Chapter 11
Asoft knock pulled Lena from her dreams. She checked her phone. Six-thirty in the morning. The knock sounded again.
"Come in," she said.
The door cracked open. "Sorry to wake you," he said. "I made some breakfast. Wish I could let you sleep in, but it's best if you get back to the house before Delphine shows up."
Memories from last night crashed through her. And Nash's expression told her she wasn't hiding her terror very well.
"I'm going with you," he said. "I didn't mean that you would be alone.
I just don't want Delphine getting suspicious.
I don't know if she's involved in anything that happened last night, but I don't trust her.
It will make sense for me to be at the house this morning.
I need to turn in receipts to Delphine from the car being serviced yesterday.
And then I'll find some other excuse to stay in the main house while you take a shower or whatever you want to do. I won't leave you there alone."
Her eyes felt swollen. And raw. Her body did not feel rested. Her head bobbed along as he talked. She was not looking forward to facing a mirror. Did he say something about a shower?
"I made coffee," he said.
"Thank you. Coffee sounds wonderful." Just the word perked her up.
"Delphine usually shows up a little before eight, so come eat some breakfast, and then we can head over to the house."
The whole morning would have appeared spectacularly uninteresting to the casual observer.
Lena poured her second cup of coffee for the morning in Emil's kitchen while Nash invented reasons to stay in the main house.
He turned in his receipts and told Delphine he was going to stick around to fix a sink clog in the hallway bath.
"The sink is clogged?" She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Yes, but it's not a problem. If you call a plumber, they won't come all the way out here till tomorrow at the earliest. But I can fix it."
Delphine looked relieved. And totally convinced he could fix a clogged sink. Which Lena was sure he could, if one was actually clogged.
Nash busied himself under the sink in the hallway bath for an hour—doing what, she had no idea—while Lena got ready. When his ruse with the plumbing had played its part, Lena walked to the bathroom doorway with Nutmeg on the leash.
"I'm going to take Nutmeg on a walk down the beach," she said to Nash, knowing Delphine was probably listening.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked. "I don't have anything to do today until the party tomorrow night."
"Sure," she answered.
She'd assumed Delphine was listening, but her sudden appearance in the hallway startled Lena.
"Oh, hello. Good morning," she said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Good morning, Miss Erickson. Ms. Van Horn is on the phone in my office. She'd like to speak to you for a few minutes."
"Oh, of course," said Lena. She glanced at Nash. "Be right back."
Nutmeg did not look pleased to be walking into Delphine's office, but he didn't have a choice. "We'll go outside in a minute, Nutmeg. I need to talk to your mama."
"Line two," said Delphine.
"Thank you." Lena picked up the receiver on Delphine's tidy desk and pressed two.
Victoria Van Horn spewed dozens of specific questions about Nutmeg's activities and well-being.
Her warm tone and genuine concern about her fur baby made Lena feel like in another reality—where she wasn't an Ashworth and Victoria wasn't a Van Horn—they could actually be friends.
Lena answered all her questions about how much Nutmeg had slept, where he'd played, what toys he'd preferred in the past twenty-four hours, whether his skin seemed itchy or his eyes looked bloodshot, how many treats he'd eaten, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
She left out the part about her fur baby finding a dead body. Victoria Van Horn would have passed out if she ever knew. Nutmeg seemed fine. No reason to worry his mama.
After convincing Victoria that Nutmeg was doing well, she hung up the phone. Delphine had been occupying herself with something on her computer. But when Lena turned to leave, she cleared her throat.
"Miss Erickson," she whispered.
"Yes?"
She nodded toward the hallway. "You don't need to pretend around me. I know what's going on."
Oh, no. Dread slithered down her spine. What did Delphine know? How should she react? Should she race to Nash?
Delphine didn't yell, or attack, or accuse, or whatever Lena was afraid she'd do. Emil's house manager grinned.
"I know about you and Mr. Stone."
"Oh?" What did that mean, exactly?
"I know you spent the night at his apartment last night. The guards told me you left his apartment early this morning." She actually giggled. "That was quick. But I can't blame you. He's very good-looking."
Part of her wanted to correct Delphine's assumptions—because she would never spend a night the way Delphine assumed—but if she corrected her, what would she say? Maybe the assumption was a gift—a bizarre, awkward gift.
"Yeah, well . . . is it against the rules?" asked Lena.
Delphine shrugged. "I've never heard Mr. Van Horn say staff couldn't date each other.
I wouldn't worry about it." She giggled again.
"By the way, the clothes for the party tomorrow are being chosen by the boutique owner at the Mandeville.
A few appropriate choices will be sent over this afternoon.
The party is tomorrow at seven, so that gives you plenty of time to try them on. "
"Wow, um, thank you."
"Enjoy your walk on the beach," she said with a wink.
Lena felt herself blush. Why was she actually blushing?
Five minutes later, Nutmeg was wildly pleased to be scampering around on the sand.
He showed intense interest in every shell or piece of driftwood they walked past. Or tried to walk past. Keeping him moving was a challenge.
