Page 205 of Vexatious Queen

“I’m not used to all these compliments from you. They kind of freak me out,” I teased.

He chuckled and then froze as we got closer to the dining hall.

“What?”

“The guards…where are they?”

I looked around. Nash was right, they were all missing from their posts.

“This way,” Nash indicated the service hallway toward the back entrance.

We walked quickly and quietly. The servers were in the kitchen, and everything seemed normal there. But my nerves didn’t ease.

“Do you hear that,” he asked when we reached the door.

I didn’t hear anything at first, but then there was the distinct sound of a female voice.

It wasn’t Vicky or Bridget.

It was…no…there was no way.

“Ana, put the gun down, right now,” Dad ordered, his voice firm and his words all too real. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the thought that it was really her.

I shoved the door open, stepping straight into the worst and best moment of my life. My heart felt like it stopped, and my brain couldn’t corroborate what I was seeing.

The room was still. But even if I’d walked into the middle of a rave, all that would have existed was my mother, standing at the far end of the dining table, with a gun pressed to Vadin’s head.

The floor seemed to give way beneath me, like the ground had opened up and tried to swallow me. I stumbled, but Nash caught me before I fell.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

My mind scrambled for logic, for an explanation that didn’t involve my dead mother standing in front of me, looking strong, healthy, and just as beautiful as I remembered.

What the hell kind of sick joke was this? It had to be a hallucination. A nightmare I hadn’t woken up from yet.

Grief hit me in waves. Not the sharp, choking kind that I’d known before, but something meaner. This was grief with teeth. Grief that rewrote memories and poisoned every quiet moment I’d ever spent missing her.

Every time I’d whispered her name into the dark.

Every night that I’d blamed myself for surviving when she didn’t.

Every part of me that had learned how to live without her because I had no other choice.

She had watched me do all of it.

Behind her, movement caught my attention. A man stood half a step back, positioned like a shadow. Tall, still, and watchful. Detective Conway.

I sucked in a ragged breath as the missing pieces, I’d longed to understand, snapped together.

He hadn’t investigated her murder, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to give me any answers.

He’d been watching me—for her.

More memories rose in flashes from when I was little. I recognized them now. Detective Conway and the second man who stood by her side. They were her guards, my guards. They had been with us in Russia and followed us to Canada. They lived in our neighborhood. I could remember seeing them when we got ice cream or went to the mall. Mum had always waved and said it was the neighborly thing to do.

Oh my god.

The investigation. The timing. I had been so confused after speaking with Detective Conway. The official file on my mother’s death hadn’t made any sense, and I’d thought I was going crazy.