I make a show of looking around. “And where is Zed?”
She pretends to be absorbed into whatever’s on her computer monitor. “Probably just freshening up after the flight or something. He’ll be here in a minute.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the men with Monroe very subtly shake his head.
Interesting, that. Zed doesn’t have his men’s respect?
We spend the next three hours painstakingly going over the footage from the invasion attempt. Haruko, a skinny, intense young woman whose entire body is a tapestry of tattoos, has managed to isolate clear shots of three of the men, but they’re not coming up on her facial recognition software.
“How did they manage to kill two of our people and they all escaped without a scratch?” Aria says sharply. “Were we understaffed here? What else was happening that night?”
Monroe’s gaze drifts over to me.
“My husband is from the MacTavish Clan,” she says dryly, “I assure you that there’s nothing you can say that could shock him.”
“Miss Aria, this is classified King family information,” he hesitates, and I lean on the desk in front of him, crossing my arms.
“Do ya’ feel that Mrs. MacTavish would marry someone untrustworthy?” I ask pleasantly, “Because right now, the only man here in this room that hasn’t fecked up is me.”
He’s bristling, and Aria rises from her chair with a sigh. “Stop. Everyone. Monroe, I do trust that my husband’s interests align with ours. He has already protected my safety and shown he can be trusted. Let’s continue this tomorrow. Haruko, I’m expecting you to ID at least a couple of those men before then. Monroe, please show the guard rotation for tonight to Lachlan and familiarize him with our system. I’m going to check in on Marcus and Elana.”
Grinning as I watch her leave the room after kissing my cheek, I turn to Monroe, who looks as excited to be working with me as a toddler with a giant plate of broccoli.
***
By the time Aria comes back to the study, I have a grudging respect for her new head of security. Monroe is smart and effective, but I can’t forget that he worked under Jonathan, and that eejit made the jump to Uncle Bastard’s camp without a second thought. I’m sending the MacTavish hackers the namesof everyone on the security roster, with Monroe at the top of the list.
“You must be starving,” she says, sending everyone out of the room, “how did the meeting go?”
“Your lad Monroe is good, but I canna trust a one of them until their reports come back.”
Her lips set in a thin line. “We have our own cyber security people for background checks.”
“Aye, and that Haruko’s a bright one, but she may not be lookin’ in the right places.”
“How so?” Aria asks, rubbing the back of her neck.
“You’re workin’ with the theory that you can trust these people.” I slip my hand behind her neck, massaging the stiff muscles there. “I’m going about this assuming I can’t.”
Her pretty eyes are closed, her lashes a thick fan on her cheekbones. “That feels wonderful,” she sighs. “Thank you.”
My cock is thickening and I groan silently. Treacherous fucker. “You should take me to dinner, baby, before I find a very good reason to keep us here.”
Her eyes pop open at my threat and she scoots away, slapping at my hand when I give her arse a friendly squeeze.
Marcus is bringing out a huge platter as we enter the dining room, followed by a small entourage of servers carrying more dishes and baskets.
“What’s this, then?” I ask, seating Aria. Zed is seated at the head of the table, playing a game on his phone, Elana’s in the middle, Aria at the foot and I put myself next to her.
“Marcus is an incredible cook,” Aria says happily.
“Like Gordon Ramsay, but without the accent and the troubling anger issues,” he says modestly, seating himself.
“Mariella is our family cook,” Zed says, smiling gently at the stout, older woman who is dishing up a seafood chowder. “She was kind enough to allow Marcus into her domain tonight.”
“Yeah, and you are an angel, Mariella,” Marcus pipes in, “my food porn will never top your magnificence. Your food porn chi is strong.”
I see her try to smother a smile as she places baskets of freshly baked bread on the table.
