Chapter 12 #3
The lack of segue between the questions was designed to trip him up, he knew, and so his returning look was as severe as the ones the detectives were directing his way. “I know he was one of Ireland’s abductors, thanks to the news. But non, I don’t know him.”
“Miller was previously incarcerated in Angola,” Vega said, too casually.
Ronan’s palms grew damp as he linked his fingers together to keep them immobile.
He knew coincidence was viewed with suspicion, and his father absolutely did not need to be pulled into something entirely unrelated to him.
Especially when they were so close to unearthing what they needed to reverse his wrongful conviction.
“Very few inmates ever get out of that place.”
“Detectives,” Jules drawled, laying his accent on especially thick.
“Ronan has told you he had nothing to do with Ms. Vidal’s kidnapping.
He’s emotionally and romantically involved with her and would never cause her harm.
And he’s stated that he doesn’t know anyone capable of harming her, either.
Unless you have pertinent questions, there’s nothing left to be said. ”
“Is your father aware that you’re dating Ireland Vidal?” Vega asked, focused on Ronan.
“It’s not a secret,” he answered.
“When did you last speak with him?”
“Thursday.”
“Did you tell him that you were inviting Ireland to travel with you?”
“Non.” Ronan resisted the urge to tap his foot. “As I said before, I told only my housekeeper.”
“What’s her name?” Jang asked, writing as he answered. “Would Marcelle tell anyone that Ireland was possibly visiting you? Any other staff or friends? Family members?”
“Pour l’amour de Dieu, you’re looking in the wrong direction,” he retorted bluntly.
“Have you talked with Graham Teller yet? Looked into any of the many people still angry with Cross for his father’s crimes?
Interviewed any musicians who’ve been critical of this company for any reason?
Looked at anyone else who might’ve been betrayed by Chris Vidal? ”
“The details of this investigation are being closely guarded,” Jang said calmly. “And we’re spearheading a larger task force covering many angles.”
Ronan bit back a sharp denunciation.
“Again,” Jules said, “there’s nothing left to be said. We have a great deal of work to do turning this company around, and we’ve spared as much time as we can.”
The detectives stood, and Vega set his half-filled mug on the edge of Ronan’s desk. “We may have more questions.”
“I pray you direct them to the right people,” Ronan shot back.
Jules extended his arm, and Ronan saw that he held a business card between his fingers. “You can reach Ronan through me.”
Taking the card, Jang read it before sticking it into her notepad. “Thank you for your time.”
Ronan watched as they left and then stood, filled with restless energy.
“Sacré bleu,” Jules breathed, looking more somber than Ronan could ever remember seeing him. “They may follow this all the way home.”
“I’m not worried about that. The Boudreauxes know how to deal with the police.”
Claudette appeared in the open doorway. She eyed them both. “From the looks on your faces, that went worse than anticipated.”
Ronan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I fear no one is looking for the actual people responsible for what Ireland has suffered. And she killed one of them. Will someone want vengeance for that?”
Jules threw up his hands. “You need to be worried about yourself, tête dure! If you’re standing in their way, they may also come after you.”
“Let them come,” he said grimly. “It may be the only way I’ll truly know she’s safe.”
Sliding her phone into her sling, Ireland gave her father a sheepish grin. “The doorman didn’t tell me you were coming up. It spooked me a little.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t even think about that. I stopped by Gideon’s first, before coming over.”
Lines of exhaustion and worry were etched into his forehead and around his mouth.
She noted that the grizzled auburn curls on his head were growing a little long.
Her mother had kept a standing barber appointment for him when they’d been together, but her father took far less care of himself as a single man.
“Oh. He’s not at work?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. When she pictured her brother, it was always in his office in the Crossfire. “I texted him earlier to call me. Anyway, come in! I’m glad you came by.”
As the door closed behind them, her father reached up to cup her face in both hands.
The smell of his subtle cologne was familiar and soothing. As awkward as it was with the sling between them, Ireland closed her eyes and absorbed the feeling of being held safely and with love. Emotion squeezed her heart painfully, and tears formed behind her closed eyelids.
“Eva says he’s sleeping now,” he answered, pressing his lips softly to her forehead.
Ireland opened her eyes. “I guess we’re all wiped out.”
