Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,73

legs, she wet her lips with her tongue. “I’m okay now.”

“Yes. You are.” He took a step back, still holding her hand to his chest as he shielded her from the world. “What did your mom say?”

Rachel swallowed hard, but with each passing second, she felt the walls inside her rebuilding, brick by brick. “Father’s had another heart attack. They’re in central London, in hospital. She said he was going to be fine, but…”

He leaned in to murmur against her ear. “Give me the ice queen, Rachel. That’s who you need right now. Let me see her. I’ve got your back, and you can handle anything. I know it. You know it. Let’s show the world.”

She nodded, and he backed up again. Rachel straightened her shoulders and took her hand from his chest. “I suspect my blackmailer may have shared some photos with my father,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded even and strong.

“Okay.” His eyes turned deadly. “Has she called your brothers?”

“She didn’t say.” Rachel smoothed her suit and brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“We can call them from the car.”

She was grateful he didn’t suggest going upstairs and telling Jonathan in person. She wasn’t ready for that yet. “Let’s go. I’m alright now. It was just a shock.”

“Come on.” He took her hand, and for once, she didn’t complain.

As they passed the curious guard and receptionist, Harvard called out, “That’s what happens when you skip lunch. She’s fine; we’re going to get something to eat. Have a good weekend.”

They smiled politely, but awkwardly, clearly unsure whether to believe him. Rachel didn’t care. She just didn’t want anyone calling Jonathan before she could talk to him.

Once in the car, Harvard handed her a bottle of icy water from the cooler built into the center armrest. She took it gratefully and sipped until her throat felt like it was working properly again.

“You okay to call?” he asked as he took them out into the traffic.

“Yes.” She lifted her phone and brought up her brother’s contact details. “Jonathan? There’s been some bad news; Father’s in hospital again with a mild heart attack.” As she listened to his shocked response, they joined the motorway, and Harvard’s hand reached out to clasp hers.

She held it tight.

“No, Mother said he’ll be fine, and you know she wouldn’t downplay it. I’m on my way there now.” She gave him the details. “I’ll meet you there. Will you tell Sebastian?”

Once he’d agreed, she hung up and reached for the water again.

Harvard squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

“It was just a wobble.” She took another sip.

“We all have them. How do you want to handle this?”

And just like that, the last remaining links in the chain around her heart gave way. Any other man at Benson Security would have taken charge and tried to tell her what to do, but not Harvard. With one short question, he’d let her know that he had her back, and this was her show to run.

“I need to calm my parents,” she said. “There will be questions about the attack. Emotions.” And she wasn’t great at dealing with those. It was tempting to leave them to get over the shock and then talk to them about it later. Maybe in a year or two. But she couldn’t. They were her family, and she loved them fiercely.

“Just tap my arm if you need a reprieve,” he said, sounding his usual calm self. “I can either take over the explanations or get you out of there for a few minutes.”

“Tag team,” she muttered.

“Yeah.”

She stared out of the window as they zoomed past the landscape. Green hills turned gray in the pounding rain. “I really want to kill someone right now,” she said.

“I’ll help you bury the body,” Harvard said darkly, leading her to think he had some very real experience in that area.

With her hand tucked in his, she kept her eyes on the road in front of them and tried not to think about where their journey would end. Or what she’d have to face when she got there.

Chapter Twenty-One

As they approached the door to her father’s hospital room, Harvard asked, “Do you want me to come in with you or wait out here?”

His question came across as purely pragmatic, without even a hint of pity. Thank Gucci. “I honestly don’t care,” she said. “Do what you want.”

He put a hand on her arm, his touch gentle but firm. “Rachel,” was all he said, but his tone made it clear he expected