Chapter 30
Ethan: I’ll be home at five. What about you? Dinner plans?
Jamie
Reading Ethan’s text message makes my stomach tighten uncomfortably. I only moved in with him yesterday, but suddenly he’s using words like ‘home’ and ‘plans’ like we’re a permanent couple. Like he expects my toothbrush to stay in his bathroom and my clothes in his drawers. Like I belong with him.
I swallow down my ridiculous wave of nerves and fire back a reply.
Jamie: Can’t commit. Might go on a high-speed chase or arm wrestle a biker gang. I’ll keep you posted.
Ethan: Okay. You should know Marcus is making his world-famous chocolate peanut butter pie.
Ugh. He’s dangling a temptation that no mere mortal could resist.
Ethan knows my weakness. I’m the kid in the movie with the injured leg, and he’s the evil fighter who’s determined to sweep it out from under me.
I toss my phone onto my desk and groan. “I feel like I’m being domesticated.”
Kayla glances up from her desk, her eyebrow cocked. “What?”
“Nothing.” I nod at her experiment. She poured some of the red ink I stole from Princess Ulrika's desk over a test photo, and now she’s comparing it to the ink on the photo that was posted to Ethan. "Well?" I ask. "Is it a match?"
Kayla shakes her head. “The ink’s not quite dry. Give it another minute.” When I make an impatient sound, she rolls her eyes at me. “This isn't CSI. I can't magically compare samples in thirty seconds while dramatic music plays."
I drop into my chair, spinning it in frustrated circles.
The familiar surroundings of our security office do nothing to calm my nerves.
The suspect board on the wall taunts me.
It’s full of Ethan’s enemies. They all glare down at me, silently demanding how I could go from hating him to moving in with him.
“While we wait,” Kayla says, “how's living with Ethan going?"
My chair stops mid-spin. “Okay, I guess.”
"Just okay?” She pushes her long hair back from her eyes. “He took you to Vegas for the Vanderbilt fight, then you moved straight in with him, and all I get is ‘okay’?”
"It's..." I struggle to find the right word. "Complicated."
“Why?”
I sigh. “Because I’ve only just moved into his place, and now he’s sending me messages that include the word ‘home’. Like, referring to our home. As if it’s my home too.”
“Isn’t it? You are living together.”
“Temporarily.”
Her lips twitch. “Okay.”
“This is all happening way too fast!” I give my chair another spin.
“I get it,” she says, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t let him push you into anything you’re not ready for. But also, don’t let your fear of change hold you back from something good.”
“I’ll try not to.” I let out a sigh. “You should come up and visit. Take a look at his apartment. It’s super fancy, but like a rich person’s museum.
The furniture is so perfect, I don’t want to sit on it.
It’s super tidy and he has none of the random stuff most people collect. It doesn’t feel like someone’s home.”
“You like Ethan though, don’t you?”
I grimace. “A lot more than I want to. I’m conflicted about some of the things he does, but other than that… yeah. I like him a lot.”
Kayla levels me with a steady look. “Everything doesn’t have to be perfect to start with, but if anything he does is a deal breaker, let him go. Otherwise, just take it day by day. If you can build a solid foundation, there’ll be plenty of time to sort out the furniture.”
I let out a long breath. “Okay. You give good advice.”
“Because I know you so well.”
“And you know how uncomfortable I get when things change.”
Kayla kicks her rolling chair over and lightly punches my knee.
“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one who has issues thanks to past trauma they never asked for.
Doing uncomfortable things will actually help.
It’s painful, and sometimes it makes you want to throw up, but it’s a good thing. ”
I groan. “I hate that it’s painful.”
“I know.” She pats my knee this time. “But you won’t be the only one making compromises. If Ethan’s such a neat freak, it’s going to be hard for him to adjust to having your stuff around.”
“That’s what I figured, so I haven’t taken much stuff over there. It’s easier not to make a mess that way. And I don’t need much for three weeks.”
She gives me an amused, knowing look, scooting back to her desk. “Okay. Whatever you say.” She squints at the ink sample. “In other news, it looks like the ink’s a match."
"What?" I sit up straighter. "You're sure?"
“It doesn’t mean the princess sent those photos. But how many people would have a bottle of red ink in this exact shade? I’ve never even owned a bottle of ink, have you?”
She passes over the photos for me to see. Sure enough, the color’s identical.
“I bet Ulrika did send them.” My heart accelerates as I think back over everything the princess has done. What would she have to gain by sending the threats to Ethan? That’s the real mystery.
“Maybe. But maybe not.” Kayla rolls back to her desk and pulls up some images on her computer.
"Look at this. The handwriting from the first threat—the one that said 'I want to kill Ethan Kane’—doesn't match the handwriting from that letter you photographed. Even taking into account the handwriting versus the block letters, it’s totally different. None of the pressure points or letter formations are the same. I’m almost certain she didn’t write that first threat. ”
I frown, studying the images. “Damn. I thought maybe we’d solved it.”
Kayla shrugs. “All we have are more questions.” Her phone buzzes. “Shit, I need to run. Dani’s still working at the client site, and I said I’d pick her up.” She shrugs into her coat and grabs her bag. “You’re headed ‘home’ now?" She uses finger quotes for the word ‘home’.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Soon, I guess."
“Well, call me if you need anything.”
I murmur a noncommittal goodbye as she heads out, scanning the faces on our suspect board again. We’ve questioned most of those people, but the princess’s photo still isn’t up there.
We haven’t questioned Princess Ulrika yet.
Hmm. Maybe I should.
And before I can talk myself out of it, I jump out of my seat. I’m a woman of action, after all, and I have energy to burn. Time to interrogate a princess.
Only, when I get to the princess’s house, I discover it’s not quite that easy.
