Racing Home
Raphael Mirabaud
Teatime.
Raphael raced from the garage into the Mirabaud family house, bellowing,“Where are they?”
His uncle Bast had already told him what had happened with the damned mercenary. Raphael wasn’t sure whether he should first make sure Flicka and Alina were all right or immediately find the Russian and rip out the man’s windpipe with hisbare hands.
He came around a corner from the garage wing into the main foyer of the house and shouted,“Flicka!”into the wide entertaining area. His deep voice bounced off the dark sage green walls and gold marble stairs leading to the upper floors.
“Raphael, really. You don’t need to raise your voice,” his mother said, stepping down the stairs. “She’s in your suite. I made her some of my specialtea.”
Raphael bounded up the stairs two at a time. He growled, “Earl Grey isn’t going to solve a damn thing.”
“It has gin in it, silly.”
He paused. “You put gin in your tea?”
“I had three daughters within four years, and then I hadyou,and the girls were teenagers when you were a toddler. Of course, I put gin in my tea.”
That explained quite a bit of his childhood.
Raphael sprinted up thestairs to the guest suite where he and the two girls he loved were imprisoned.
He shoved the door out of his way and found Flicka, sitting on the couch with red nose and eyes, drinking the last bit of tea from an upended teacup.
Alina was stacking blocks on the floor.
Two of the ever-present Russian guards stood at attention beside the door. He was reaching for the closer one when Flicka said,“That’s not him. They told that guy to go home for the day.”
He asked Flicka, “Are you all right?”
Flicka poured more tea into her cup. “Sure. I mean, I’m about ready to damage this historical home by clawing my way out through the walls, but I’m fine.”
The weak-looking tea she was pouring reached the brim of the cup.
Flicka picked up the cup and drank.
Raphael said, “She puts gin in thetea.”
“Oh, I know she puts gin in the tea. That’s how I’ve been staying sane.”
“Are you day-drinking with her?”
“Heck, yeah.”
He sat down beside her on the couch and poured himself a cup of tea.
Flicka leaned against him.
He wrapped his arm around her, cradling her against his side, and felt her sigh and snuggle close.
At that, Raphael relaxed.
Finally, he could comfort her by holdingher in his arms again.
A wisp of homicidal rage trickled through him, still present in case he ever saw Pierre Grimaldi again.
