It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him. But I couldn’t do it like this. Not while we waited for news about Ramsey. Not over the phone.
“When will you be home?” I asked, wondering if I sounded as weary as I felt.
“Not for a few days. I have to stay here with Sasha and manage the situation. It’s going to be a bitch. We’re dealing with law enforcement and attorneys. The paparazzi hasn’t let up. Not to mention, we still have to find out who the fuck did this, and why.”
“I can call Jordan Bennett.” She’d replaced her father as our contact within the FBI and we had an amiable relationship. “Maybe she’s heard rumblings on her end.”
“No,” Flynn stated. “I don’t trust her.”
“You didn’t trust her father, either,” I reminded him.
“Jordan is nothing like her father. Don Archer proved himself. Jordan hasn’t proven herself yet. No, this stays within the family.”
“You called Hadrian, didn’t you?”
“Aye. Had to call him and tell him about Ramsey.”
A headache began to pulse behind my left eye.
Coincidence? Stress?
Or was it the tumor?
“As soon as we have enough information, then we’ll make a plan and act accordingly.”
“We?” I asked. “You’re going to involve me?”
“After all these years together, it would be foolish not to involve you.” He paused. “Whoever did this will not get away with it. When I find them, I’ll make them suffer before I kill them.”
Despite the horrible situation, something inside of me settled. “I know you will, love. I know you will.”
Chapter36
BARRETT
The headache was bloominginto a full-blown migraine. “Love,” I gritted out. “I’ve got to go.”
“Kiss the bairns for me,” Flynn said.
“I will. I love you.”
“Love you, hen,” he said, his tone gruff.
We hung up. My vision was spotty, and nausea churned in my belly. I wanted to see my children, but I would be no use to them. And I couldn’t let them see me like this.
I stumbled down the staircase and entered the kitchen. Ash was standing at the counter, appearing lost and confused. A glass of red was poured, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.
“Hey,” she greeted. “Do you want a glass—what’s wrong?”
“Migraine.” I staggered toward the counter, and I clutched the marble island. “Do you have any of your prescription meds?”
“Yeah, they’re upstairs. Come on.” She came to my side.
I leaned on her and let her guide me up the stairs. “Fuck, I’m going to throw up.”
She got me to a guest bathroom just in time. After puking in Dr. Elmond’s office, there was nothing left in my belly. It was mostly dry heaving. I was shaky and sweaty, and it felt like someone had driven a screwdriver into my skull.
Ash put me to bed and then left the room. She returned quickly with a glass of water and a prescription bottle. I downed the pill and half the glass of water before collapsing back against the pillow.
