“No more gifts after this. Umbrellas and chocolates are one thing, diamond earrings are something else.”
“Sure.”
She eyed him suspiciously.
Bennett revved the engine and set off for the West End.
“So, we watch Kitty and see who she meets with,” Hadley said.
“Yes.” His hands flexed on the wheel. “I want to catch this bastard. I want this to be over.”
“So keen to be rid of me?”
He glanced at her. “No.”
Their gazes met.
She tucked some hair behind her ear. “Whoever is doing this, it isn’t L’Orage.”
“No.”
“So who is it?”
“If I knew that, I’d be less pissed because they’d be behind bars.” Or dead if he got his hands on them.
“Since I stopped running everything through L’Orage’s usual MO, I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Go on.”
“This is all focused on Secura.”
Bennett frowned. “We knew that already.”
“And Secura is you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“This is personal, Knightley. Someone is targeting you.”
He made a scoffing sound. “They want the goods Secura makes, and are maybe angling to get their hands on the classified MI6 projects.”
“I don’t think so. Better vests, boots, uniforms, and even exosuits are important, but not that important.”
“I beg to differ.”
“In the long-term, yes, but whoever is doing this is out to hurt you now.”
Fucking hell. He stared at the car ahead of them. She might have a point.
“So who has an axe to grind with Bennett Knightley?” she asked.
“If you’re asking if I have enemies, sure, there’d be some.”
“List them for me.”
He sighed, breaking as the traffic thickened. “A few business rivals. Falco Inc. and Warden Industries. But I can’t see either of those companies doing this. Falco is owned by Dean Blackwell, who is old-school, a gentleman. And Richard and Catherine Trent, the owners of Warden, are too busy digging their company out of financial trouble.”
“Because Secura has taken business away from them.”