. Once we were inside the house, my steps faltered. If I thought the outside was extravagant, the inside was more so.
The ceiling was higher than I would have thought from the outside. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling and sparkled from the sunlight that filtered in through the bay windows on either side of the door. The tiled floor was patterned and spread from the entryway in every direction.
I stood just inside and gawked at the beige walls decorated in paintings that could’ve belonged in a museum rather than someone’s home.
“Hurry up, little bird,” Mack said as he led me through the first floor down a wide hallway. “We don’t want to keep your father waiting.”
At the mention of my father, the awe I felt for my surroundings vanished as I remembered why I was here. I ground my jaw and tightened my hands into fists at my side. My irritation flared, ready to be unleashed on my so-called father.
I didn’t care what he had to say. He sure as hell had a lot to answer for.
We approached a large wooden door where another armed guard stood watch. He nodded and moved aside for us just before Mack knocked once, then twice. A deep voice answered from the other side, and then Mack opened the door.
The first thing I noticed when we entered wasn’t the shelves of books lined along the wall or the giant portrait of my mother hanging behind a grand mahogany desk.
No. It was the man sitting behind that desk with a look of longing on his aged face as I stopped in the middle of the room.
His skin was more tan than I remembered, and his black hair was peppered with gray. Wrinkles lined his forehead above thick brows. His wide jaw clenched and unclenched as he took me in from head to toe. His thin lips pursed in nervousness.
I could see glimpses of the man I once knew as my father, but this man before me was a stranger. He was dangerous. He possessed the kind of power others would kill for—that Adrian had killed for.
The man before me was a man of authority, to be respected, but to me? I only saw the face of a coward who abandoned his family for the grandeur around me.
And when I looked into his dark, whiskey-colored eyes, I knew then that the man I had called my dad may as well have died when my mom did.