“Whatever works.” My attention shifts away from them because Arya comes downstairs. She’s changed clothes and is now wearing a cream-and-gold Lady Knights sweater and cream-colored track pants. Large white-framed sunglasses perch atop her dark hair.
The girl never looks like a coed. Can’t understand how she’s not already a pop star.
The writing is on the wall that she’s heading out, so I shove my feet into my boots and grab my coat from the hook. I beat her outside and wait on the porch.
“What’s the plan, Arya?”
“I’m going shopping.”
I step into her path, so she can’t descend the steps. “Where? And with whom?”
“Withwhom?” Her mocking tone causes a reflexive wave of annoyance to tighten my muscles.
She flicks her glasses down over her eyes. “None of your business. Move aside please.”
“You’re pissed? Why?”
“There are things—I can’t talk to you right now.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Can you move?”
“Answer me.”
“I need a break.” She tries to circle around me to get to the porch rail.
Is she serious? I reach out and catch her around the waist, stopping her progress dead.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, trying to pull free of my arm.
“Settle down.”
The sound of a car pulling up causes me to look at the curb where a blue Lexus idles. It’s Eden’s car, and she’s at the wheel. There’s a dark sedan behind it. Her security detail, good. The girls will be safe.
“Where are you going to shop, Arya?”
“I don’t know. Not GU. The campus offerings are bullshit. Maybe Boston.”
Out of town. Even safer. My arm drops, signaling she’s free to leave.
“I can go?” Her pursed lips indicate she wants something more for me.
“I’m not interested in playing games. If you want to tell me why you’re angry, go ahead.”
“No, I don’t.” Her tone is full of chipped ice, and her hand pushes against my side as she stomps down the steps.
Eden waves at me, and I incline my head as a greeting.
Arya jerks the passenger door open and drops into the seat. She stares straight ahead as she yanks her door closed. She’s in a hell of a snit.
I exhale a sigh as the cars pull away.
When I re-enter the house, Shane’s gaze flicks to the front window with a surprised expression. “You let her go?”
“Indeed,” I say, walking to the staircase.
Fighting with Arya on Shane’s front porch is the last thing I feel like doing. Nor am I interested in dealing with her mood swings. Finding and stopping Casanova is the priority. Which she should understand better than anyone. If the discussion upset her, she should’ve left sooner.
When I enter our guest room, though, the first thing I spot is the hospital gauze I tossed in the trash and that adjusts my attitude a bit. There’s a decent chance Arya saved my life last night. First, because she got us away from the package before it went off, and second, because she managed the hemorrhage I underestimated.
The raging thirst and rapid heart rate I developed were a sure sign she was right to insist I go to the hospital immediately.
