“Hey, sweetheart.” Elijah looks up, his gaze moving to his daughter. “Lottie, did Aunty Kat ask you how you disabled your tracker?”
Lottie’s gaze drops to the floor, her toe skimming backwards and forwards on the rug.
“Lottie?”
“It was a while ago. Not long after I got back,” she admits, looking at her dad’s laptop. “Is Aunty Kat okay?”
“She’s playing hide and seek,” Elijah says drily.
I only hope he’s right and whoever was in those files hasn’t uncovered our discovery and found her.
The doorbell chimes, and Lottie runs to the door.
“Granny,” she says. “Come in.”
“Hello, darling. Is your father in?”
Francesca pulls Lottie in for a hug. Holding her tightly, her eyes closed. When she lets go, Lottie half turns and points towards me.
“In there with Jax,” she says.
Francesca grabs her bag and hands Lottie some money.
“Can you go and get some ice cream for your old granny?”
Lottie whoops and makes for the exit. As she reaches the door, she turns. “You’re not old,” she says before making a sharp exit, clearly happy to get out from under her father’s scrutiny.
Francesca walks into the room, her eyes locked on her eldest child.
“What have you done?” she hisses as soon as the door closes.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Don’t play innocent. You involved that bloody woman and have potentially put us all at risk.”
Is she talking about Pen?
“Mum,” Elijah says. “Calm down. What are you talking about?”
“Your father’s office. At the hotel. The files. Don’t play dumb, it really doesn’t suit you,” she says. “The fact that the hotel is quite obviously swarming with government agents.”
She sinks down onto the sofa as if all her energy has suddenly gone.
“Mum, what do you know about the files?” Elijah asks cautiously.
Francesca looks up, her eyes swimming.
“That they needed to stay hidden for all our sakes.”
The hidden room, the bookcase. Had Kat realised it was her mother as she took the books down, stacked them so carefully?
“It was you. You sealed the room,” I say, before I can stop myself.
Elijah turns on me, his gaze questioning.
“Kat mentioned the books were organised on the shelves, the way her mum would. That we had to keep them in a specific order when we took them down,” I say.
“Where’s Kat?” Francesca asks. “She’s not answering her phone.”
