I shake my head and start tapping my finger on the table. I feel like an asshole because of the breakfast at her parents’ suite. They’re morons who treat her like trash, and I wonder how she remains sane after living with them for so long.
I wanted to say something. I needed to. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop if I started, and it could have gone two ways. And neither of them would have been good.
“Are you okay?” I ask when I can’t keep it inside anymore.
She looks so strong, so unmoved by everything even though thirty minutes ago she was being reduced to tears by her parents. It made me see red, but I couldn’t afford punching her father before the wedding no matter how much I wanted to—Ezra would have skinned me alive. The old scars on my knuckles nearly split open because of the tight fists I made in order to stay put.
Bea’s jaw tightens at my question while she slams her notebook shut. “What’s your deal, King? One minute you’re playing bodyguard, the next you’re throwing me to the wolves. Pick a side and stick to it. Your instability is giving me whiplash.”
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “My side is with Ezra. Always has been, always will be. You’re his mess, not mine.”
The lie tastes bitter, and I nearly givemyselfwhiplash from how fast I’m changing gear. But her fire has clawed its way under my skin to remain there, and the more time I spend around her, the more I forget that Ezra is my brother.
Her laugh is sharp and cutting. Leaning closer, she whispers, “Then why are you here?”
Her wide eyes flicker with a challenge, daring me to lie again. For a moment, she looks like the same person who nearly ripped me a new one over luggage at her feet.
“Ezra’s officially missing,” I say, dodging her jab. “His assistant called. No ferries, no contact for two days. And that never happens. So I wanted to see if your sister’s missing too. They might be stuck someplace together because looks like they were on the same plane.”
Her eyes widen, panic flashing before rage surges back. “And you’re just now telling me? Too busy being a dick to notice your brother’s actually vanished?”
“Don’t start,” I snap, my temper flaring. “Martin called me literally minutes ago. Where did you think Ezra was then?”
“I don’t know.” She waves her hand in the air. “Out there somewhere, chasing deals and skirts. I don’t know him. I don’t know a thing about him. How would I know if he’s missing?”
Fair point, but I’d die before admitting that to her.
“Now you do. What do we do now?”
“I’ve already started gathering information.” She shakes the notebook in the air.
“Gathering information?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “By flirting out of your mind?”
She shoves the notebook at me, its pages flapping from the impact. “Staff, must you be aware, always know more than anyone else. One of the guys saw someone like Maeve at the dock yesterday, chasing some boat and jumping into it. I’m callingeveryone—ferry offices, locals, anyone who’ll listen, to find out whose boat that was.”
I grab the notebook, and our fingers accidentally brush. The already familiar electrical surge runs through my arm. I scan her notes: vague staff comments provide no picture whatsoever.
“This is nothing,” I growl, tossing it back. “Where’s the name of the boat at least?”
“Nothing?” she hisses, rising to her feet and leaning her outstretched arms on the table. “It’s more than you’ve got. You’re useless.”
The air crackles with the rapidly thickening hatred and pointless accusations, but her closeness and defiance keep stirring that predator interest I’ve been struggling to keep under lock. I want to shove the table aside, pin her to that cold floor, and shut her up with my mouth.
But my brother is missing, and her sister too. So I stand, towering over her.
“Useless? Keep running your mouth, princess, and you’ll be the one who needs saving.”
She pushes away from the table, rising to her full height of five feet nothing—the top of her head barely reaching my chest.
“Saving? From you?” She laughs nonchalantly, but her voice is a bit shaky. “I don’t need saving nor help. I can find my sister and myfiancéwithout anyone’s help.”
Her emphasis on the word fiancé makes my jaw tick.
“Then do it,” I snarl, stepping back before I lose my cool. “Find your sister and yourfiancé, but don’t drag me into your chaos.”
Her phone buzzes, cutting through the tension. She answers with her voice shifting to that honey-sweet charm.
“Hi, this is Beatrice Wrong.” Her face instantly changes. “Yes. Yes. Hold on.” She puts the person on speaker and asks, glancing at me, “What did he look like?”
