I shake my head because she’s not some silly girl. It’s obvious she’s not. “No, so we know if he’s coming to look for you.”
That shakes her—alarm in her eyes, but she smooths it quickly. Too quickly to not have practice.
That burns me inside. Just because I don’t see any injuries doesn’t mean they’re not hidden under the layers of taffeta and lace.
“He certainly will come after me. I’ve embarrassed him.” Her mouth hangs open as if there’s something else. “He’s got a lot of connections.”
Judge nods as he looks her over, leaned back and arms crossed. He knows she’s keeping something from us, but that’s normal. “What’s your name, girl?”
She bristles, hands wadding in the layers of her dress. “Wren.”
Wren. A little songbird. How fitting.
“Wren what?” Judge asks. The calculation sends led sinking into my stomach.
She bites her lip as if to keep it from trembling. “Wren Delaney.”
Delaney. Why did that sound familiar?
The tension in the room shifts before Judge leans forward. “Ronan Delaney’s daughter?”
She flinches, and it’s all the answer we need. The senator has been on our radar for some time, as has her upcoming nuptials to Grant Dalton. We have plenty of connections but no solid proof of his family’s crimes.
She’s too soft for them. Her instincts were right, he would have ground her down until she was nothing.
But what did he do to tip her off the morning of her wedding?
My gaze catalogues her again. Nothing I can see. At least, not with her in all of that fluff. I’m scared of what I’ll find if I go looking.
“Does this mean I’m out on my ass? Because of who my father is?”
It could mean that. Certainly, she could be a spy. Undercover. Plenty have tried to pull it off before. But some instinct says no. She’s hurting. She’s scared. And she doesn’t want to go back.
She’d rather keep running on her own than go back.
With nothing.
She swallows hard, absently touching her throat, and I have my ideas of the kind of damage that man did to her.
I share a look with Judge. Am I the only one feeling these protective instincts? Like it’s important that she be kept safe. Here.
The emotion hits me hard in the chest. Harder than I’ve ever had with a patient.
I nod to Judge. I believe in her innocence.
He takes his time standing, looking down at both of us. “Wrap her feet up, then I’ll be back to take her to the boss.”
4
SAINT
The sound of that violin and the haunting melody is still packed tightly in my head. In my chest. It picks at an old wound, one that can never truly close. Not for as long as I’m still alive, still able to remember my family.
I squeeze my fists tight again, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but my past is so close to the surface that I can’t get the image of my wife’s and son’s faces out of my head.
It hurts to want to, but it hurts more to think about them this much. To feel their absence. The guilt over their deaths.
Judge knocks, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I grunt, and it’s enough of a sign for him to enter. He closes the door behind him, and I sigh. “What is it?”
