Red After Dark (Blackwood Security #13) - Elise Noble Page 0,3

it upon yourself to redecorate my house. Again. And you have an assistant now. Where is Izzy, anyway?”

“I sent her to the spa. Her manicure was chipped.” He gave up on Sky, who was stiff as a board, and grabbed my hand instead. “Come on, I’ll show you around. The guest house is ready for you and your men.”

His wink told me exactly what he was thinking.

“My men? No, no, it’s not like that.” Both of them? Not even in my dreams. “Not at all.”

“Sure it isn’t. Oh dear, you need a manicure too. I’ll book you in. Does tomorrow morning work?”

“Actually, we’re going to Kentucky tomorrow.”

“Tonight, then. I’ll get a beautician to come over. Where’s the rest of the luggage?”

“Uh, this is it. The cases are all mine.”

“Well, at least somebody knows how to pack properly. Leave it, leave it, one of the men can put it in your room.” He tugged me towards the front doors, and I pleaded with my eyes for Alaric to save me, but the cruel sod just grinned and waved. “The main house was built at the end of the nineteenth century, although it’s been extensively modernised since…”

CHAPTER 2 - EMMY

PROBABLY I SHOULD have made more of an effort to rein in Bradley, but I didn’t have the energy. The last week had left me drained. Not only the brush with death—although nearly following a lunatic off the roof of a high-rise was the closest I’d come to carking it so far this year—or even the dull ache from a broken nose, but part of my past coming back to haunt me.

And not just any old part.

Alaric.

We’d been together once, only for it to end in disaster when ten million bucks’ worth of cash and diamonds had vanished from his custody. At the time, I’d been his fiercest defender. I’d put my job and my reputation on the line for Alaric fucking McLain, only for him to disappear as well. And I mean disappear. Poof. Gone. Believe me, I’d looked, and he’d given me nothing—not so much as a postcard—for almost a year. I thought he was dead. Hell, I’d even picked out an outfit to wear to his funeral.

Had I been in love? No, but I’d cared for him a great deal. His moonlight flit hurt.

Boy, did it hurt.

But deep down, I understood why he’d done it. The need to run from pain—mental pain, not physical—was ingrained in both of us, and I’d pulled a similar stunt myself a few years ago before I came to my senses.

What I didn’t understand was why he hadn’t told me about his daughter.

His fifteen-year-old daughter, a girl whose existence I’d only found out about by accident on Sunday. From Bethany, of all people, a woman he’d known for less than a week. Why had he trusted her with that knowledge but not me?

The question had eaten away at me for the whole flight back, and I was still no closer to an answer. Nor had I dealt with any of my emails or read the briefing notes for this afternoon’s meeting. Should I just ask him? Once or twice I almost had, but there was clearly a reason he hadn’t mentioned his offspring, and I didn’t want to make things any more awkward between us. Somewhere over the eastern seaboard, I’d decided the easiest option was to pretend the girl didn’t exist.

The problem was that before I found out about her, I’d offered Alaric the use of the guest house behind Riverley Hall as well as my help in finding Emerald. Finding Emerald again. Last time we’d gone after that damn painting, I’d ended up dodging bullets, so I was as keen to catch the thieves as him. Dish out a little payback, you know? But now I wanted to do it quickly. Get it over with.

Then the painting could go home to the museum, I could get on with my life, and Alaric and Bethany could head back to England and play happy families or whatever. As for the ten million bucks… I still wanted to believe Alaric was innocent, but my belief in him had wavered this week. If he’d lied once…

“Where are we going?” Sky asked. “And why are you walking so fast? Slap a number on your arse, and you could enter the Olympics.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

“Is that why you spent twenty minutes staring into space after dinner yesterday?”

Guilty as charged.

“Shut up.” Deep breaths, Emmy. Don’t kill the brat. She