He’d done this to her. He shouldn’t have called.
God, he was such a selfish bastard.
Tears streamed down her face. His gaze blurred and he brushed the first of his own tears away with the back of his hand.
He hadn’t grieved yet. He wouldn’t until Tommy’s killer was brought to justice. Then he’d crawl into a hole with his memories and pain and maybe not come out.
“It’s my fault.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I should have been with him instead of dancing with you.”
Her words hit like a blow.
“Don’t say that! If you’d been with Tommy, I’d have lost both of you.” His stomach turned. Without the two of them at his side, he’d be all alone. “I miss him too, but he’d want you to go on.”
He sounded like a fucking greeting card, when in reality he was being torn apart inside.
“There was no way to know that would happen,” he went on. If threats had been made, Tremaine Corporation and the other big players would have kept their people away. “It was a terrible accident.”
“Unless it wasn’t.” Portia wiped away her tears. “It was the courier, wasn’t it?”
Shit. How was he supposed to answer that?
He still believed the courier had delivered the bomb. He was sure of it. But her arguments last night had raised questions. Who sent the package? Was she only a pawn?
If so, he was willing to move her around the chessboard.
Portia took his silence as assent. “You think so, too, don’t you? That’s why you went to headquarters last night.”
“You know about that?” He brought his head up.
“Of course I do.” Her look chastised him for asking a stupid question. “Security brought me everything they’d gathered on the explosion. Including your very interesting visit to the holding cell.”
“When? They told me you were out of it most of the night.” Either unconscious or inconsolable.
“After they…” Her voice broke. With a deep breath, she rebuilt her composure. “After they told me about Tommy, I demanded to be kept in the loop. My father agreed.”
That was a surprise. Portia’s father—Phillip Tremaine—was a pure bastard. To everyone, including his daughter.
“Who’s leading the investigation?” Every company that had lost personnel or property in that explosion would want that role.
“My father wants Tremaine Security running the investigation. His assistant will coordinate with any other companies.”
Having seen her father in action, Killian couldn’t imagine anyone else winning that battle. “I’m glad Tremaine will be running it. For Tommy’s sake.” His hand hovered over the hang-up button. “I should let you get some rest.”
“You’re not getting off that easy!” Her voice rose with each word.
Killian froze. “What do you mean?” He’d hoped to hang up before she focused on his visit last night.
“The report says you helped her escape.” Betrayal was etched into her expression and her voice.
Fuck. She wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t defend himself, because he still didn’t understand why he’d trusted that cryptic message.
He chose his next words carefully. “She passed out. I was afraid we were going to lose our best and only witness, so I took her to the infirmary. How is that helping her escape?”
Killian hated how easily the lies came together. Deceiving Portia this way made him ill. But it wasn’t all a lie. Dizzie was their best chance at finding the truth. This way, he could protect both women.
Onscreen, Portia was so quiet, he wondered if he’d accidentally muted the phone. The longer she stared at him, the worse he felt. He faked a yawn to end the call. “You need to rest, Portia. Let the investigators do their jobs. I’ll tell them whatever I learn.”
Portia ran a ragged nail over her lips. Never one to appear in public looking less than her best, that nail told him more about her state of mind than anything else. “Don’t manage me, Killian. I don’t need to rest. I need Tremaine Security to bring her to headquarters. I need her to pay for killing my husband.”
