Chapter 18 Tristan
EIGHTEEN
TRISTAN
Calder's office is exactly what I expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking grounds he clearly doesn't give a shit about. A shiny mahogany desk, leather chairs that look like they've never been sat in, and a fully stocked minibar. There's also a pool table in the other corner of the room.
The type of office that reeks of power.
I know it all too well. That's the kind of setup I have in New York.
This place isn't a house. It's a mansion perched on a massive cliffside, surrounded by endless green.
A beautiful cage, inside and out.
He's sitting behind the desk when Marchand shows me in, reading something on his tablet and in no hurry to look up. He'd rather I stand here while he finishes whatever the fuck he's pretending to read.
It's a test. I guarantee he's watching me through the cameras in this room.
I keep my eyes forward but try to pick out anything I can from my peripheral vision. Cameras in each corner. A metal filing system by his desk, likely locked.
The wedding ring on his finger.
My jaw aches from how hard I'm clenching my teeth.
He's smaller than I expected. Pale skin. Thinning hair. Wearing a gray sweater and dark slacks. He doesn't care what he looks like because people give him whatever he wants.
I'm going to enjoy killing this asshole. Either in his bed or in this room. Maybe I'll be kind and let him choose.
After about five minutes, he sets the tablet down and gestures to the chair across from him.
"Sit."
No greeting. No apology. His time is the only one with any value here, not mine.
I keep my posture relaxed but professional as I take a seat. Calder leans back, studying me with a certain disinterested look on his face.
"Henri Trottier," he says, a terrible French accent rolling off his tongue. "Former Légion étrangère. Specialized in close protection and tactical operations. You came highly recommended."
"Oui, monsieur," I reply.
"Your credentials are impressive. But we know they can be fabricated."
"If you'd like to verify them further, I understand completely."
His winks. "I already have."
He probably ran my background three times before approving my hire, and he's still looking for cracks.
He can exhaust all his efforts. He won't find shit. I made sure of that when I took care of the real Henri.
"You've been here three days," he continues. "The other men seem to think you know what you're doing."
"I do, monsieur."
"Confident."
"Competent," I correct.
That gets a smile. "I like that. Confidence without arrogance."
He stands, moving to the window with his hands clasped behind his back like he's posing for a portrait.
"My investigators are very thorough, Henri. When I'm considering bringing someone into my inner circle, I don't just run background checks. I have them followed and watched for weeks."
It's a good thing I showed up so late. Maybe I'll be learning a thing or two about Henri as well.
"Lyon is a beautiful city." He turns slightly. "Lots of culture. Nightlife. My team tells me you enjoy the nightlife quite a bit. Specifically…" He arches a brow at me. "The gay bars near Vieux Lyon. Am I right?"
Oh crap. Well, I seem to have missed that one tiny detail about Henri liking dick. Likely because Cat didn't tail him the way Calder’s people did.
This could actually work out beautifully for me.
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head while forcing a blush. "Ah, merde. I should have known you'd be thorough."
Calder's eyes sharpen. "So it's true."
"Oui, monsieur. I'm gay. I hope that is not a problem."
He stares at me with a blank expression, likely trying to unsettle me. When I don't budge, he smiles wide.
"Not at all. In fact, it's ideal."
This is pure gold, and I didn't even plan it.
"I have very specific security needs, Mr. Trottier," he says, moving into the next prepared speech. "This estate is not just a home. It's a fortress. And the people inside it are valuable to me."
Valuable.
Like property he's acquired and needs to keep secure.
"My wife." The way he says that makes me want to rip out his balls right here. "Has been quite unsettled lately."
I don't react.
"She's been through a lot. Unfortunately, she doesn't respond well to change. I'm very protective of her, as I'm sure you understand."
I understand perfectly.
I understand that he's a lying piece of shit and every word out of his mouth is designed to establish ownership.
"Of course, monsieur."
"I need someone I can trust. Someone who won't be swayed or grow comfortable over time. This team is great, but some of my men are too focused on other aspects of the job and stop noticing the little things." He pauses. "And some of them…develop inappropriate attachments."
There it is.
