"I’m not implying anything, Dad. Something about him just seemed off."
Christian stared at her tea. No message floated on the surface telling her what to do or say.
"If you think he’s bad, you should meet his wife," Kaitlyn added.
Could this get any better?
"Kaitie lass."
"Well, I’m sorry Jock, but I see what Quinlan means, and Ms. Burbanks is a cold woman. You can’t argue that."
Jock’s heavy sigh could have felled a tree. "No, I can’t. And she wonders why her daughter ran away.
Can’t say I blame the girl at all."
Christian’s cup shattered on the floor.
Oh God. What did they know? Surely she hadn’t heard right. Daughter? Estella talked about her daughter, about her.
She couldn’t stop shaking.
"Christian?"
Jerking back from Quinlan’s touch, she slid off the stool and stooped to pick up the broken pottery.
"Oh, honey, ignore us," Kaitlyn said, right beside her. "Here we are talking. You need a hot shower and a bed. After everything else and now this afternoon."
Kaitlyn took the pieces Christian had picked up.
"Go on. Go take a shower or bath. I’ll order you some room service. Or all of us some, I guess, since no one’s had dinner."
The thought of a shower was heavenly. But what if Richard didn’t leave? What if he knew which suite was hers? And he would. What if he was in there now? Waiting on her.
"Christian, honey," Kaitlyn said, setting the broken cup on the counter. "You’re shaking like a leaf."
And she was. She couldn’t quit.
Kaitlyn’s hands were warm.
"Your fingers are like ice. Come on, I’ll run you a bath." Kaitlyn started to pull her toward the door, but she stayed rooted to the spot.
"Christian?" Kaitlyn asked.
What had Estella told them? What if when it all came out, they didn’t believe her? They were already friends with the people who had hurt her most in the world.
The path that seemed so very clear earlier now was shadowed, uneven, and overgrown.
Brayden. She wanted Brayden.
At that moment, the door opened, and as if from merely needing him, he was there.
"I don’t care," he was saying over his shoulder to his older brother, Aiden.
His eyes met hers and for some stupid reason, hers filled with tears. Without stopping to say a word to anyone, he strode to her. Kaitlyn, thankfully, let go of her hands, right before Brayden crushed her to his chest.
Neither of them said a word. His arms held her so tight, she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. He could have died. What if she had been late and he’d run out to get the papers. She knew his habits. He waited till he was at the hood to unlock his vehicle.
A shudder danced through her.
Brayden pulled back. "How come you haven’t had a shower yet? You still smell like smoke." A frown crinkled his brow.
Christian just shrugged, but Jock put in, "Probably because she just got here not half an hour ago."
Brayden shook his head and she let him steer her toward the door.
"I’m ordering room service," Kaitlyn said. Which translated to: You will eat.
"Thanks, Mom," Brayden replied as he ushered her out the door and into the hallway. "Come on, we both need a shower."
"You’re finished?" she asked him.
Brayden opened the door to their apartment suite. "No, I simply told everyone there I was leaving. Gabe showed up about the time I was leaving and mentioned something about us all going down to the station later. That you wanted to meet?"
Christian stopped in the living room, looking toward her room. She really didn’t want to go in there alone. Though she had a perfectly fine bathroom and her fear was more than likely completely unfounded, but still....
"So, we’ll shower, I’ll make certain you’re all right, we’ll eat, since Mom’s ordering, and then go to the station. Though, I don’t know why he can’t come here." He pulled her to his rooms on the other side of the living room.
"I’m fine, Brayden." And she didn’t want to eat.
He only shoved her toward the bathroom. "And then I’ll make sure you get to sleep tonight, and I need to make a few calls."
"Brayden...."
He flicked on the light, stepped around her and turned on the shower. With quick, deft fingers he shed their clothing, then pushed her toward the stall.
She closed her eyes and sighed as the hot water sprayed her, enveloping them both in steam.
Damn, he’d turned the water too hot. Brayden started to turn it cooler, but her words stopped him.
"No, leave it. It feels great." Still she didn’t open her eyes.
Water trickled over her face, dripped off her chin, ran down the long column of her neck, slid down her fantastic body.
Brayden’s control snapped. When he’d seen her fly through the air, couldn’t get her to respond ... those seconds had been absolute hell.
He kissed her hard.
What if he’d lost her today?
He wasn’t stupid, he’d been the target, but the bastard could have killed her or Tori.
God. Pulling back, he leaned her against the wall.
"I could have lost you today," he said.
She shook her head. "I could have lost you."
Their mouths were hot and fast, demanding and giving in turn. His teeth skimmed over her as quickly as hers did him. Mouths met and fought for control. Water slicked over them, heated the air around them as the need to appease roared through him.
He slid his hands down her body, pulled her nipples between his fingers. Grabbing the soap, he lathered them both up, until they slid and moved against each other in a glide.
Her nails bit into his shoulders as he lifted her, bracing her against the tiled wall. He kissed her breast.
"I can’t take much more of this," he muttered against him.
The fear and anger clawed and taunted the lust in him.
He spread her with his fingers, flicked his thumb back and forth until her eyes clouded and she moaned.
"Please, Bray." She wrapped her legs and arms around him.
Brayden surged into her, their mutters and pleas mixing in the steam. She vined around him, vised all of him, until he couldn’t breath, couldn’t see, could only feel the tight pulsing of her inner muscles. He groaned and emptied himself into her, bracing one hand on the wall and praying they wouldn’t fall to the floor.
