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“Don’t touch anything. We’ll send the knife to the lab.” It was Ben’s voice that abruptly ended the silence.
“You won’t find any prints,” Sebastian flatly stated.
“No…I don’t think so.”
Prying me off of him, Sebastian turned his attention on Bear and Justin. “I want every inch of this place locked tighter than a nun’s cunt. Get a hundred more men if you have to. I don’t want a fucking breeze to get in––am I making myself clear?”
A chastened look on both their faces, the two men answered with a brief nod.
“When are you leaving for Paris?” he asked Ben.
“Couple of days.”
“Is this about the man they arrested. That has information on your car accident?”
“Yes.” Sebastian’s expression was as cold as the tone of his reply.
“The bullet wound…they meant to miss, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
After that we all walked silently back to the house. I laced my fingers through his, holding onto his hand with a death grip while his attention wandered far away from me. Once we got back to the house, he disappeared while the rest of us loitered in the kitchen. I figured he went in search of a dark place to brood, and I didn’t want to push him if that’s what he needed––I certainly could relate.
“I can’t get the scent of blood out of my nose.” Charlotte brushed away the tears still quietly falling down her cheeks. She sat at the counter while I stood across from her near the stove, waiting for the kettle of water to boil.
“Cut the shit, Beckwith. Now’s not the time for your drama.” Ben’s voice was so caustic it could’ve stripped paint off a car. Slack-jawed, I turned to find his expression impassive. Leaning his shoulder against the window with arms crossed in front, his tattooed biceps, shockingly large, stretched the sleeves of the white t-shirt he wore to within an inch of its life.
Red faced, Charlotte’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed, the vein on her forehead ready to burst.
“Winters?” Ben turned and glanced at her, his eyes as cool as peppermint. “Anybody ever tell you what a FUCKING ARSEHOLE you are?” She stalked out of the kitchen after that.
“Ben?”
Those pale, green gray eyes met mine. “Why do you have to be like that with her?” Whatever was going on––this was out of character for him. If anything, Ben was always the one cracking jokes when things got tense.
“What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”
I was already running on fumes and dealing with whatever was going on between these two was not at the top of my list––the well being of one tall blonde was. Therefore, I turned my attention to the shrill of the boiling kettle, triple bagged my chamomile tea, and kept my mouth shut.
Night fell as abruptly as a heavy drape of inky velvet. By eight concern surpassed patience. I went in search of him, certain that he was industriously adding more bricks to the wall he had already built up around himself. I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.
I found him in his office with the lights off, only a shaft of moonlight as respite from total darkness. Sitting behind his desk, the chair was tilted back and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. There was no mistaking the anguish etched into his profile––even in the dark.
“Do you want to be alone?”
His eyes found me leaning against the frame of the doorway, and ran up and down the length of my body as sensually as a mink glove caressing my skin.
“No,” he said in a quiet voice. “Come here.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. I ran into his open arms and curled up on his lap. Drawing me closer, he kissed me softly. Two dry brushes of his firm lips on my temple. Then he pulled a small, leather box out of a desk drawer and turned on the lights with a remote.
“I meant to give this to you sooner.”
I stared at the leather box with the word Cartier stamped on it. When I didn’t take it, he opened it and held it up for me. Inside, on a leather pillow, sat a small cross made entirely of diamonds. The stones caught the soft, overhead light and turned it into fire.
“I know it’s not the same thing––it’s not your mother’s. But I thought…you might like this.” His voice faded away as I continued to stare at it. “If you don’t like it, I’ll return it.”
At the disappointment in his voice my eyes snapped up to his. The light had revealed all his heavy thoughts, his burdens and sorrow. He wore them all on his face. “I love it,” I said emphatically. “I love it because it’s from you. If you gave me sticks and stones I would love them just as much.”
He managed to muster up a smile for me, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He removed the cross from the box and nimbly fastened the chain around my neck. Gingerly, I touched the stones, the platinum backing cool against my skin. Resting on my sternum, his gift lay over my heart, protecting what belonged to him––and always would.
