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Damn him.
He should have gone to Natches a year ago, the second he had the proof he’d been looking for, the pictures he’d found in an envelope in the back of one of the albums Mara Calloway had brought with her to the vacation house they’d invited Duke and Ethan to.
The pictures of the nearly broken child, the same child in the pictures Duke had seen in Natches and Chaya’s home when he was younger. Though in those pictures, the child had smiled, laughed, and looked out at the world with curious, bright eyes.
“It’s just a job,” she said then, her voice low, her shoulders straightening as she turned and stared at him coolly. “It’s just a job.”
Duke nodded slowly
. “If that’s what it takes to help you sleep at night, then I’ll go with that. For now.”
Because he knew better. Both of them knew better. But he knew she wasn’t quite ready to accept it yet.
SIX
The house was beautiful, as were the grounds, and it was obvious Natches and Chaya loved their home, Angel admitted silently as she and Duke retreated to the guest suite several hours later to settle in.
And their daughter.
Through the entire house the one thing that had really drawn her attention was the pictures. Framed, sitting on end tables and the mantel in the living room, hanging on the walls along the hall were dozens of pictures of Bliss growing up. Family portraits and spur-of-the-moment shots, yet there wasn’t a single picture of Chaya’s first child. Not alone, nor with her mother.
Not that Angel pointed that out.
She noticed it, felt the loss in her soul, but she remained silent.
Dropping her pack onto the overlarge chair next to the patio doors, she set the duffel bag beside it and stared at the cushioned furniture and shaded bistro table, ignoring Chaya, Natches, and Duke.
“Bliss will be home later tonight,” Chaya stated, pulling Angel’s attention back to her as she noticed the additional tension in the other woman’s voice.
Natches stood behind his wife, his hand at her hip, his gaze locked on Angel, the emerald color of his eyes predatory and wild with the fury he was holding back. Chaya stood with her hands clasped in front of her nervously, obviously worried.
“Is she okay?” Angel directed the question to Natches.
“She’s safe.” The snap in Chaya’s tone drew Angel’s gaze back to her. “Bliss doesn’t know who you are yet. I don’t want to tell her.”
Chaya continued speaking, Angel continued staring at her, but something was crashing through her soul. It swirled inside her with a dark, vicious pain she had no idea how to process.
How could it hurt more? How could anything inside her be left to shatter? Her heart simply couldn’t break any further, could it?
Bliss was dealing with too much right now. Fear and pain filled Chaya’s voice, her expression. She didn’t want the teenager to lose focus, to be distracted from remaining safe. She didn’t want her daughter to have to process another shock until the time was right.
Is there a right time? Angel wondered in disbelief.
She nodded when appropriate. She made herself breathe, made herself live through the additional, unexpected blow. Though she knew she should have expected it.
“Angel . . .” Chaya whispered when she finished, her arms lifting as though pleading for Angel to understand.
“Not a problem.” She pushed the words past her lips. “That’s for the best, of course. There’s no reason for her to be further upset when this is over and it’s time for me to leave.”
Chaya’s arms lowered slowly and she turned to her husband, his expression hardening savagely as he stared at Duke.
As though Duke could do something, fix something. They were obviously expecting more from her and she had no idea what more they could expect.
“We’ll let you settle in,” Natches said, his voice grating. “Breakfast is usually at seven.” His gaze sliced back to her. “I expect you to be there, Angel. We don’t miss family meals in this house. That means breakfast at seven, the evening meal at five, and if you want lunch, make yourself at home in the pantry.”
He drew his wife from the suite then and closed the door behind them.
“She must have learned to cook,” she said softly, remembering Chaya’s habit of burning most of the meals she attempted when Angel was younger.
