6. Galahad
Galahad
Tristan’s front door wasn’t locked. Stupid. A house full of people, and none of them had thought to turn a deadbolt after what happened at Grace’s café yesterday?
I shoved it open and locked it behind me. “Your door’s unlocked!”
“We were expecting you,” called Tristan from deeper in the house.
I marched through the foyer, into the kitchen, following his voice. I’d been riding high on adrenaline since he called me this morning to tell me about a second man who’d shown up. First the Russian we’d confronted, then hours later, someone else.
Both on the same day. Both interested in Grace. I hadn’t worked out whether I was pissed because she hadn’t called me, or relieved because someone actually did. My money was on pissed.
Grace sat at the small round breakfast table, one leg pulled up in front of her, with a half-empty mug between her hands.
Too casual. The forced kind of relaxed. She looked up, smiling like I hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes grinding my teeth over the fact that she hadn’t called me. “Good morning! Coffee’s fresh.”
Good morning? Seriously? “You were supposed to call me.”
Before Grace could reply, Tristan took over. “Good morning to you, too, Galahad.” He leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, like this was any normal day.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” I jabbed a finger in his direction—I was not in the mood for this—but my eyes stayed locked on Grace. “I told you to call me if the Russian came back. And now there’s someone else? And you still didn’t call?”
She scrunched her nose, as though she wasn’t bothered in the least by her failure to contact me. “Isabella was closer.”
“So?”
Her head tilted, that bright, unconcerned smile not slipping. “So I called her, and Tristan invited me over. They fed me, and I crashed here.”
She was testing my patience. It was the only explanation.
I exhaled slowly, trying to shove down memories of another woman who hadn’t called when she needed help. Someone else who’d thought she could handle things alone. The image of shattered glass on the floor flashed through my brain, and I shoved harder on the memory.
How was Grace so calm?
How was Tristan so fucking calm? He’d seen the kind of shit the world dished out.
Fist clenched at my side, I said as simply as possible, “I told you to call me.”
“She’s fine.” Tristan, acting like the mediator he had no business being, came closer. “She was perfectly safe here.”
“Safe?” I turned the glower on him. Why was no one taking this seriously? “Did you go to the café? Check it out? See if either of them came back?”
“They weren’t there this morning. I asked Vanessa to keep an eye out.” Grace’s fingers drummed against her mug. “I mean… the Russian guy didn’t hurt anyone, and the other guy didn’t get past the door. That’s why I’ve got locks, right?”
“Locks?” was all I came up with. Was that a shot about what I’d said when I came in?
“That’s exactly what they’re for.” Tristan chuckled and widened his eyes at me like he expected me to follow suit. “There’s always a silver lining, right, Grace?”
“Always,” she said, but the smile she gave him didn’t convince me.
Because I knew that smile. Not from her, but from another woman with the same kind of bright green eyes.
‘At least the bruises will fade quickly,’ or ‘At least he left us fifty dollars,’ or ‘At least he said sorry this time.’ My mother had always had a silver lining, and no amount of lectures from me had ever fixed that.
And my lectures would be ignored this morning, too, wouldn’t they?
Maybe Tristan’s girlfriend would back me up. “Where’s Isabella?”
Tristan pointed out of the kitchen, in the direction I’d come from. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Grace took a sip of her coffee, then stared into its depths. Avoiding me?
“I wasn’t asking.” Tristan took a step closer, finger still aimed toward the front door.
I headed toward the foyer, Tristan hot on my heels.
When we stopped, his voice dropped low. “She was crying when she got here last night. Like, really crying. Took Izzy an hour to calm her down.”
Fuck. The image of tears streaming out of those green eyes cracked something all too familiar inside my chest. “And you didn’t think to call me? With not one but two strangers circling her?”
“It was the right call. Look at you.” He gestured from my feet to my head and down again. “It would’ve made things worse. She was scared enough already without you losing your shit.”
I flexed my fingers, which were practically cramping because I’d been balling them up so tight. Why was I so upset over this? Because hope and butterflies don’t keep people safe. “So why call me now?”
“We’ve got bigger issues than your hurt pride. This second guy—he knew she’s heading to London tomorrow. He said his employer wants something from her.”
“I don’t like this.” Was she dealing with a stalker? “The Russian was rude, but he only seemed interested in her grandmother.”
“Exactly.” He dragged his hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. ”Izzy had to work, and Arthur has me meeting with the contractors this morning. Grace called in sick. She may not want it, but she needs someone to stay with her.”
“And I conveniently had nothing else going on? That’s why someone finally called me?” I should have started my drive to DC last night instead of getting sucked into this mess.
“No. You’re the best choice for this job.
” He shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe he’d said the words out loud.
“Listen, I trust you with my life, Galahad. And this is my woman’s best friend, so who else can I ask?
” He sighed. “Can you take her back to her place and check it out? Make sure no one was there last night?”
That was smart. Or it was all a setup, and he was using a pretty woman to convince me to take the job with him and Arthur. But with two different men coming after Grace within ten hours, Tristan’s motives didn’t matter. The threat was real enough that someone had to do something.
“Yeah, okay.”
“But Galahad?” Tristan dipped his chin, his gaze hardening. “You need to calm the fuck down first.”
“I will.” The words came out automatically. She’d called someone, at least, and had been smart enough to stay here. What if someone had been watching her apartment? Broken in while she slept? What if one of these men had backup? My mother had never listened, either.
“Grace,” he called, on his way back to the kitchen. “I want to check out your apartment, just in case.”
“Paranoid much?” she said.
I rounded the corner as she cracked a smile at him.
“Yes, it’s paranoid.” Tristan rested his hands on the back of the chair opposite her. “But I’d feel better if you let me anyway.”
Let him? He’d just asked me to do it. Unless we were going together?
“Okay.” She nodded, finally letting go of her coffee mug. “Should we go now?”
He nodded and pushed off the chair. He took two steps and flipped his wrist over, looking at his watch. “Shoot. I forgot.”
As she stood, Grace asked, “Forgot what?”
“I have a meeting in an hour.” He turned to me, feigning innocence, despite obviously manipulating both of us. “Say, Galah— Garrett, would you mind checking her place out for me?”
Her big green eyes met mine, and something stopped me from calling Tristan out. That would have been the angry response, like yelling at her because she didn’t call me. Tristan was right. Fear swam behind those eyes, and the last thing she needed was for me to make it worse.
Make it casual, Garrett. “I don’t mind. I don’t have any plans today.”