Inevitable - Kristen Granata Page 0,6

his face. Then I move to another table across the room, the one farthest from the windows.

Deanna is just about frothing at the mouth when we drop into our seats. “Holy mother of God, that man is beautiful! You’re so lucky!”

I groan and drop my forehead onto the table.

Yeah, that’s me.

Lucky.

Chapter Three

Graham

“Good Morning, Graham.”

Anthony Montalbano swings the door open and steps into the hallway. He’s buttoned up to perfection in his navy suit, crisp white collar, and color-coordinated tie.

I give him a tight nod. “Morning, sir.”

“Rosemarie put out a wonderful spread in the kitchen. Go in and help yourself.”

“No, thank you.” I lift my to-go cup. “I grabbed a coffee on the way over.”

“Nonsense. The man who protects my daughter deserves all the breakfast he can eat. Please, I insist.”

He’s leaving for work, which would grant me unsupervised access into his home. This is exactly the kind of opportunity I need, but I can’t appear too eager.

“Won’t Eva mind the intrusion, sir?”

He grimaces. “She giving you as hard of a time as she’s giving me?”

“I can handle it.”

He reaches up and pats my shoulder. “Take care of her. She’s my baby. She’s all I have left.”

Guilt rises in my throat, stifling my response.

That’s more than my father would say about me.

So far, this guy doesn’t seem so bad.

“Will do, sir.” I step through the doorway and follow the long hallway, feeling like a wolf who was just let into the hen house.

When I find the kitchen, Rosemarie, I assume, gasps and clutches her chest.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up on either side of my head. “Mr. Montalbano let me in. I’m Evangeline’s body guard.”

She laughs, pressing her palm against her chest. “Oh, that’s quite all right. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. Been a bit jumpy since Miss Evangeline got abducted.”

My stomach sours at the reminder. “That’s understandable.” I extend my hand. “I’m Graham.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Rosemarie. Miss Evangeline is still asleep. Should be up soon though.”

“Mr. Montalbano told me to grab some breakfast before Evangeline wakes up.”

“Of course. Let me make you a plate.”

“No, thank you. I can make my own.”

She offers me an appreciative smile. “I’m running out to grab a few groceries, then I’ll be back. Help yourself, there’s plenty of food.”

“Thanks. Uh, anybody here besides Evangeline? Don’t want to startle anyone else.”

Rosemarie shakes her head. “Selma, the housekeeper, should be here around eleven. Until then, it’s just us.” She scurries around me and disappears into the hallway.

I wait until I hear the click of the door, then I bolt out of the kitchen in search of Montalbano’s office.

This place is a fucking maze, taking up the entire top floor of the building. Most of the space is open-floor concept, but individual rooms become more secluded as the hallway continues. I pop my head inside each room until I find the one I’m looking for.

Not only is the office door unlocked, but it’s open. That tells me one of two things: Either Montalbano has nothing to hide, or nothing to fear. And if he thinks he has nothing to fear, then he’s dumber than I thought.

I start at his desk. This guy has some major OCD. Everything in his desk is labeled. Taxes, receipts—even the container of paper clips says Paper Clips. Everything is in its proper place, which means there’s nothing illegal or dirt-worthy here.

Unless everything’s labeled to throw someone like me off his scent. It’s too early to tell which of the two cases I’m dealing with here, but I know I’ll figure it out soon enough.

It’s scary how good I’ve become at finding the things people try so hard to hide.

I’d started working for my father with the misguided notion that I was helping people. Families who’d lost touch with their loved ones, women trying to catch their cheating husbands in the act. People are hurting all over the world, and I’d convinced myself that I was making a difference.

But this? Rifling through Montalbano’s desk in his home office while he’s at work? This helps no one but my father.

This makes me the piece of shit Dad primed me to be.

I search the desk for about ten minutes until the faint sound of a female voice floats into the room.

The princess is awake.

I shove the files I’m holding back into the drawer and dart into the hallway.

Now which way was the kitchen?

I go left, and the voice gets louder as I creep down the hall. She’s singing. I can make