Page 48
He gives his head a small shake, then says, “I promise I’ll try to find out who he is.”
I nod, unease settling in. My grandfather has a history of doing business with the wrong people. I remember Antonio and he got into a heated argument once because of that. My brother demanded he keep it far away from me or he’d restrict visitation strictly to Hermosa Islas. And for a couple of years, he did.
A flood of emotions washes over me. “Aiden, where is he? If he was home…”
I can’t bring myself to finish. The air in the penthouse was thick with smoke. It was hard enough for me to breathe. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like for a man his age. “Maybe he got out before us.”
“Wouldn’t he have made sure your grandmother got out as well?” he growls, and his face sours in disgust. “And you?”
It hurts to admit this, but the truth is what it is. “No.”
“Where the hell was your security? Why weren’t they around to get you out? Isn’t that part of their fucking job?”
This won’t go over well, considering everything he’s said about their performance. “They were off duty. Allowed to return to the hotel they stay at when we’re in London.”
His jaw tightens, anger building, but before he can berate them again, a man in a cheap navy blue suit interrupts us.
“Are you Isabel Reyes?”
“I am.”
He pulls his warrant card from his suit pocket and presents it. “I’m D.C. Sanders from Kingston Police Station.”
Aiden stands, so he’s now next to me, my hand still secured in his grip.
Sanders takes a moment to look him over. “And who would you be?”
“Aiden Bishop.” His tone is firm, as if daring the detective to ask more. “I’m a friend of Isabel’s.”
The two men stare at each other, sizing the other up before Sanders moves on. “Just to confirm I have my facts straight. You are Isabel Reyes, the granddaughter of Rico and Alma Lopez?”
What’s this guy’s deal? How many times is he going to ask the same question? Something’s off and I don’t like how it makes me feel.
“What’s this about? She’s already told you who she is.” Aiden’s patience wears thin. “Get on with it. Stop dicking around and spit it out already.”
Unimpressed, D.C. Sanders waits for my answer.
“Yes. Now, can you please tell me what this is about?”
“When was the last time you saw your grandfather, Rico Lopez?”
A suffocating pressure twist in my stomach, making me nauseous. “Yesterday afternoon. He had lunch with Grams and me, then excused himself. Said he had business and left with his driver an hour later. Why?”
He writes something in his notebook and then looks up. “You didn’t hear him return?”
“No. We got back around eleven in the evening after a gallery event. I assumed he was in his office, but I never saw him or confirmed that.” I press my hand against my stomach, already dreading what comes next. “We both got ready for bed. I checked on my grandmother thirty minutes later to tell her goodnight. Fell asleep sometime around two.”
“It took you two and a half hours to fall asleep?” Sanders’ eyebrow goes up, filled with skepticism. “Why is that?”
“Sometimes I have trouble falling asleep. No one reason. Do you always fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow?” I’m not about to admit the reason has everything to do with the brooding man next to me. Aiden doesn’t need another excuse to get cocky. “Again, why are you asking?”
“I’ll get there.” He scribbles furiously in his notebook, the pen scratching across the paper. “What woke you?”
My patience snaps. “The bloody fire alarm was blaring. What are you getting at?”
“No need for the attitude. I’m only doing my job,” he scolds before moving on. “When it woke you, what did you do? Walk me through how you got out.”
“Look, you useless bastard.” Aiden’s clearly done with this game of charades. “Tell her what it is you—”
