I pushed my hand between my thighs and squeezed. No, he’d clearly enjoyed it. “I was holding him at gunpoint.”
“Oh,” Barrett replied, slightly taken aback. “You have a gun? Well, that’s fortunate.”
“And it was Clara who helped me escort him off the premises,” I said, needing to give the housekeeper credit for containing the situation.
There was a pause, broken only by a long hiss. “You involved other members of staff?”
“Just Clara.”
“Oh, great. It was only the grieving widow who lost her husband at the hands of the Griffins. That makes it alright then!”
“She’s OK,” I said. “She handled herself really well.”
“She shouldn’t have to, Quinn,” he hissed.
Nor should I, I’d wanted to add. I didn’t go looking for any of this. And maybe Barrett is another of Ilya’s gullible victims, but he bears some responsibility for the decisions he’s made. I know he lost his mom recently, and there’d been some fight over a woman with one of the older Griffins, but he invited trouble to this poor town.
I swallowed my bitterness. Whatever my opinion of Barrett, I needed to remind him that I was part of the solution, not part of the problem.
“Barrett, I’m sorry this happened, and I will make it right,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll find another consultant to do a full sweep of the mansion.”
“No, you won’t,” Barrett said. “I’ll make the arrangements myself. There are people I can trust to do the jobproperly. What you can do, Quinn, is speak to the firm supplying our security guards. We’ll have to retain them for now, but I want the idiots on duty fired.”
I opened my mouth to object, but stopped myself. Even if Reid was carrying a false ID, the guards should have checked, but I can’t ask for them to be fired. I’ll just ask for them to be reassigned.
The one thing Barrett can’t berate me for is delivering his damn build project. The construction phase has now completed, and the interior designers have been set to work. Their job is to transform the house into a home, but the flashiness Barrett has planned feels wrong when you consider what horrors will take place on the outskirts of the estate.
Slipping into the liquor store, I grab the nearest bottle of rosé. I’m looking forward to spending the evening with Clara. A home-cooked meal and good company is just what I need to escape my thoughts.
Back on the sidewalk, I hear a car pulling up behind me. I don’t pay it much attention until I notice how the sound of its engine doesn’t recede as I continue on my way. I check my reflection in a store window. Behind my inconsequential frame, there’s a dark SUV. I can’t see who’s driving, but it’s going to be someone bigger and stronger than me. It always is when a woman is being stalked.
My pulse quickens along with my pace as I assess my situation. There are stores I could seek shelter in, or I have my gun in my purse. Fight or flight? It would be easier to make a decision if I knew who was following me. I can’t completely discount the Russians, or the Irish for that matter, but my guess is it’s one of four brothers.
If they were planning on abducting me, there are far better places to try. There are too many witnesses on MainStreet, which means this has to be intimidation, pure and simple.
When I reach a hardware store, I pause to rummage through the baskets lined up outside. The SUV keeps rolling until it’s level with me. In the store window’s reflection, the SUV’s black paintwork gleams in the low sun. I can just make out the outline of the driver through the tinted glass. He’s looking at me, and I know that profile. Of all the brothers, Reid is taller, leaner, and his hair is tightly cropped except at the crown, where it’s long enough to thread my fingers through.
Why the hell did that thought pop into my head?
Fuck this! And fuck Reid Griffin!
I pick up a small can of paint from one of the baskets and pretend to read the label. It’s not heavy, but heavy enough, and as I spin around, I launch it at the driver’s window. The can bounces off the toughened glass. It doesn’t leave a scratch.
The SUV’s engine cuts off. There’s a clunk as the locking system disengages and the driver’s door opens. Reid’s smiling as he gets out of his car, oblivious to the townsfolk who have come to a sudden stop around us.
“Hey, Quinn,” he greets me. “I guess you remember me then.”
I reach behind me and grab another can.
“Jesus!” he cries out as he dodges the second missile. “That one could have–”
His words are cut off as the additional can I’d picked up finds its target, glancing off his forehead. Reid takes cover behind the driver’s door he’d had the good sense not to close.
“You’re not welcome in this town!” I yell at him. “And if you stalk me again, I’ll put a bullet through your window.”
“The glass is bulletproof,” he says, remaining out of sight.
“I still hit you though, didn’t I?” I remind him.
