Chapter 15 #3
He tensed. “I want you. None of this can change that. And you can’t ever say anything like that to me again. Would you—could you—walk away from me so easily?”
Tears fell so swiftly that her face and chest were quickly wet with them. “No. Not anymore. But fuck. No wonder even Gideon isn’t leaving the penthouse. We’ve never had to deal with anything like this.”
“It will blow over, cher. I promise you that.”
They were quiet again on the way home, and she wondered what he was thinking.
Her mind was blanked with disbelief, her gaze catching ordinary New Yorkers rushing about their day.
She envied them that freedom. They weren’t trapped by threats or overly inquisitive strangers who felt entitled to having their questions answered.
It was entirely different returning to her building than it had been when they’d left.
She’d been excited then, feeling a little like she was playing hooky until they had stepped out under the wide-open sky and reality had penetrated her illusion.
Returning felt like failure. A retreat. And it went against her nature to back down.
It worried her that she felt such relief to exit the elevator on her floor.
Was she ever going to feel the confidence and ferocity that she once had?
Ronan unlocked the door and ushered her inside. Blizzard hurried over, circling her briefly before doing the same to Ronan. Dropping her Birkin on the kitchen island, she bowed her head with a sigh, hating that her beloved apartment now felt like confinement.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Ronan offered, coming behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “You should call the detectives.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she said flatly. “There’s a lot to be done at work.”
“And I can do much of it from here.” Releasing her, he moved to the refrigerator and opened it.
Her phone chimed with a distinctive, recognizable ring. Sighing, she went to her purse and pulled it out, reading the notification from the lobby.
Looking at her, Ronan set a carton of eggs on the counter. “Anything important?”
She shrugged; her emotions flattened after the wild chaos of before. “A courier dropped something off.”
“Would that be the dossiers?”
Ireland frowned. “I don’t know. I figured Gideon would just email those.”
“I’ll run down and get it.”
“That’s honestly the last thing I want to look at right now, Ronan. I think I need that action movie we didn’t get to last night instead.”
He gave her a patient look. “I can give them a look first. If you’d like my opinion.”
“Of course.”
Smiling, he rounded the island and paused in front of her. “I’ll be right back.”
He kissed her before leaving, and Ireland stared after him for a minute, unsure of what to do now that there was nothing she could do. She was still standing there, lost, when Ronan returned with a small square box in his hand.
“That doesn’t look like papers,” she noted, accepting the package.
Looking it over, she saw that the doorman had affixed the building’s intake sticker over any other information on it. She couldn’t have been less interested in the contents as she opened the unsealed box.
Her gasp as she dropped the package on the floor had Ronan looking up from where he stood in the kitchen.
“What is it?” he asked, alarmed, closing the distance between them in long, quick strides. He looked down at the floor and the gold bracelet that lay in the center of the box.
She stared at the jewelry, uncomprehending.
Ronan crouched, studying the items without touching them. He looked up at her. “This looks like the bracelet you were wearing at the masquerade. Is it? Ireland!” he snapped, standing. He caught her by the shoulders.
She met his gaze blankly, a silent scream echoing in her mind. “Yes.”
There was a smear of what looked to be dried blood on it.
Pulling out his phone, Ronan scrolled. “I’m calling the detective.”
But it began ringing in his hand before he could redial. He skipped the call and found the detective’s number in his recent calls. He hit the button to redial just as another call tried to come through. He ignored it again, waiting for Detective Jang to answer. Instead, he got her voicemail.
“Maudit,” he muttered, his phone ringing again. He answered on speaker with brisk anger. “This is McCaffrey.”
“Hello, Ronan. Did you give my gift to Ireland?”
The voice was the same as the one Detective Vega had played for her in the hospital. She tried to communicate that to Ronan, desperately pointing at his phone screen.
They both went still, Ireland’s heart pounding so violently she felt dizzy. He caught her by the arm and steered her to a barstool.
“Who is this?” he snapped.
“Is she with you? I was really hoping she’d pick it up from the doorman herself so I could get a better look at her, but you’re so gallant for having done so for her.”
Ireland looked at him, her lips parted with short, quick breaths.
“What do you want?” Ronan asked. “The ransom?”
“Hmmm… I mean, who wouldn’t? But then it wasn’t actually a ransom, was it? I wonder, would Cross be more likely to pay if I took Chris Vidal? What about little Lorenzo or adorable Serena?”
Shocked fury pierced Ireland’s numbing fear. “What the fuck do you want?” she screamed.
“Ah, there you are,” the voice singsonged happily. “I wonder what you’ll be wearing the next time we get together.”
“Why don’t you try me without your fucking goons?” Ireland countered, her voice pitched high and sharp, her body trembling.
The laughter that came through the speaker was chilling. “You sound a bit like your brother. Really, you two are turning out to be a lot more fun than I expected. We’ll talk soon.”
The call went dead.