“The hostage who attacked the estate? I was able to speak to him for a full sixty seconds before he bled out,” he says sourly, “he didn’t know about the funeral assault. The guns used in the attacks were different. Usually, security teams in missions like these all use the same weaponry. We’re still examining the bodies we collected, tryin’ to find a connection.”
“So, we have two groups gunning for us, not just one?” Zed runs his hands through his hair, starting to pace again. “I’m out. I can’t do this. I don’t want to. I never wanted to.”
“Hey, look,” I placate him, trying to get him to slow down, “it’s okay. This is an overwhelming day. Let’s make sure everything is secure and just… let this day be over. We’ll talk tomorrow and figure this out, all right? You’re not alone, Z. I’m here.”
“While you may not be trusting me or the MacTavish Clan right now,” Lachlan adds, “I’m here too, aye? We’re allies and like your sister says, you’re not alone.”
The warm little moment is ruined when I hear Elana shouting from the hallway. “How did this happen? How? You said the estate was well-guarded!”
She’s yelling at Gregor and I groan, skirting through broken furniture and coughing on plaster dust. He’s standing in front of her, expressionless, arms folded.
“The estate was well-guarded, lass. No one died. Well, aside from those feckers.” Lachlan kicks one of the bodies bleeding out on the oak floor.
Elana glares at him. She is not in the mood to appreciate the bright side here. “There’s aholein the side of our house!”
“Which the men are patching up now,” he says calmly. “The house will be back to livin’ its best life within a week or two. Andyou escaped two firefights without a scratch. Sounds like a good day to me.”
“Any landing you can walk away from is a good one,” Marcus murmurs, following Gregor with an armful of broken bits and pieces.
“Marcus honey, you don’t have to do that, you’re ruining your nice suit. And Elana…” I turn back to her, trying to smile, even though the dust and sweat on my face feel like it’s hardened into some kind of plaster mask. “Why don’t you go upstairs, take a bath, and try to relax? Yes, I know there’s a hole in the side of the house, which is being secured right now. This is a mess, but we can wait until tomorrow to talk about it, all right?”
She’s backing toward the grand staircase but she pauses on the first step. “Do you think the Alonso Cartel is involved with this?” She says it quietly, as if talking louder might make it be true.
Lachlan and I look at each other, frowning. That hasn’t occurred to me, and he looks just as surprised.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But we will find who did this, and we will make them very sorry they challenged us. I promise.”
“You promised you’d get me out of this marriage, too,” she says before turning her back on us and making her way up the stairs.
“My wife,” Lachlan says so kindly that I blink away tears. “Ya’ have moved heaven and earth for this family, aye? Dinna let her tantrums upset ya’.”
There are security men and house cleaners quietly moving around us, sweeping up debris and carrying pieces of stone from the exterior wall out of the hall. Staring at the hole blasted through my home, something occurs to me.
“Those charges had to be placed at some other time, maybe earlier today.”
“Why do ya’ say that?”
“There’s an alcove - well, therewasan alcove - right where this hole is. The exterior wall is thinner there because it was remodeled to add a deck along that side. You would have to know where to place the charge, but it would have been found if it had been there very long,” I say, touching the cracked plaster and the remains of a painting, the canvas burned through but the frame still intact and hanging on the wall.
“Clever girl,” he approved, kissing the top of my head. “Why don’t you go up and try to relax, too? I’ll run security plans with Gregor, make sure the hole’s patched and join you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I’ve been putting in fourteen-hour days, trying to catch up with the mess Uncle Bastard made, and then adding insult to injury, planning his ‘celebration of life.’
***
I’m dozing in my tub when I hear the bedroom door open and close. When I’d shown him around that first day, Lachlan had been very pleased to discover that I had my own section of the house. The east wing, which faces the harbor, has a suite with an enormous bedroom, an attached living room with a little kitchen, two master closets, and an ensuite bath that Marcus likes to call “bathroom porn.” I’d decorated it all in shades of blue and green, the colors of the harbor and the ocean.
There’s a soft rustle of clothing and then, “Scoot forward, my wife.” Lachlan’s long legs step into the tub and he settles behind me.
“I’ve had to change the water twice,” I yawn, “it turned a very disturbing color of gray.”
His chest shakes slightly with laughter. “Ya’ should have heard Marcus yelling about the damage to his complexion and how no skincare regime will ever make this right.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Marcus. Where is he now?”
“Cookin’ up a storm with your chef and swearing like a dock worker. He said he was workin’ off his stress.”
“We’re getting fed from Marcus venting his trauma?” I say, suddenly hungry, “This feels like the best moment of the day.” Unfortunately, this makes the events of the last twelve hours come crashing down again.
