22. Liam
LIAM
I’m finishing a call with Chicago when my internal line lights up.
“Mr. Hunt, a Victor Rochemont is here to see you,” my secretary says.
That catches my attention. Victor doesn’t do spontaneous, and he certainly doesn’t walk into Hunt & Hunt headquarters without notice.
“Send him in.”
He enters my office with a restless energy that clashes with the cut of his suit. I rise halfway in greeting.
“Rochemont. I thought you’d already be halfway through a bottle of Chablis in Dijon by now.”
“A few delays,” he says with a tight shrug. “I’m flying today.”
“Are you here to confirm we’re officially Long Island neighbors?”
He smiles, then sits on the chair opposite my desk. “Hunt…” He brings himself closer. “Any chance I could see footage from the Game?”
I hold his gaze. “You know that’s not something you can ask.”
He huffs. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Then why are you here?”
Irritation crosses his face. “I don’t trust her.”
So he’s here to continue digging into Helena. I don’t interrupt.
“She’s hiding something,” he continues. “I can feel it. The Game asked her if she loved me. She didn’t answer straight. She danced around it. Said it wasn’t the right time to talk about love.”
His pride is bruised. That’s what this is.
“Maybe it was semantics,” I say.
“You weren’t there,” he pushes back. “Before any of this started, I told her I still loved her. I still do. She didn’t say it back. Fine. But something about her answer in there—” He shakes his head. “It felt like she was playing me.”
Victor doesn’t fear betrayal as much as he fears losing control of the narrative.
“You need to sort that out with her,” I tell him. “Not with me.”
His eyes pin me, searching for something I’m not giving him.
“I care about you,” I continue. “But I won’t step into the middle of whatever’s happening between you and Helena. Ask her. Directly. Don’t interrogate the Game.”
He nods, though his jaw stays set.
“I will. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
I smile. “I’m sure you will.”
He stands, tension still riding his shoulders.
“Safe travels,” I say.
He gives me a half-salute that lacks conviction and walks out.
Victor is unraveling faster than he realizes.
If Helena Mercer were positioning herself to outmaneuver him, it wouldn’t be unprecedented.
I’ve seen men with more money than judgment brought down by women who understood where their blind spots were.
Romance has a way of making intelligent men reckless.
And I won’t let that happen to him.
But something about this doesn’t fit that pattern. Helena doesn’t strike me as calculating. Guarded, yes. Strategic, maybe. But malicious? No.
Which leaves two possibilities.
Either Victor is letting his pride distort the situation, or he wants something from her badly enough to justify suspicion.
My phone rings. It’s Skyward Sanctuary. That’s usually good news.
“Bree,” I answer.
“Hunt. Just wanted to let you know Helena Mercer dropped off the hawk.”
Levon spent a week in my clinic before Rabada cleared him for transfer.
I’d thought about being there today. I’m glad I wasn’t.
The first time was hard enough, keeping myself just a vet.
This time, holding myself together would’ve been like walking on black ice.
With Victor paying closer attention than usual, I’d be a fool to push my luck.
Most of all, I don’t take what isn’t mine. That line doesn’t move.
“How’s he looking?” I ask.
“Strong. Four or five weeks of bone healing, then flight conditioning. He should make release.”
“That’s good.”
“She handled him well, by the way,” Bree adds. “Most people panic. She didn’t.”
“I noticed.”
“You volunteering this weekend?” she asks. “You’re overdue. It’s your turn on raptor enclosures.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Bring elbow grease.”
“I always do.”
I end the call and lean back in my chair.
Helena Mercer handled a hawk with calm hands and clear eyes. She approached the Game the same way. Victor thinks she’s playing him. I don’t. If I wanted answers, I could get them. But some questions aren’t mine to ask.