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She needed answers. She needed to know what had happened and why. And then she needed to figure out just why the hell Travis Caine felt more like a lover than a trainer, more like a friend than an enemy.
Travis sat in the underground room Wild Card had been assigned as the Harrington’s driver and listened to the confrontation as it played out in the Harrington living room.
Wild Card, a.k.a. Noah Blake, sat at the small table across from him, earbud attached to his ear, listening as well.
Travis watched the small, portable monitor as Lilly stalked from the room.
“Have the file sent up to her.” Lilly’s mother rose jerkily from the couch, her expression and her tone icily furious.
“Angelica, she doesn’t need the file yet.” Desmond sat forward, his expression concerned now. “She’s barely healed physically. The shock could be detrimental.”
“And what of the shock to the family?” She turned back, her pale face furious. “She’s determined to bring this family down to the sa
me level she’s existed at for the past six years. Let her see the damage she’s risking by continuing along this path.”
Travis’s lips thinned at the judgment in Lilly’s mother’s voice.
Desmond sighed wearily. “She’s been through a lot, Angelica.”
“And you think I don’t realize this?” Angelica’s voice roughened. “My God, Desmond, the thought of that report destroys my soul. Why? Why did she allow us to believe she was dead? Why live the life she lived rather than returning to us?”
“That’s a question only Lilly can answer.” Desmond rose to his feet. “And the doctors fear it’s a question she will never be able to answer.”
He glanced back at Angelica as he made his way back to the bar.
“She was always so damned stubborn,” Angelica stated, tears filling her eyes. “I tried to tell Harold that if she were not dealt with properly when she was a teenager, then she would only harm herself.”
Desmond seemed to stiffen before turning back to her.
“The clinic was not the answer, my dear,” Desmond sighed.
“You are as ineffectual where she is concerned as Harold was,” she snapped.
Desmond’s voice hardened. “This is not an argument I will have with you tonight.”
“You never wish to discuss it,” Angelica said. “It’s as though you want nothing more than to bury your head in the sand and pretend this situation does not exist.”
Desmond stared back at her coolly. “I can think of nothing better than burying the entire matter for good.”
With that he tossed back his drink, slapped the glass on a table, and stalked from the room.
A throttled, furious scream erupted from Lilly’s mother’s throat as she flung her glass at the door and watched it burst into fragments.
A tear slipped down Angelica’s cheek as Travis turned from the scene and leveled a look at Noah. A soundless whistle pursed his lips as Angelica left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Travis pulled the earbud from his ear and dropped it to the table as Noah activated the cameras throughout the house, tracking Angelica’s movements.
She stalked to her bedroom; minutes later, a manservant knocked. Angelica appeared at the door, handed a thick file to the servant, and pointed to Lilly’s suite.
“Hell of a thing for a woman to have to face at four in the morning,” Noah stated quietly.
“At any time,” Travis growled.
He hated that damned report. Hell, he had never agreed with the cover those girls had been given. They were called security “escorts.” Military trained, exceptionally lovely, and dangerous as hell. They were “hired out” to men who required beauty and brains in a deadly package.
They were rented to legitimate businessmen as well as criminal bosses and cartel leaders. Sexual services were not part of the package, but few of the men who paid for their services admitted that. They thought they were hiring discretion and protection. They had no idea they had hired highly trained operatives who reported back to an agency created for secrecy and efficiency.
To the world, though, the girls Santos Bahre and Rhiannon McConnelly handled were no more than well-armed whores.
