He’s about to jump out of his skin, and I’m wondering what the fuck I can say to get him to fucking chill.
Maggie was still sleeping, and since I don’t predict this will take long, I asked if he was okay leaving her with Rory and the others for a few minutes. I have to leave soon to go talk to Nan anyway. I’m still debating on how much to tell her, but I know I’ll find the right balance once she’s in front of me.
As we walk down the long hallway of rooms, I feel this... need to just get him to?—
Shit, was I actually about to thinkget him to like me?
“So...” I speak loudly before I can get lost down that embarrassing rabbit hole. “This is Bran’s room.” I gesture to the first door on the left. “He doesn’t live here anymore, but it’s still his room, so don’t go in there.”
“Yeah, uh, of course.” His answer isn’t bad when you consider how I’m rambling.
“And right...” I stop by the paneled wall between the doors. “I should probably tell you about this. I push on the wall and it creaks open to a dark, thankfully unused hallway. “This is the entrance to the panic room. It’s there on the right.” I point. “And you only have to get in there and close it behind you. It’s full of stuff, so you can be in there for a while, and it has a landline. You only have to press one and it’ll call someone who can help.”
I don’t mention, of course, who that someone is, and he doesn’t ask.
“Do you have to use it a lot?” he asks instead.
I keep my eyes right on the dark hallway.
“No, we’ve never used it actually, but my father put it in after my mother was killed.”
“Your mother?” he asks, the question coming out so fast I know it was impulsive. When I turn and see his wide, scared eyes, it’s only confirmation.
Reassure him, a very tense voice sounds from the back of my mind—and it sounds like it’s out of fucking patience.
“Yes, the Marianos came in here and killed my mother when I was fourteen. Did you not know that?”
“I don’t think anyone knows that,” he says, a bit defensively, and I have to smile—even if just a little—because I like it when he’s defensive and not scared.
“Well, now you know. Your room is the next one.” I nod in that direction then point to the door opposite. “That’s the bathroom right there,” I say before opening the door to his bedroom. It has a brand new bed in it, decorated in warm tones, lots of brown and olive green, almost like a forest, but the big bed is front and center, and it has my mind going places where it can’t go right at the moment. “That door.” I point to the wall on the right. “Leads to the adjoining room.” I walk over and open it for him, then wait for him to finish looking around the room and walk through. “This is the nursery Celly put together for Maggie.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
“What? Is something missing?” As far as I can remember this is more than enough to take care of a baby. “I’m sure we can?—”
“No, no. This is incredible, just . . .amazing. The walls . . .”
I look around and have to smile at the safari theme. Celly paid a pretty penny for it all, I know, since I got the bill.
“Yeah, Celly thought she’d like that. We had a jungle theme for Bran when he was little; he loved the monkeys.” I clear my throat to get rid of that sentimental tone, and turn so we’re face-to-face. “You have tonight to settle in andrest, then tomorrow I want you to resume your investigation into the human trafficking ring.”
“Okay,” he whispers, looking at the room for another moment, and then he tilts his head up to look at me. “I have most of my research in a security deposit box at the bank, though.”
“Then we’ll go get it tomorrow.” He frowns hard at that. “I won’t be going in with you,” I explain through gritted teeth. “But I’ll be watching and waiting outside.”
“Yeah, okay. That makes sense,” he mumbles.
I want to step forward, lean in, taste those rosy lips, but I fight it.
“I need to go see my aunt now.” A test, yes, but also my brand of olive branch.
“You have an aunt?” he mumbles the question with a frown.
“I do. Her existence has been kept a secret for decades for her own protection, but she normally comes over for dinner on Saturdays. Since you’re here and I don’t yet have a reason to believe you’ll keep her a secret from the world, you’re not meeting her yet.” Now I can’t stop myself from taking one tiny step forward. “You won’t know her name or what she looks like until I know you’re not going to go running to the press with that information.”
After a long second where his face is frozen in shock, he closes his mouth, his shoulders drop then shrug, and finally, he nods. “That also makes sense. You’ll come to find out soon, though, that I never reveal a source. I have integrity.”
I understand he’s trying to express his values more than a practice he keeps for his profession, but that’s precisely the problem I have with him. The problem I’ll eventually have to deal with.
