Cole? That blight on faery kind was supposed to be gone from Kieran’s life for good.
Kieran closed his eyes as he fought to keep all hostility from his tone. “Do you mean ColeHawthorne?”
A soothsayer could not have predicted the depths of inconvenience this woman had heaped on his life.
He detected the flash of acknowledgment across her features, like a ripple, there and gone in an instant.
He should have left her to whatever vindictive plot Hawthorne concocted. Miss Blair was an unending series of misfortune. Forhim. Now, she had just revealed the one name that might keep him tethered to this quarrelsome situation. If Cole Hawthorne was a danger to this woman, then Kieran was indirectly responsible.
Kieran did not imbibe—as a rule, he found it uncouth and he shouldered too many responsibilities to allow for such an indulgence—but inebriation might be preferable to this cosmic joke of an evening.
“I didn’t mean… No one. It’s not the same guy.” Miss Blair backtracked ungracefully, all but confirming his suspicion. “Forget I said anything, please.” She was pleading again.
Her eyes were impossibly persuasive. She was lovely and the wide pleading of her eyes combined with her subtle pout prompted one to appease her whims. It had nearly worked, too, back in his bedchamber. Despite all claims that he was heartless, Kieran was not actually made of stone and Seraphina Blair was not without her charms. Thankfully, Kieran had a lifetime of suppressing urges and tempering his impulses. Her charm would not work if he did not wish to succumb.
“Rache, you can’t tell my brother.” Those impossible-to-resist eyes were turned on the Rachel.
“I…”
“Don’t. He’ll go crazy. You know him.”
Rachel seemed to wrestle with the gravity of Miss Blair’s request.
“You should look for that impostor before he escapes,” Kieran interjected.
The two women shared a look, some unspoken exchange he couldn’t comprehend. Then Rachel nodded. She disappeared to her task.
Kieran chanced a look around, but no one paid them the least bit of attention and this section of the headquarters remained sparsely occupied. Not an officer within reach. Miss Blair was an apprehended criminal lounging at a desk without restraints. So much for security.
“It’s nothing, really. I can handle Cole,” Miss Blair said once they were alone.
“He just tried to have you murdered,” Kieran said, not with any intention of callous dismissal. Yet, she winced, reminding him that his tone often conveyed detachment or cruelty, despite his intentions.
“I know.”
“He’s the reason you were searching my home,” Kieran added.
She did not look at him, a sense of shame wafting from her. “Yes.”
“Why? What is he after?” It occurred to Kieran that Hawthorne might want him dead. Could Miss Blair be an assassin? He studied her as she picked at a loose sliver of wood on the desk, posture slumped and expression dismal.
Doubtful. But then, what was the goal? Kieran had nothing of value to someone like Hawthorne.
“Well, he gave me a choice—”
“Choice of what?” Captain Gideon Blair appeared at precisely the wrong moment. Kieran nearly sneered, but managed to merely cast a sharp glance at him.
Miss Blair’s posture snapped into perfection. “Gideon! Nothing. Nothing to concern you about. Just a small misunderstanding.” Miss Blair matched the Captain’s skeptical stare with her own glare. The pair, side by side, were identical enough to be twins. Pale skin. Dark features. Both handsome. The only difference apart from gender was their height and build.
“A small misunderstanding?” He nudged his chin toward Kieran. “Then what’s the fae alderman doing here?”
Captain Blair had a muscular frame and the fit of his uniform was tailored to match. From the limited interactions Kieran had shared with the man, he was equal parts serious and ridiculous. He was brilliant, but his thoughts and speech were often difficult to follow. Kieran remembered him fully now. His manners always questionable, but in a genuine way that lacked offense. He regarded societal rituals as highly as Kieran—so not very—but was not beholden to a career that required strict adherence to those constructs. And he was prone to fidgeting. Never not in motion.
Miss Blair continued to work at the chip in the desk, slowly peeling layers of wood until the sliver had grown into a gash. From the way her attention shifted, it was clear the action was subconscious. Another shared trait, it seemed.
“She broke into my home,” Kieran supplied, after the silence grew tiresome.
Captain Blair rubbed his temple like he was trying to dissuade a headache from taking root. “I apologize for my sister,” he started, mechanically, “Did she take anything?”
