Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I want to drag her to the vehicle and back to New York, but I have no right. This is her inheritance, her house, her life.
It isn’t my place. Especially when my presence here has gotten in her way.
“If you won’t come with us, head to Portland,” I say, almost pleading with her now. “Just for a few days. Enough time to let the clown who left that note know we’re gone. You read it,” I whisper. “He wants you out of the way so he can face me alone. I’ll stay here and watch the house, and wait for—”
She reaches up, grazing my jaw and silencing me.
“You, Kane,” she says, “are an adorably dumb Saint.”
“Margot—”
“I’m not leaving yet. This is my house, and I’ll stick it out until I find whatever Gramps hid behind that glass door. Maybe I’m not Army trained or whatever like you, but we have the security system, and I know this town. I’d be crazy to bow out now.”
“Just a few days. Less than a week,” I mutter.
It’s a losing battle, but I have to try.
“That’s a no from me. If you’re so determined to come back here and help before some unhinged weirdo follows you home, then so am I.”
Damn, I hate her logic.
If there’s one thing you learn in the Army, it’s knowing when to make a tactical retreat, and that time is now.
“Fine, duchess,” I growl, kissing the tip of her nose. “Stay here and check in with me. I’m coming right back.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a few hours,” she promises.
“Every half hour. Text me, or I’ll call the cops,” I tell her, holding her gaze until she nods. “I need to wait with them until they’re on that jet, but I’ll be back ASAP.”
She pats my cheek.
“Go,” she says. “And when you’re done, come back so we can tie this up. Everything.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate.
I don’t want to leave her, but there’s no damn choice.
The sooner I get them off to Portland, the quicker I can be back here, ready to face the storm.
“You know I will,” I whisper.
With a parting glance, I give her one last kiss.
Then I grab the kids’ luggage, lead them outside, and leave her standing in the middle of the living room, watching us from the door.
21
HOME ALONE (MARGOT)
In front of Kane and the kids, it was easy to look fearless and chill.
That’s what you do when you’re a mature adult who gets how important it is to look brave for everybody else.
But alone?
I’m a plucked chicken.
Being on my own doesn’t usually bother me, but tonight, it’s terrifying.
All the doors and windows are locked, of course, but I still patrol the house, triple-checking to make sure they’re holding up and haven’t mysteriously moved.
Thankfully, Holden did a good job when he’d stop in to check the place, tightening the locks and checking window seals.
“Right down to the last hinge, Miss Blackthorn,” he tells me now over the phone.
Yes, you know it’s bad when I’ve called up Gramps’ ice-cold former bodyguard for company. I used a made-up loose door as an excuse.
“Anything you need checked again? Say the word, and I can be there this week. I’d rather earn my keep, seeing how the old man was so generous to keep me paid.” His voice is so low—almost scorched—I think he could give Kane competition in the smolder department.
“Holden, no way. What did Ethan tell you last time?” I smile, knowing he’s the only one who ever got away with calling PopPop ‘old man.’
“Relax.” He spits it like it’s a cursed word.
“Uh-huh. So you should listen. It’s totally gorgeous this fall, why don’t you take your daughter out to an orchard or something? Perfect bonding weather, even for a guy who sleeps in his suit.”
“I do not.” He snorts.
“Say, while I’ve got you, though, you’re positive he never mentioned anything weird here? Like, no secret storm shelters, no stained glass? No weird paintings or sculptures with baby shoes?”
“Miss Blackthorn, no. You’re being evasive. I can’t help you if we’re playing this game. When did you decide you were done being the easy one?”
“Hey, man, I’m messing with you. If I need your help, I’ll ask.” I smile and sigh. “But isn’t this better than getting in the middle of Ethan’s fake engagement? Or whatever Gramps left for Cleo? I bet that’ll be fun.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Don’t make me regret choosing you over your reckless cousin and your punk-ass brother,” he snarls. I swallow a laugh, remembering how much trouble they used to cause when we’d stay. “However, come to think of it, you mentioned baby shoes. There was one time.”
“Yeah?” I wait, holding my breath.
“It was years ago, back when you were kids. I walked into Mr. Blackthorn’s library in Portland with a tray of black tea we’d occasionally share and found him distraught. He had this little mangled clay object, and he was muttering to himself, clearly frustrated.”