"I prefer fresh energy around my wife. Someone observant. Someone not burdened by familiarity." His smile sharpens. "Someone who won't be distracted by her."
Every nerve in my body ignites.
If only you knew, you stupid fuck.
Calder thinks Henri's sexuality makes him docile. The perfect guard dog for a wife he's terrified might slip through his fingers—close enough to watch her, neutered enough to never want her.
He just made all this so much easier for me.
"Starting tomorrow," he continues, "you'll rotate to interior security. Your primary assignment will be my wife. You'll shadow her. Watch her. Report anything unusual directly to me. Actually, I want to hear everything—unusual or not. I want daily reports on Keira."
"Understood, monsieur."
"Keira has a tendency to withdraw. I don't like that. I want to know where she goes. What she does. Who she speaks to." His eyes lock onto mine. "Everything."
"Of course."
He moves closer, perching on the edge of his desk.
"Let me be very clear, Henri. My wife is not well. She's fragile. Prone to disturbing episodes. Sometimes she forgets where she is. Who she belongs to."
I think I might pull out every one of his teeth first. Then his nails. Yeah, that would be fun. Maybe brand him while I'm at it.
"Your job is to remind her that we care about her and that the world outside these walls is dangerous for someone with her condition. I'm only trying to keep her safe."
Gaslighting her. Isolating her. Breaking her down piece by piece until she believes she's too weak to survive without him.
"I understand, monsieur."
"Good." He straightens, already dismissing me. "Marchand will brief you on the details."
"Thank you."
"Oh, and one last thing." He pauses, like he's savoring this part. "Her access to my son will be limited until her health improves."
He's not your fucking son.
"Will he require my supervision as well?"
"No. Hale has his own team. But I need you to ensure Keira doesn't visit him unless I specifically authorize it. She becomes too emotional and it's not good for the boy."
Hearing the name lands like a bullet straight to my heart.
My middle name.
The same one she jokingly claimed as her own forever ago.
She remembered. She meant it.
And when our son took his first breath, she gave him the only piece of me she could.
A name Calder will never understand.
Every bitter thing I've carried over the years—the resentment, the rage, the certainty I thought I knew—all of it starts to splinter. Fractures spreading through iron I thought was solid.
I was wrong.
I was so fucking wrong.
And the first time I'm hearing my son's name is here. In this room. From the mouth of the man who stole him from me. The same bastard who's now using him as leverage to control the woman who loved me enough to leave a trail I'd eventually find.
I want to reach across the desk and crush his windpipe.
"Understood, monsieur."
"Good." Calder straightens, satisfied. "Just remember that if you develop any confusion about your role here, I'll know. And it won't end well for you."
I hold steady under his stare. "I'm here to do a job, monsieur. Nothing more."
"That is all."
I stand, keeping every muscle in my body locked down tight.
Because if I don't, I'll kill him right here.
And that's not the plan.
The hallway is empty when I step out.
My pulse is hammering. My jaw aches. I need to punch something so badly.
He thinks he's so fucking clever. Hiring a gay man to watch his wife because he assumes there's no threat. No possibility of distraction or desire.
He has no idea who I am.
No idea what I'm capable of.
No idea that the man he just gave unrestricted access to Keira is the same man who's been hunting her for months.
The irony is so perfect it's almost funny.
Marchand appears at my elbow. "Boss give you the rundown?"
"Oui."
"Interior duty." He grins. "Lucky bastard. Beats freezing your ass off on patrol."
"Guess so."
"Fair warning though—Mrs. Calder's a bit off. Keeps to herself. Doesn't talk much. Just does what she's told and stays out of the way, for the most part. Things can get a bit rough with the two of them. Try to tune it out when it happens."
I stop walking. "What do you mean?"
He looks full of regret for running his mouth when he probably shouldn't have. "It's honestly nothing. Just marriage shit, you know?"
Does what she's told.
Stays out of the way.
The Keira I knew would've slit his throat in his sleep.
Marchand claps me on the shoulder. "Come on. I'll show you the interior routes."
I follow him down the hall, my mind already racing three steps ahead.
Tomorrow I'll be close enough to see if there's anything left of the woman I used to know.