Chapter 27
KATE
By the time we’re crossing the drive, I’ve vowed to forget the rotten hunk of meat that used to be Jeremy Collins. Best did what my own da would do if he found a man ruining the Crew’s good name. Best probably showed more mercy, only taking his gun out at the end.
But the way Collins blubbered… The way he actually thought Best might set him free…
He couldn’t always have been such an eejit, or he never would have made it as a Seal. Gambling does strange things to a man.
Stepping into the foyer, I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years in the past four days. When I turn to Cole, his face says he feels the same. In some ways—a lot of ways—everything that happened in New York was harder on him.
“Kate, dear? Is that you?” My grandmother’s voice floats out from the parlor.
“Yes, Granny.” I do my best to lighten my voice. By the time Cole and I have walked down the hall, I’ve remembered how to paste on a smile.
Mrs. Watson stands as we enter. “We’ve been holding dinner until you got home,” she says. “Nilsson said you’d be here almost three hours ago.”
“Bad weather in New York,” I say, crossing the room to kiss Granny’s cheek.
“That’s a lovely suit you’re wearing, a chroí. Something new?”
“Cole decided to spoil me.”
The look Granny shoots his way is pure skepticism. She knows clothes will never be the path to my heart. But she asks, “You had a good trip, dear?”
“I…”
I’m supposed to lie. I’m supposed to make up a story for why we’ve been gone since Tuesday. We went to the Met and a Broadway show. We climbed the Statue of Liberty. We…
“We shouldn’t keep Anna waiting any longer than we already have,” Cole says.
Granny doesn’t miss a thing. The twist of her lips is tighter than ever.
But Cole offers her his arm. “Now tell me what you’ve been doing while we were gone. How long did it take you to solve the crossword puzzle this morning?”
Granny allows herself to be distracted, at least until we get to the dining room. I wince as I take my seat at the table.
“Kate?” Granny asks. There’s a volume of questions in the one word.
“I’m fine, Granny,” I say quietly.
I watch her make a conscious decision not to press.
Before I can wrestle another topic of conversation into the open, Anna comes in from the kitchen.
She’s boiled finger-long shrimp and made a green salad and baked cottony dinner rolls, the kind that are slathered in butter.
Beefsteak tomatoes cover a serving plate in thick slices.
For just a moment, I need to look away from the red as dark as blood.
Granny says to Anna, “Is Breagha out there in the kitchen with you?”
“No, ma’am,” Anna says. “I haven’t seen her since lunch. She said she had a bit of a headache. I think she was going to lie down.”
The hair rises on the back of my neck. Breagha doesn’t get headaches. And she doesn’t miss meals. Exhausted or not, I start to push back my chair, but Cole stands first. “I’ll get her,” he says.
“I—” I start to argue.
“Sit.”
He’ll move faster than I can. I stay in my chair.
Anna fusses with a serving spoon, shifting its angle beneath the shrimp. Granny fidgets with her napkin. Mrs. Watson peers out the window into the night.
“Were the men on guard at the gate when you came in?” she asks me. “Earlier tonight, there seemed to be only one on duty.”
“I think they had some sort of staff meeting,” I manage to lie. “Drew mentioned something about a skeleton crew for a couple of hours.”
Cole comes back to the room. “She’s not there,” he says.
This time, he doesn’t argue with me when I push back my chair. I take the stairs faster than I should. My head feels like it’s floating near the ceiling by the time I reach the green guest room.
Breagha’s bed is made perfectly, the comforter looking like it’s never been disturbed. Her closet is filled with all her favorite dresses, candy shades of blue and pink and yellow. Her shoes are lined up in a perfect row.
I go into the jacks.
Her toothbrush is missing.
Back in Breagha’s closet, I realize I can’t find her green dress, the one with the bow across the arse that she says makes her look like a bridesmaid. Her white ballet slippers that belong at the end of the row are also gone.
I start opening drawers at random—her nightstand, the armoire, the desk that sits in the corner of her room. I pull back her comforter. I throw her pillows to the floor.
Cole fills the doorway. “What—”
“She’s gone.”
“She can’t be gone.”
“She took her toothbrush and her favorite dress.”
“Took them? Where?”
“I don’t have any fucking idea!”
I whip out my mobile. I turned it off before we went into the meeting with Fournier because I didn’t want to interrupt Cole’s business. I’ve spent most of the last three days sleeping. My brain was too muddled by the stress of getting to the airport to even consider going online during the flight.
It takes forever for the phone to come to life.
There’s a glut of emails, the usual spam.
There’s a message from Fiona Moran, asking me to call her.
And there’s a string of texts from Breagha.
Breagha
Don’t hate me
Nate’s meeting me at the courthouse
He’s had the license for weeks
We’re doing this today so you can’t stop me
Be happy for me
I love you
Now I’m Mrs. Nathan Cohen