Lachlan’s hovering over me, having settled me into a secluded corner in his jet and propping me up with a couple of nice, squishy pillows.
“I can’t. I need more information on the break-in. Zed, where’s the incident report?”
He leans over the table between the seats to hand it to me. “They didn’t get past the front gates, but that was just misdirection. There was another crew sent in through the forest out back. Security stopped them, but they killed two of ours before they got away.”
“They got away?” Lachlan says sharply. “Who the feck let them get away?”
“Who did we lose?” I interrupt him.
Zed looks at me miserably. “Walton and Mara.”
“Oh, my god,” I moan. “What was Mara doing on patrol duty? She just had her baby three months ago!”
“I know,” he says, running his hands down his face. “I ordered a copy of the patrol schedule and it’s a mess. Jonathan used to handle the rotations…”
Lachlan glanced at me. “Ya’ dinna know who handles it now?”
“Most likely it’s Kellen, Jonathan’s right-hand man. How did they get through the forest without setting off the alarms?” Zed frets. “Our butler Jerome is the one who caught them.”
“You have a butler named Jerome?” Lachlan asks with a grin.
“He’s a house manager,” I say crossly. “Don’t call him a butler. A butler has an English accent and wears a penguin suit. Jerome would be deeply offended if you called him that.”
“Recruiting and training security guards is one of my responsibilities in the MacTavish Clan,” Lachlan says. “Why don’t I go through your roster and start running some background checks?”
“Only if you promise not to kill anyone without a serious discussion with me first,” I hiss into his ear.
Attempting to give me the most innocent possible expression - which he cannot pull off at all - Lachlan says, “Of course, my bride.”
When he leaves to check in with the captain, Elana slides in next to me.
“Can you believe this jet?”
I’d seen the fleet of MacTavish jets at their private airfield as we’d taken off, but Lachlan’s was exceptionally extravagant. Along with the main cabin, the Bombardier has a bedroom, two bathrooms, a meeting room, and a dining area with a chandelier and magnetic-bottomed plates and silverware that stay steady during turbulence.
“It’s something else,” I say dryly. “My husband does love his toys.”
I’m one of them,I think with a surge of heat.
She smiles, looking at me curiously. “That’s the first time you’ve said it.”
“Said what?”
“Myhusband,”she says with the slightest touch of sarcasm. “It’s kind of cute.”
I don’t think she finds it cute at all, based on her tone.
Elana’s beautiful, with darker blonde hair and blue eyes. She looks so much like my mother that it almost hurts sometimes, but not right now. My mother always smiled, but Elana’s mouth is turned down into a sullen pout.
“It must be nice,” she says, “we always knew an arranged marriage was in the cards for us. At least you got to pick yours.”
If only she knew…
Squeezing her hand, I promise, “Youwillhave the right to choose your husband too. We’ll get out of this mess Uncle Bastard created.”
Pulling her hand away, she stands up. “I hope so.”
Marcus takes her place, raising his eyebrows. “Well, damn. Girlfriend’s a little bitter.”
