“Avery.” Grayson spoke behind me.
“What?” I said, unable to fully tear my mind from the map—and the implications.
“That was Nash.”
“I know,” I said. He’d told me who was on the other end of the line before he’d answered.
Grayson laid a hand gently on my shoulder. Alarm bells rang in the back of my head. Why was he being so gentle? “What did Nash want?”
“It’s about your sister.”
CHAPTER 43
Ithought you said you’d take care of Drake.” My fingers tightened around my cell phone, and my free hand wound itself into a fist at my side. “For fun.”
I’d called Alisa the moment I’d made it to the car. Grayson had followed and buckled himself into the back seat beside me. I didn’t have the time or mental space to dwell on his presence beside me. Oren was driving. I was pissed.
“Ididtake care of him,” Alisa assured me. “You and your sister are both in possession of temporary restraining orders. If Drake attempts to contact or comes within a thousand feet of either of you for any reason, he’s facing arrest.”
I forced my fingers out of the fist but couldn’t manage to loosen my grip on the phone. “Then why is he at the gates of Hawthorne House right now?”
Drake was here. In Texas. When Nash had called, Libby was safely inside, but Drake was spamming her phone with texts and calls, demanding a face-to-face.
“I’ll handle this, Avery.” Alisa recovered almost instantly. “The firm has some contacts on the local police force who know how to be discreet.”
Right now, beingdiscreetwasn’t my priority. My priority was Libby. “Does my sister know about this restraining order?”
“She signed the paperwork.” That was a hedge if I’d ever heard one. “I’ll handle it, Avery. You just lie low.” She hung up, and I let the hand holding my phone drop into my lap.
“Can you drive any faster?” I asked Oren.
Libby had her own security detail. Drake wouldn’t get a chance to hurt her—physically.
“Nash is with your sister.” Grayson spoke for the first time since we’d entered the car. “If the gentleman so much as tries to lay a finger on her, I assure you, my brother would take pleasure in removing that finger.”
I wasn’t sure if Grayson was referring to separating said finger from Libby’s body—or from Drake’s.
“Drake isn’t a gentleman,” I told Grayson. “And I’m not just worried about him getting violent.” I was worried about him being sweet, worried that, instead of losing his temper, he’d be so kind and tender that she’d start to question the fading bruise ringing her eye.
“If it would make you feel better, I can have him removed from the property,” Oren offered. “But that might cause a bit of a scene for the press.”
The press?My brain clicked into gear. “There weren’t any paparazzi at the foundation.” I’d noted that when we’d arrived. “They’re back at the house?”
The wall around the estate could keep the press off the property, but there was nothing stopping them from congregating, legally, on a public street.
“If I were a betting man,” Oren commented, “I would guess that Drake placed a few calls to reporters to ensure an audience.”
There was nothing discreet about the scene that greeted us when Oren pulled up to the drive, past a verifiable horde of press. Up ahead, I could see Drake’s form outside the wrought-iron gates. There were two other men standing near him. Even from a distance, I could make out their police uniforms.
And so could the paparazzi.
So much for Alisa’s friends on the police force being discreet. I gritted my teeth and thought about the way Drake would guilt Libby if there was footage of him being dragged down the drive.
“Stop the car,” I snapped.
Oren stopped, then turned around in his seat to face me. “I would advise you to stay in this vehicle.” That wasn’t advice. That was an order.
I reached for the door handle.
