Chapter 2 #3
It has to be a recently restored, absolutely stunning historic 1800s Gallier Creole-style building.
I try not to gape at the wraparound balcony on the second floor and the private fenced-in courtyard.
If I were to get my own place, it would be something like this.
Right in the center of the bustling city I love so much.
Smaller than the estate we used to own, but so New Orleans that it makes my heart squeeze.
Elizabeth takes several deep breaths and plasters a smile on her face as we step up to the front door.
She ruffles her hair and checks her makeup in her phone camera.
I should probably do the same, but I honestly don’t care.
All I can think about is getting home and sleeping for at least twelve hours.
I do check my phone to see if there are any updates from Mr. Broussard, but there’s only a Supernatural meme from Yasmine and a request to finally let her loop Reggie into my investigation.
I wish I could, but I don’t want to drag anyone else into my mess besides the ones I already have.
At least not until we have something more concrete.
My father strides to the front door and knocks imperiously, his complexion turning increasingly gray, which makes me frown. What could he possibly have to be worried about? He steps into the light, and I swear he has bruises under his eyes.
Walking a few feet behind Elizabeth, I resolve to keep my cool. I won’t let anything that happens get to me. Chances are, tonight will have nothing to do with my mother. I’ll survive a boring dinner, then pore over the folder Mr. Broussard gave me to see if it contains any leads.
Soon, an older woman with soft brown hair and a round face answers the door and immediately welcomes us in. “Senator Gallagher, so glad you could make it. He is waiting for you in the dining room. If you’ll follow me?”
It’s a trap. My instincts scream at me to make an excuse and get the fuck away, but Elizabeth has a death grip on my arm, so all I can do is follow them.
Legs leaden. Heart racing. Something inside me senses it despite there being no outward threat.
I tell myself I’m being foolish, but I keep my guard up, just in case.
Whoever this guy is, he must be important.
Pondering this and who the mysterious host could be, I follow Elizabeth as the older woman, who introduces herself as Frances, welcomes us into a small foyer.
The walls are distressed plaster over exposed brick in an aged cream color for most of the shared left wall.
Directly in front of us is a narrow set of stairs, and beyond that, another doorway and what looks like a mudroom.
Elizabeth’s shoes echo on the slate flooring as we move deeper inside, passing a roomy kitchen with lots of windows, more exposed brick, and another sea of slate floors.
We march in a single file behind Frances because the tight space of the hallway doesn’t offer room for much else.
I, naturally, fall in line at the back. Father disappears through the open double doors to our right, behind Frances, and then Elizabeth.
I hesitate in the hall, something forcing my steps to a halt, somehow knowing that if I step over the threshold, something terrible waits on the other side.
I could turn around and flee. Should give up this fruitless search and live my life.
But I stride forward, resolute, through the threshold.
With a sharp eye for detail, I scan my surroundings for clues about the mysterious dinner host but find nothing.
When I drag my attention back to my father for a quick assessment, I nearly curse under my breath.
The tension in his shoulders could practically snap his spine. That’s how on edge he is.
“Gallagher,” comes a smooth, rumbling drawl to our right, toward what I assume is the kitchen entrance. He must have been in a corner not visible from the hallway. Had he watched us come in? Why hadn’t he introduced himself first?
Then I recognize the voice.
One with a lilting, musical Irish accent that’s been a frequent star in my dreams.
No.
“I’m so pleased you could make it.”
My heart does a sickening flip in my chest and damn near breaks through my ribs. Elizabeth draws away from me as Father tugs her forward. I try to hold her hand because it’s the only thing keeping me upright, but she pulls free of my grasp, and I breathe deeply so I don’t pass out.
“Of course,” Father answers. “I’d like to introduce you to my daughters. This is Elizabeth, my youngest.” A pause, reluctance. “And her older sister, Catriona.”
Turning slowly, I squeeze my eyes together and pray to a God I don’t believe in that I’m wrong.
That stress is telling me the voice is familiar.
But it’s not. It can’t be. There’s no way he can be here right now.
I would have known. Why the fuck didn’t I insist on knowing who we were going to meet tonight?
Why hadn’t it ever occurred to me that he and Father could be more connected than a simple real estate transaction?
I finally muster up the balls to open my eyes.
A low buzzing fills my ears. My hands go clammy, and I brush my palms against my thighs.
I’d run, but Frances is already closing the double doors to the hallway, and his tall, broad frame occupies the only other exit to the kitchen.
Unless I want to smash through the doors like the Hulk, I’m trapped.
Father urges a trembling Elizabeth forward, and she bobs her head as she allows the man to take her hand and bring it to his lips.
The first thought that comes to my panicking mind falls woefully short of my horror.
Fuck.
At my whispered curse—Did I say that out loud?—his familiar eyes, so light blue they’re almost pure silver, lift to mine as he kisses my sister’s fingers. He raises a brow, the only sign at all that he recognizes me.
It’s then, with equal amounts of crystal-clear clarity and sick horror, that I realize the purpose behind tonight’s impromptu meeting, and why it’s going to be an unmitigated disaster.
Above all, Father values connections, and he hasn’t made it a secret that he views Elizabeth and me as pawns to move around at his pleasure. I wouldn’t put it past him to use one of us to further his interests.
And that’s something I can never allow to happen.
Because the man extending to his full height with Elizabeth’s hand in his isn’t a stranger at all.
In fact, he’s been haunting my increasingly dark and dangerous dreams for months—ever since I left him sleeping in the messy sheets of the bedroom where he spent an entire night punishing me for crashing his party. A punishment I’ll never be able to force from my memory. Not that I’ve wanted to.
Clearly, expecting him to disappear from my life was a big mistake.
Huge.