The maid who answers Princess Ulrika’s front door demands to know if I have an appointment, and after I admit that I don’t, it takes a serious amount of sweet-talking to convince her to ask the princess if she’ll see me.
While I wait, she shows me into one of the downstairs sitting rooms. Instead of sitting, I prowl restlessly around the large room, studying all the fancy art and decor for what seems like forever.
But finally, Ulrika appears, drifting into the room with her graceful, gravity-defying walk.
“Jamie,” she says with no trace of warmth. “This is a surprise. Did you leave something behind the other night?” She cocks her head. “Maybe when you were snooping around upstairs in my private rooms?”
As if on cue, her big, bald-headed bodyguard appears in the doorway behind her, his arms folded in front of him.
I shoot him a glare. The snitch ratted me out.
“I didn’t leave anything,” I say, watching the princess closely. “Actually, I found something interesting.”
I pause, my eyes on her face.
A small, puzzled line appears on her forehead. “What?” she asks, as though she genuinely doesn’t know.
“A bottle of red ink.”
Her forehead line deepens. “So?”
There’s no sign that she has any idea what I’m talking about, not even the faintest flicker of awareness in her eyes. She’s either an actress who deserves her own Netflix show, or she didn’t send Ethan the photos.
I sigh, disappointed. By ruling out the princess, it feels like I’m even further away from solving the mystery.
“Ms. Jennings stole the ink from your desk,” the bodyguard says to Ulrika in his rough, accented voice.
“What?” She turns to me. “Why would you do that? What’s important about ink?” The princess looks annoyed now, as well as confused.
“There was red ink on the threatening photos that were sent to Ethan,” I explain. “But it clearly wasn’t you who sent them.”
She draws herself up, her expression outraged. “You think that I would send threatening photos?—”
“No,” I say. “Not really, but I needed to rule you out.” I turn for the door. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Princess. I’ll see myself out.”
She makes a huffing sound. Can’t imagine she’ll invite me to any more parties at her place. Not that I was actually invited to the last one anyway.
Her bodyguard follows me down the long hallway to the front door, glowering the whole way, as though he needs to make sure I’m not going to steal anything else on the way out. He opens the front door for me, and I stop on the front step and turn to him.
“Hey,” I say. “No hard feelings, okay…” I hesitate, giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
He folds his arms over his wide chest, still glowering. “Ladislaus.”
“Nice to meet you, Ladislaus.” I repeat the unfamiliar name carefully, making sure I pronounce it like he did.
“Hey, could I ask you something?” He gives an impatient grunt, and I keep talking.
“How did you know I stole the ink bottle from the desk upstairs? Is missing ink something you’d usually take careful note of?
Because I took it from the princess’s desk, and she hadn’t noticed it was gone. So how come you did?”
His lips part, and he looks surprised by the question. Then he looks wary. Defensive. And then angry.
My heart leaps. This wasn’t a wasted trip after all.
“It was you,” I exclaim. “You used the princess’s ink and sent the photos.”
He draws himself up. “No. You have no proof of that.”
“Why’d you do it? Why send threatening photos to Ethan Kane?”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong. I have no reason to send him pictures.”
This guy is never going to get a contract with Netflix. His eyes flicker away from me. Guilt is written across his face.
“You must hate Ethan,” I prod. “Why? What’s he ever done to you?”
Ladislaus’s lip curls. “He is a stupid man, but I don’t hate him.”
“Stupid?” I snort. “I’ve heard people call Ethan a lot of things, but stupid is one thing he’s not.”
The bodyguard shrugs. “Goodbye, Ms. Jennings.” He steps back from the door, and I rush forward, jamming my foot in it before he can close it.
He growls, clearly annoyed. “Stop that.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did it.”
His eyes flash and his face hardens. “Don’t make me angry. I have no wish to hurt you.”
With a laugh, I rub my hands together. “Come on, Ladislous, give it your best shot. I haven’t had a serious challenger for way too long. What kind of training have you had? Do you wrestle? Box? Martial arts? I’m good with any of those, or just a good, old-fashioned brawl. Your choice.”
He frowns. It’s clearly not the response he’d expected.
“I know you sent the photos,” I say while I have him off guard. “So tell me why. Did it have something to do with Ethan’s date with the princess? Were you jealous?”
“Jealous?” He stiffens, looking horrified by the suggestion. “Princess Ulrika is not a common woman! She is our crown princess. The jewel of my country. She will marry a prince!”
“Okay.” I scratch my cheek thoughtfully, trying to figure him out. “So Ethan wasn’t good enough for her?”
“He is stupid and unworthy! She allowed him to dine with her, then he spurned her.” Ladislous scowls. “He doesn’t deserve to press his lips to her feet. Yet he chose to spend his time with lessor women like you and that other one.”
His gaze is disdainful, but I try not to take it personally. He clearly has a major princess fetish and probably feels the same way about everyone who isn’t royalty.
“Okay,” I say evenly. “I get it. But sending Ethan death threats was a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?”
“Not death threats! Just photos with red ink, to show what I think of his lessor women. Only to… how do you say it? Put the devil into him.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not an actual expression, at least not one that I’ve ever heard. But his meaning is clear enough.
“But what about the first, handwritten letter?” I ask. “It was slipped under the door of Ethan’s building right after Ethan and the Princess’s first date. You said you didn’t send him a death threat, but the letter said you wanted to kill him.”
“I didn’t write any letter.”
I squint at him, disbelieving. “You don’t need to keep lying, Ladislous. There’s no reason to. All your cards are already on the table, and there’s no putting them back in the pack.”
“Just the photos,” he insists, his glower back in place. “No letter.”
“Hmm,” I say thoughtfully. “Well, if you didn’t write that letter, who did?”