“I don’t doubt that. But then, you’d be putting Hallie at risk, too.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I also wasn’t going to let a bunch of lowlifes mess with my plans, my aspirations, my career.
“I would like to see them try to get to her.”
“I’m not kidding,” Tom said, looking gloomy as shit.
He’d really taken Ian Holmes’ death hard. I imagined he was going to call the daughter next, maybe help arrange for his service. That was the kind of man Tom was. Broken, but glued together, somehow, into something whole.
“You’re going to be putting her at risk instead of eliminating risks that could put her in danger.”
“I’m well aware, all right?” I barked, staring out the window. “If anything, it would add some spice to this job. All this woman does is shop and take pictures with her friends.”
“You can’t be serious right now.”
I was, in fact, being serious. I wasn’t going to let a bunch of assholes run my life. For starters, I had no reason to believe they knew I was in Los Angeles. For another, I left here years ago. Tom was making a mountain out of a goddamn molehill.
“All I’m saying is—”
“You wanted me here, and now I am. I’ll keep an eye out for the Bratva.”
Tom let out a short breath. “How do I tell Lisa that Ian is dead?” he asked finally. “She’s going to be devastated.”
Grief was something I had no concept of, so I kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the ride.
The rest of the day was a cluster.
As soon as Ransom came back, he kicked Lisa, Tom, and the kids out and dragged me to my room.
“You’re staying in today, Princess,” he said, no particular tone to his voice as he threw me in there without so much as an explanation.
Something had definitely gone wrong for him while he’d been out with Tom. I doubted it had anything to do with me. I’d been here all along, getting to know Tom’s family. Lisa was a cool chick for sure. She collected Toulouse-Lautrec prints and had one of the most extensive collections outside France. And she was big on sustainable, green living, just like me. We even exchanged numbers and emails. I could only imagine what kind of hell Ransom would have put me through had he suspected I was forming connections with people from his real life.
“I’m not your prisoner.” I kicked around haphazardly as he carried me to my room, more curious than upset, really. I dragged my feet over the stairs to make it hard for him. Unfortunately, he seemed completely unfazed by my weight and tucked me under his arm like I was no more a burden than the morning newspaper.
“Agreed,” he said, surprising me. “But I need to sort out some shit today. I’ll call Max to keep an eye on you. He’ll let you out of the room, but you have to stay home for the time being.”
“Why?” I demanded breathlessly, after he put me down on the floor in my room. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“But something did. Are you doing side hustles now?” I flat-eyed him, desperate to make him feel as small as he made me feel. If he got himself into trouble, and I wasn’t a part of it, it pretty much meant he was dragging me down with him.
He gave me a pitiful look. “Stop talking.”
“Stop breathing.”
“Your parents will be disappointed to learn you’ve made no progress in the shrew-taming department.”
“Good. Means I’m wearing you down. Maybe you’ll decide to quit soon. Or better yet—have a heart attack.”
He slammed the door in my face, then locked it. I found myself wishing he were dead. The heat and rage with which I hated him stunned me.
Which reminded me—today, I found a voice message from my mother on my phone. She was careful to leave it at four in the morning Pacific Time, when she knew I wasn’t going to pick up.
“I hope you are doing okay, and that you understand we only did what we had to do. We worry about you, Hallie. We’ll talk when you calm down.”
But when I called back, she didn’t pick up. Hera wasn’t kidding. They really had decided to cease all communication with me and get reports from Ransom.