And when they came upon a dead fish, there was no moving him. So Lena let him sniff for a minute.
"So, I should tell you that Delphine . . . she knows I spent the night at your apartment last night. She said the guards told her they saw me leaving early this morning."
Surprise and concern sprouted all kinds of lines on his forehead. "Really? What else did she say?"
Lena wished it was possible to command her face not to blush, but she could feel the warmth creeping up her cheeks. She'd be a terrible poker player.
"She doesn't suspect we're investigating anything. She didn't bring up anything like that. And she definitely didn't mention . . ." Lena couldn't force the words. "What we found in the flower bed last night. She thinks . . . she thinks you and I are a thing."
She couldn't read his reaction.
"I see." He rubbed his jaw. "Well, if that doesn't make you feel uncomfortable, it's a good idea.
I mean, it's a good cover for us spending time together.
I don't trust any of Emil's staff. And after last night, I don't want you spending time alone in that house.
So if Delphine wants to think we're having a summer fling, it gives us a solid cover. "
"I see your point," she said, sounding very matter-of-fact about fake-dating the wall of muscle standing next to her and pretending her stomach wasn't doing a weird flip-flop thing.
He was right, of course, and it made sense. And that's the only reason he's suggesting it, she reminded herself. It's not because he wants to get to know you. It's just because they both need to maintain a solid cover.
"About the party tomorrow . . ." An unfamiliar stress tinged his tone.
"What about it?"
His jaw tightened.
She knew they were in the middle of a dangerous situation. But didn't he do this thing for a living? He seemed overly tense.
"Is everything okay? Did you hear something on those bugs or whatever that you planted?"
He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction at her question. That wasn't the source of his concern.
"Yes. Best I can tell, there are four guards aboard the boat.
Which is excessive if it's really just a billionaire and his girlfriend enjoying the Caribbean.
The jewels may be there. Or maybe he fears for his own safety for other reasons.
We'll learn a lot at the party. And hopefully talk to Cassidy. "
He stopped a few feet ahead of her while she tried to pull Nutmeg away from a half-eaten apple.
When she caught up to him, he tugged on her sleeve until she met his eyes. "Hey."
"What's wrong? Something's bothering you. And it's starting to freak me out. What aren't you telling me?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw tensed.
"I'm not trying to scare you. But I do have concerns about tomorrow night.
I need you to do exactly what I ask you to do at the party.
I may not sound polite about it in the moment.
I'm used to directing operatives, not . .
." He apparently didn't know how to describe her.
"So, even when I get bossy, follow my direction.
Believe me, I'm just trying to keep you and Cassidy safe.
You're a higher priority than finding the jewels or catching Emil.
But I'd really like to do all of those things. "
"I told you I would follow your lead," she said.
He looked straight through her. It made her feel safe and vulnerable at the same time.
"You didn't mean it when you said it earlier."
The truth stung.
Firm commando bravado and confusing desperation merged in his gaze.
"Nash . . . You're right. I didn't. But I know you better now. I trust you. You don't have to worry."
"I know trust doesn't come easy to you. I'm honored."
He meant that. And his sincerity sent warmth cascading through her.
She needed to change the mood.
"I'll follow your lead tomorrow night. Even if you're bossy."
She thought he'd smile at that, but something painful flitted across his face.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing." He gave a tight nod. "Thank you."
Nutmeg pulled toward the waves, veering their walk closer to the water.
"I'm going to get my feet wet," she said. She tossed her flip-flops out of the tide's reach and let her feet absorb the warmth from the soft sand.
Nutmeg eyed the waves like they were friends just out of reach.
"Okay, Nutmeg. I'm going to let you off the leash. Don't make me regret it."
He darted to the water, chasing an outgoing wave. Then the tide turned, literally, and chased him back onto the beach.
Nash's deep chuckle carried over the salty breeze. "Furball wants to play chase but doesn't want to get wet."
Lena padded from dry ground to the wet, squishy sand and finally into the waves. Her toes sank into the ocean floor. Why does this feel so good? Maybe it was soothing. Or grounding. Or maybe it reminded her that the Creator of the vast, violent, overwhelming ocean was also very close and calming.
Nash shed his shoes and joined her.
The perfect beach setting felt like utopia for a full two minutes until she sensed Nash's silence held something serious.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He waded farther into the water, almost knee-deep. "It's gorgeous out here. This was a good idea. We have some time to kill today. Might as well enjoy the beach."
He was going for casual and positive, but she wasn't buying it.
"You can be honest with me, you know?" She side-stepped a piece of driftwood riding on an incoming wave. "You seem worried. If you lie to me about what you're concerned about, it only scares me more. I'd feel better if you just told me."
A confusing combination of appreciation and sadness swirled in his gaze.
"Everything is fine, Lena, really." The receding waves dragged the driftwood back toward them.
He picked it up and threw it onto the beach.
"Didn't mean to worry you. Sorry. I'm just thinking through the plan for tomorrow. Nothing to worry about."
She was sure that wasn't the whole story, but she sensed his confidence again—the unwavering, efficient, skilled warrior. And that was enough. For now.