“I’m twenty-eight and far too old to characterize my communication as sass,” I say haughtily, knowing my upper crust ‘American Boarding School’ accent is doing his nut in.
“Ah, I hate this,” Kai groans.
“What?” Every one of those fecking hard drives is bulging with Anselm Industries secrets. Bank fraud. Illegal pharmaceutical research and development. New viruses for humans and the internet alike. What’s he crabbit about now?
“Ye got a treasure trove of intel.” My brother’s all sullen, looking like his wee boy Rory in need of a nappie change. “This is grand work, as much as it pains me to say it.”
“Aye, I know,” I offer graciously, getting up with a groan. “Fuel the jet, brother. We’re going home.”
Arabella…
I was fourteen when they finally tested my hearing.
“It’s called Auditory Neuropathy Spectrum Disorder,” the doctor had said, looking down at her iPad. “Your particular form involves the slow degeneration of the auditory nerve. Your ear can detect the sound, but eventually, it will not be able to transmit it to the brain. You’re testing at about 50% accuracy now. This will continue to degrade. This is not a condition that can be improved with assistive technology. A cochlear implant, for instance, wouldn’t help you.”
“How long do I have until I’m completely deaf?” The words wobbled out of my mouth, my whole body shaking.
She smiled at me. No pity, which I appreciated. “Within the next ten years, most likely sooner.”
That was eight years, six months and… twelve days ago.
“You’re doing very well, even with the progressive deterioration of your auditory nerve. Your lip-reading skills are spectacular.”
Dr. Graham’s a good one, always remembering to face me when we talk, which is a blessing. Though I’m thinking it’s not right that a doctor who specializes in hearing issues should have such a quiet, high voice himself. Oh, the irony.
He hands me a prescription. “These drops should help a bit with the dizziness, aye? Be sure to call me if you’re seeing a sudden vestibular change.”
Vestibular… the system responsible for my balance and orienting myself to the world around me. It’s a strange thing, finding that not hearing someone walk by me also means that sometimes, my brain dinnae ‘see’ them, either.
“Is there anything else I can do for ye today, Arabella?”
It’s such a pointless question. Because there’s nothing he can do, and we both know it. I should say something polite though, to set him at ease. “I’m good, doc. Thank ye for the drops.”
Doing his nut in - Scottish slang for pissing someone off
Nappie - a diaper
Crabbit - Scottish slang for cranky
Chapter One
In which Logan and Arabella have the most appalling “Meet Cute” in history.
Arabella…
“We have less than an hour to kill him.”
“Why such a goddamn hurry? It’s not…”He takes a drink; I canna see the rest of his comment.
“The Boss wants proof of death, too.”
I’m frozen in the middle of the swirling sea of guests around me, a terrified wee island, still perfectly balancing my tray loaded with champagne. People stroll by and take a flute or two off my tray without really noticing me. I canna take my eyes off the two men standing by the stage. The speakers there are sending soothing classical music out into the ballroom, it’s making them confident that no one can hear them.
“Where is the arsehole now?”It’s the first man, a ginger with a full head of flaming red hair and eyes so light that they’re the color of spoiled milk.
“He’s talking to Abercrombie, the big guy with the red bow tie over by the bar.”Killer #2 is a smaller man, dressed in a tuxedo like the rest of the guests but wearing it awkwardly, bunched around the shoulders and short in the sleeves like he murdered someone to steal their suit.
My gaze rapidly darts to the bar. Oh. The gorgeous one, dark hair, towering a head above most of the guests. His teeth flash white in his beard as he grins at the dazed bartender.
