Page 36 of Prince of Wrath

“Might be too soon for her.”

“Why? Isn’t she tired of staying in your house like a prisoner?” I glare at him.

“She isn’t…” Pressing the bridge of my nose, because of course Nate is the only person who manages to slide under my skin, always pressing the right button.

“Relax,” he says. “It’ll be fine. And Mom will be…Mom, but I guess it’s better Ella sees it now rather than later, when it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

“When she has your ring around her finger.”

“You haven’t even met her. Why do you assume…” He raises his eyebrow with a don’t give me bullshit kind of look, to which I do not answer. I crack my neck, massaging my nape with a wince.

“Tough night?”

“My back hurts like hell.”

“Why? Are you sleeping on the floor or something?” He scoffs, and I prevent myself from admitting the truth, that yes, I am, because that is the only place I can be near her without pushing her boundaries. “And by the way, it’s kind of creepy to watch her on your phone,” he adds, pointing under the table with a knowing look. I would very much like, under different circumstances, to give him a piece of my mind, but since Nate lost the love of his life two years ago, I do not shoot back. “Just saying,” he continues, “she should at least know about the cameras.”

“She knows.” This time, it is his turn to be speechless.

He stutters once before leaning back. “Okay…wow, yeah, not weird, you guys are not weird at all.” Leaving on that note, we both head to our respective offices when my phone resounds with Kathy’s voice.

“I have Brenton on line two.” I press the designated line, closing the door of my office, which is more often open in case one of my executives wants to talk to me.

“Brenton.”

“Mr. Ashford,” he says. “You’re on speaker. I have Deputy Garron with me.” I stand near the desk, above the speaker, scanning traffic and people with dark umbrellas on the sidewalks.

“Deputy Garron,” I rasps, reminding myself that I could handle everything with private security, but if I were to do it myself, it would end in a bloodbath and I’m not sure that’s the safest outcome for everyone. Moreover, knowing Cole could spend the rest of his life locked inside a cell similar to the one he imposed on Ella would actually give me peace, and perhaps offer the same to her.

“Mr. Ashford,” a woman replies, her voice mature, precise, and dry enough to suggest she has no time to lose on small talk. “Maren Garron, King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office. I’d like to thank you for the evidence you provided and for the cooperation you and Ms. Brooks have given us. As you know, we’ve been to the site and have launched multiple investigations that are currently ongoing.” She pauses, and paper rustles faintly on the other end of the line. “The materials recovered suggest criminal activities extending well beyond unlawful imprisonment and assault.”

Brenton continues, “Digital files, payment ledgers, and records that appear to correspond with several missing-person reports, including two journalists and one corporate whistleblower. We’re still waiting on forensic confirmation, but there are indicators of coercion, extortion, and human trafficking.” Cracking my knuckles, I absorb the information. A rat. A rat in my city, one I have let fester for far too many years.

“Where is he now?”

“We do not have a fixed location,” Garron says. “So far, surveillance footage and phone records suggest he may be staying with a relative, in a heavily guarded mansion.”

“How can I help you then?”

“We believe Mr. Vodianov’s fixation on you and Ms. Brooks may create an opportunity to apprehend him in a controlled environment.” My pulse strikes hard at Ella’s name. Instinct kicks in.

“Ella is not bait.”

“I understand, sir,” Garron catches up, measured and calm. “Given the gravity of the situation and the volatility of this individual, setting up an operation in a designated space may be safer than attempting entry at a fortified residence. I have teams to protect too. Sending them into a mansion with limited intelligence about what may be waiting behind those doors could turn into a suicide mission.”

“What are you asking, then?”

“According to Detective Brenton, your mother’s charity auction in two weeks may draw him in, regardless of what we do.”

“The ball,” I murmur.

“Yes,” Garron says. “Based on the behavioral analysis we’ve received, as well as your statement and Ms. Brooks’s, we believe she could be a strong motivator for him to show up.”

“No.” My hand curls into a fist. “I’m not putting her at risk. It’s out of the question. He already got the money.”

“Money does not seem to be a strong enough parameter, according to our profilers. He appears to be driven by personal ego, and in this case, that means you. And based on the statement we obtained from one of the guards, Ms. Brooks has become…” Garron pauses. “Forgive me, sir, but she has become a subject of obsession for him.”