Under the heated spray of water, they washed away the horrors of the day.
* * * *
That had been too damn close.
Richard pulled his car up in front of the garage door.
How in the hell....
He leaned his head on the steering wheel. She could have died today. His Josephine could have been killed because she’d been with that man.
And Ivan.
Where the hell was the bastard? Stupidity was not a reason. Richard accepted no excuses only results.
He’d yet to get hold of the Lithuanian, but he would find him. The idiot was probably hiding. Smart, now that he thought of it. In his present frame of mind, Richard would probably kill the incompetent fool if he saw Ivan.
And Ivan would damn well do the job again--right this time--without a penny more.
Richard had paid him enough the last time, and for what?
A mistake. A costly, almost deadly mistake.
It would not happen again. Perhaps it was time to find a new tiger. A new man he could use. Someone with a bit more stomach for things that needed doing.
Richard wasn’t a fool, he knew Ivan did not like the jobs he did. It was that fearing stupidity again. If the man had only stepped back enough to question, he could have easily seen the lies.
Idiot.
Carefully, Richard let go of the steering wheel, his fingers cramped from holding it so tightly.
Everything had gone wrong today. First the son, then the father.
Jock should be dead. He’d planned it all so damn perfectly. He should have anticipated the fact Kaitlyn would have extra nitroglycerin pills. The woman was a retired doctor after all.
Sighing, he got out of the car. The cold air held a tint of wood smoke. Lights blinked from inside the windows. He called and let Estella know what was going on and where he was going.
She was worried about whether or not the party was still on tomorrow night. Shallow woman. If she only knew...
Not that she didn’t care about the Kinncaids. However, if the party were canceled, there were more career promoting events to attend. Ones, in which, she needed to inform the hostesses that they would be attending.
His career.
Richard ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps it would have been better if Josephine had died today. The thought pierced his heart.
When she’d walked into the room tonight, he’d wanted to take her away with him and take care of her.
Clean her up, fix her. She looked sad and tired. Not at all like Josephine was supposed to look.
But even exhausted, she hated him. He could see the fire of it in her eyes, burning the smoky color to pure mercury. There had been no fear. No fear until the end when she’d learned of Jock.
And she knew. She knew. Josephine wasn’t stupid. She knew him and the lengths he’d go to for her.
His love, his light, his reason ... dead?
No, no, regardless of the threat to his career, he couldn’t kill her.
He couldn’t, at least not yet. She was simply too precious to him.
Mr. Brayden Kinncaid, or any of the Kinncaids, however, were another matter entirely. Checking his watch, he took out his phone and dialed the number he’d gotten from a contact. It was time to find a man who would do what he wanted, when he wanted, and one who would do the job right.
* * * *
A man, brown haired, brown eyed with a neatly trimmed goatee, shifted through some of the rubble at the shop.
He’d asked questions of the firemen, the chief, the police and the medics. Everyone was all right, for the most part, if not a little shaken.
His insurance company needed all the pertinent facts for the report, he’d told them, flashing his ID, which sat beside the picture of a woman and a smiling child.
Yes, Robert Royson, representative of Oakly, Danze, and Rife Insurance, carefully jotted down things on his clipboard. For all those present, he was as he should be. An insurance man, checking out a claim.
A calm, quiet man, who was shaken at what he was seeing and wishing he were at home with the woman and child that several had glimpsed beside the perfect credentials.
But then, that was what they were supposed to see.
Brayden’s Hummer was still too hot to get close to, but he knew enough already that he didn’t need a firsthand look.
Oh, he’d like one, see the handy work, the switch used, the placement of wires, what type of materials were used. Each of those things told him a bit more and a bit more. All together, they were as telling as a person’s handwriting. If he saw the layout, the arrangement, he might know the man.
Those things would, at the very least, lead him to the bastard who dared to plant a damn bomb on this car.
With his head bent to the clipboard, he carefully, scanned the crowd. No one seemed out of place.
His contacts told him little more than he already knew and suspected.
Miss Christian Bills was not all she appeared to be, but then he already knew that, too.
It was by absolute chance he was here at all. He’d planned to come next week. But plans change, and he ended up having an appointment earlier today.
The news blurb on the radio, as he’d made his way to his hotel, was enough to draw his attention. The address had him pulling his car off at the nearest exit and thumping away information into his laptop.
Brayden Kinncaid and Christian Bills were lucky to be alive.
His pager vibrated.
He glanced down at the numbers. Well, they would just have to wait. He’d get back to them.
"Find everything you need?" a plainclothes cop asked.
He knew this one, remembered him from a few months back when Ryan and Tori had been kidnapped.
In a truly wonderful southern drawl, if he said so himself, he replied, "Why yes, yes, thank you." He scanned the mess around him. "It is amazing what some people will do, isn’t it?" He held out his hand.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name."
"Lieutenant Morris, of the DCPD."
Shrewd dark eyes assessed him and saw only what they were meant to see, at least, he hoped so.
"Robert Royson."
They shook hands.
"Lieutenant!" a uniform shouted drawing Morris’ attention.
"If you’re done here...." Morris let the sentence hang.
"Oh, I think I have enough for the report. If my superiors have a problem with it, I’m sure they’ll let me know." He clipped his pen to the clipboard. "Do you have a number I can call you at? In case of questions or something?"
Morris pulled out a card and gave it to him, before turning to see what the beat cop wanted.
With another scan of the crowd, Ian Kinncaid walked across the street and disappeared into the crowd.
He had a meeting to get to.