“Are you sure?” Jason asks. His boots are in his hand, but there’s soil and goodness knows what encrusted on his work clothes. “I could strip if you ladies prefer.”
“On second thoughts, Quinn, you’re better off alone,” Clara says, rollingher eyes.
“Then please take him with you. And give Piper a big hug from me.”
Clara ushers Jason out, but she turns back one final time. “Do you want to come over to my house later? You must be so bored spending all your spare time at the guesthouse. I’ll provide the food if you supply the wine?”
As tempting as the offer is, I need to conduct some urgent research. Reid kept insisting we’ve been misinformed, and perhaps I have taken too much of what Barrett and Clara have told me at face value. This could be one of those times I should listen to my gut, or whichever part of my body that’s responding to Reid’s charm.
“Do you mind if I take a rain check?”
“It’s an open invitation,” Clara says. “Just say the word. I’m home most nights.”
I stare at the door long after Clara sets off to pick up her daughter. I can only imagine how hard it must be for her to stay in Poulton Springs after what happened to her husband, but her options are limited now that she’s bringing up Piper alone. She doesn’t have any family to speak of and her only support network is the town.
I wonder if she’d feel the same if she knew there’s a section of the Emerson estate that’s being carved out for use by the Russian Bratva? Barrett says he doesn’t want the rest of the staff worrying, but it’s obvious he’s ashamed of what he’s being forced to do. Is that a good enough reason not to forewarn Clara, and Tandy too? There’s a lot for me to think about.
Setting my cell to one side for now, I retrieve my burner phone from my purse. There are two missed calls and five messages from Strider. He was the first person I’d called earlier when security had informed me that my visitor had been allowed to prowl around the mansion unchecked.
“Are you OK?” he asks as soon as the call connects.
“I’m fine. The situation has been contained,” I say, but there’s still a tremor to my voice.
“Jade, what happened?”
After weeks of being immersed in my new identity, it’s jarring to hear him use my real name. That’s why Strider uses it. It’s a reminder of who I really am. It grounds me to a place I sometimes wish never existed.
I reach for the bottle of whiskey Clara left on the table and refill my glass. “In short, it was a shit show.”
I give Strider a blow-by-blow account of what happened with Reid Griffin. I don’t leave out any details.
“The prick hit on you?” Strider says.
I drain my glass. “I had arm to arm combat with a known associate of the underworld, and your first reaction is to go all alpha-male. Are you jealous?” I ask. I do not need a man getting all territorial. Strider and I grew up in the same neighborhood, but we don’t havethatkind of history. If anything, he had a crush on my sister, Blake.
“No, Jade, I’m not jealous. I’m fucking sickened,” he bites back. “He had you pinned to the floor and the sick bastard found it a turn on.”
My shoulders sag. “Sorry, I’m still wound tight,” I reply. “And it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I know Reid and I got physical, but it was mostly him trying to defend himself. He even apologized when he tried to take a sample of my hair.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I sense Strider judging me from a thousand miles away, and with good cause. Why the hell am I trying to justify Reid’s actions?
“You know what kind of business he’s in, right?” he reminds me. “Don’t give him a free pass. People like that are expert manipulators.”
“You might be right, but he does have me questioning a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Is it possible the Griffins didn’t burn down the factory?” I ask, testing the theory out loud. “Reid looked genuinely shocked when I mentioned it, and later when Clara accused him, he outright denied it.” I sigh out a breath. “When you think about it, why would they burn the hub down if the McConkey’s are still interested in the place?”
“Because the Griffins jumped at the excuse to bully their little brother who got all of mommy’s attention.”
Strider’s only repeating what Barrett told me, although Barrett might have worded it differently.
“Possibly,” I admit. “But Reid said we should pay closer attention to Barrett. It’s not bad advice.”
“I’m all for keeping an open mind,” Strider concedes, “but are you honestly suggesting someone like Barrett set fire to his own factory? I’d be more inclined to believe it was the Russians.”
My stomach twists. “It makes me sick that Reid assumed I was working for them.”
