Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,163

her chin on my sternum. “Give up? Never. Tell me. I don’t like being kept in the dark. You seem to have some overblown idea that I need protecting. You don’t even know how to shoot—I do.” She’s on a roll. “Do you think I can’t handle whatever it is you won’t tell me, Christian? I’ve had your stalker ex-sub pull a gun on me, your pedophile ex-lover harass me—”

Ana!

“And don’t look at me like that. Your mother feels the same way about her.”

What? “You talked to my mother about Elena?” I don’t believe it.

“Yes, Grace and I talked about her.”

I gape at her, and Ana continues, “She’s very upset about it. Blames herself.”

“I can’t believe you spoke to my mother. Shit!” I put my arm over my face again, as yet more shame washes through me.

“I didn’t go into any specifics.”

“I should hope not. Grace doesn’t need all the gory details. Christ, Ana. My dad, too?”

“No!” she says, shocked, I think. “Anyway, you’re trying to distract me—again. Jack. What about him?”

I lift my arm to check on her and she’s sporting her expectant talk-to-me-now, I’m-taking-none-of-your-bullshit look. Sighing, I put my arm back over my eyes, and I let the words spill out in a rush. “Hyde is implicated in Charlie Tango’s sabotage. The investigators found a partial print—just partial, so they couldn’t make a match. But then you recognized Hyde in the server room. He has convictions as a minor in Detroit, and the prints matched his. This morning, a cargo van was found in the garage here. Hyde was the driver. Yesterday, he delivered some shit to that new guy who’s moved in. The guy we met in the elevator.”

“I don’t remember his name,” Ana mutters.

“Me neither. But that’s how Hyde managed to get into the building legitimately. He was working for a delivery company—”

“And? What’s so important about the van?”

Damn.

“Christian, tell me,” Ana insists.

“The cops found things in the van.” I stop. I don’t want to give her nightmares. I tighten my hold around her.

“What things?” she presses.

I stay silent. But then I know she’ll keep pushing me. “A mattress, enough horse tranquilizer to take down a dozen horses, and a note.” I try to hide my horror, and I don’t tell her about the syringes.

“Note?”

“Addressed to me.”

“What did it say?”

I shake my head. It was gibberish.

“Hyde came here last night with the intention of kidnapping you.”

She shudders. “Shit.”

“Quite.”

“I don’t understand why,” she says. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I know. The police are digging further, and so is Welch. But we think Detroit is the connection.”

“Detroit?” Ana sounds confused.

“Yeah. There’s something there.”

“I still don’t understand.”

I raise my arm and gaze at her, realizing that she doesn’t know. “Ana, I was born in Detroit.”

“I thought you were born here in Seattle.”

No. Reaching behind me, I grab one of the pillows and place it under my head. With my other hand, I continue to run my fingers through her hair. “No. Elliot and I were both adopted in Detroit. We moved here shortly after my adoption. Grace wanted to be on the West Coast, away from the urban sprawl, and she got a job at Northwest Hospital. I have very little memory of that time. Mia was adopted here.”

“So, Jack is from Detroit?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I ran a background check when you went to work for him.”

She gives me a sideways look. “Do you have a manila file on him, too?” She smirks.

I hide my smile. “I think it’s pale blue.”

“What does it say in his file?”

I stroke her cheek. “You really want to know?”

“Is it that bad?”

I shrug. “I’ve known worse.” My sad and sorry start in life springs to mind.

Ana cuddles into me, pulling the red satin sheet over the two of us before laying her cheek on my chest. She looks thoughtful.

“What?” I ask. Something’s on her mind.

“Nothing,” she murmurs.

“No, no. This works both ways, Ana. What is it?”

She glances at me, her eyebrows drawn together. She rests her cheek on my chest once more. “Sometimes I picture you as a child before you came to live with the Greys.”

I tense beneath her. I do not want to talk about this. “I wasn’t talking about me. I don’t want your pity, Anastasia. That part of my life is done. Gone.”

“It’s not pity. It’s sympathy and sorrow, sorrow that anyone could do that to a child.” She stops and swallows, then continues, her voice soft and low. “That part of your life is not done, Christian.