“Yes. It’s good that she kept him home.” Releasing her, he stepped back. “He was stretched thinner than all of us the past few days. Until he’s well-rested and prepared, avoiding the media is wise.”
She frowned. “He has people to handle that stuff.”
“The usual inquiries, yes. Just as we do at Vidal. But reporters are camped out in front of the Crossfire, so he’d have to get past them coming and going.”
Her stomach clenched. “It’s that bad?”
Chris nodded somberly. “At this building, too. I guess if you came home through the garage, you would’ve missed seeing most of them. The building staff is doing a pretty good job of keeping the driveway clear.”
Ireland cringed. Considering how widely photographed and followed Gideon was, if Eva had him in hiding, the situation had to be intolerable. “What more do they want?”
“Your story,” he answered simply. “And as critical as the media has been of the way Gideon handled the situation, they want to know what his rationale was and if he helped or hurt the NYPD’s efforts.”
Feeling Blizzard’s soft fur against her bare feet and hearing his loud purring, Ireland pushed the horror of being globally famous as a victim into a dark corner of her mind. “What does that mean? How did he handle it?”
Her father’s expression sobered. “You haven’t been watching the news?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why do I have to watch the television to know what’s happening in my own life?”
“That’s a fair point, sweetheart.” He sighed heavily. “It would be better for us to get together as a family and talk everything through.”
“Sounds like a blast,” she muttered drily. Ireland was coming to realize that while she and her family had lived through the same event, each of them had experienced it very differently.
With a small smile, Chris chucked her softly beneath the chin. “There’s my little spark plug. I’m so damn happy you’re home safe. How are you feeling?”
“Tired, achy, a little stoned,” she said, repeating herself because it was easiest and covered the basics. “I’ll probably take a nap later.”
He crouched to give Bliz a good rub behind the ears. “Eva was on her way over when I got there. She’ll be by a little later, so you and I can have some time alone.”
“You want a cup of coffee? I could certainly use one.”
Standing, he told her, “Let me take care of it.”
They walked to the kitchen together, his gaze roaming as he took in her open living area.
“You’ve got a lot of friends,” he noted, eyeing the dozens of bouquets arranged in groupings on nearly every flat surface.
She kept her expression and tone light. “They’re all from Ronan, Dad.”
The tempo of his steps faltered as he glanced at her, but then he continued into the kitchen. With his back to her and his attention on pulling two mugs from the cupboard, he said, “You were just on the phone with him, too.”
“I was, yes.”
“You really like him.”
“I do. I struggle with it because of what he’s done and how you two feel about each other, but… He’s really good to me. I like how I feel when I’m with him.”
Chris loaded the single-serve coffee machine and put a mug beneath the spout. He activated the brewing, then turned to the refrigerator. Pulling it open, he paused before grabbing her favorite creamer. “You’ve got enough food in here to feed our entire family.”
“Ronan stocked the kitchen.” She slid carefully onto one of the barstools at the island.
As the coffeemaker began to hiss and gurgle, her father turned to face her. “He must spend a lot of time here.”
Blizzard jumped up onto the stool next to her to reach the counter, then strolled across the island to gain Chris’s attention.
“Recently, yes,” she admitted. “He looked after Bliz—and my laundry and groceries—while I was…gone.”
With his attention on petting her cat, her father said, “He must be planning on spending a lot more time here if he’s stocking this much food.”
The pads of her fingers rubbed restlessly across the countertop.
“He actually has something of an eating disorder after growing up not knowing when his next meal would be. You might’ve noticed he’s lost weight since you first saw him.
He says he can eat when he and I are together, but he otherwise struggles to when he’s away from home. ”
Chris looked up and caught her gaze, giving her a cynical smile. “The Boudreauxes are one of the wealthiest families in the South, Ireland. Getting enough to eat would never be a problem for them.”
“They didn’t find Ronan until later in life. Before that, he grew up in what sounds like extreme poverty.”
Her father just stared at her for a long minute. Then his eyes closed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “They found him and weaponized him.”
“What do you mean?” When he didn’t answer right away, Ireland exhaled harshly. “Dad, you have to tell me what happened. You said you knew someone who looked like Ronan. Was it his father, Lucas?”