“I’m sorry. She used her code.” Elsa hurried into the room on Portia’s heels, her robe a marked contrast to Portia’s severe black suit.
“It’s okay, Elsa,” he told his housekeeper. He’d given Portia and Tommy codes to the house—and permission to use them—when he’d purchased the place. This was not exactly what he’d had in mind.
“If you’re sure?” She looked ready to defend him from Portia’s wrath.
“I’m sure.” Killian appreciated the thought, but this was outside her duties. He kept a wary eye on Portia while he ensured Elsa was out of the line of fire. “Would you please make some coffee?”
She studied him a moment, then nodded abruptly, tightened her robe and marched out of the room.
There was no time for relief. Portia was waiting to pounce. “What are you doing here, Portia?” This wasn’t the way he’d planned to start the day. Was it even day? No hint of daylight peeked through the curtains. “What time is it?”
“It’s time for you to tell me why you let her go,” she snarled.
Hurry up with the coffee, Elsa.This conversation made no sense and he needed clarity.
“Let who go?” He studied Portia. Dressed in head to toe black, the lack of color emphasized her paleness and made her look tired. Drawn. Desolate.
“That damn courier,” she snapped.
“Dizzie—” He broke off when she glared at him. “The courier is down the hall.”
Killian rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to follow Portia’s comments. What was she talking about?
“Your little courier,” the words carried a sneer, “isn’t down the hall, Killian. She’s out there.” She waved toward the covered window.
His heart stopped. What the hell was Portia talking about?
Feeling too vulnerable to have this conversation in bed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His shorts left his cyber leg uncovered and he stared at it. The metal casing wasn’t shiny chrome like the Turbosmith Excel. It was a duller graphite, cast into the shape of a leg. Brighter silver provided the definition for the muscles, while black composite materials formed the joints.
While high quality, the leg was simple and functional. He’d been offered the best money could buy: a realistic-looking limb that matched his remaining leg almost exactly. He’d refused, telling everyone that the synthetic skin bothered him. In reality, he kept the plain metal as a reminder of what he’d survived. And what he’d lost.
Portia was one of the few people he trusted enough to reveal the synthetic leg to. How would Dizzie react if she saw it? Would she turn away in distaste?
Why was he even thinking about this now? He had to deal with Portia. Needing time to think, he stood, shouldering past Portia to the closet.
“How do you know?” He yanked on pants and a long-sleeved shirt, ignoring the aches and pains from the explosion. And how would she know if Dizzie was gone? The urge to cross the hall, to verify that Dizzie was where he expected her to be, was intense.
He’d planned to keep Dizzie away from Portia and the corporation as long as possible. He needed time to win her trust. With Portia’s arrival, whatever slim chance he had of making that happen had evaporated.
“The newsies are interested in your newgirlfriend.” Ice coated the word and she threw a tablet at him.
Killian snatched it out of the air before it hit him in the head. Man, she was pissed.
He flicked the tablet on, his fingers moving over the screen as he did a quick search. Portia followed his every move like she was watching a bug. The shadows under her eyes didn’t hide her fury.
“My father’s assistant brought your betrayal to my attention. He didn’t want me to see it without warning. How could you?”
Her words hit home and Killian struggled to keep his breath even. How did he explain that everything he’d done was for Portia to bring the person or persons who killed Tommy to justice?
Dizzie was just the first piece of a larger puzzle. And if he were starting to believe her, starting to feel things about her, well, this wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about that. And Portia certainly wasn’t the person to share it with.
Shoving those thoughts deep, deep down, Killian focused on the tablet. It didn’t take him long to find the story. Dizzie’s “visit” topped several local news outlets, bumping the bombing from the top headline.
Fucking newsies.
He cringed at the headlines.
Late Night Escapade…or Escape?
