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We should have had someone there all along. “Where are we on locating Sean Boyd.”
“No luck yet. He might have left town.”
I shake my head. “No.” Instinct tells me he’s not gone. “Bastard’s still here.”
In these reports, she accused him and his father of the physical abuse. She never mentioned the fact that they were raping her. That they were letting others rape her.
“When is Liza Boyd’s release?”
“No date yet.”
I shift my gaze to the security cameras. Look at the one at the pool that’s trained on Melissa. I think she’s fallen asleep out there.
“I want to find the bastard.”
Axel nods. “We will. I’ve got someone at the clinic 24/7. He hasn’t been by.” His gaze moves to the screen. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know about this.”
“No and we’re keeping it that way.”
Axel opens his mouth to reply, but my phone rings, interrupting him.
I would ignore it, normally, but because it’s sitting on my desk, my gaze naturally drifts to the screen and I read the phone number.
It’s not an American number. And although it’s not a number I have stored on my phone, I recognize the country code.
Scotland.
“You gonna get that?” Axel asks when I just watch it ring and ring.
I should.
Today’s a good day. Today, I bought that last of the shares I need of the MacLeod Distillery, gaining control of the family business.
Today’s the day my dear half-brother learns he lost. This should be his call to concede because I’ve won.
But something feels off.
My fingers move without my authorization and I swipe the green bar and put the phone to my ear.
It’s not Declan.
The accent is heavier than my brother’s. Too hard for many English speakers to understand. It makes something inside me ache.
As the man is talking, I remember how people looked at me when I first got here, asking me to slow down. How Mr. Lanigan got a kick out of it. How easy it was to get women into your bed when you talked nonsense to them just because of that accent.
It’s what I’m thinking when I listen to what he has to say. When those few words turn my world upside down.
22
Melissa
I’m dozing when Hawk’s shadow falls over me.
“You’re burnt,” he says.
He’s like a giant, blocking out the whole of the sun.
“You need to put on sunscreen. Where’s your sunscreen?” He crouches down to look through the straw bag I brought to the pool with me.
“Relax,” I say, sitting up, straddling the seat. “It’s here. And I did put it on.” I find the tube of sunscreen under my towel and look down at my chest and he’s right, I did burn. But it’s not bad.
He sits on the edge of the chaise and takes the tube, squeezes some on his hand and starts to rub it into my chest. He’s been like this since he got back. Attentive. Sometimes overly so.
And always watching me.
“Hawk, stop. It’s fine. It’s not bad and I’m going inside anyway.” I stay his hand, but he seems anxious. And I realize how totally out of place he looks up here in his suit while people are splashing around in the pool. Pop music is playing probably louder than he likes.
“I hate this fucking music,” he says as if he read my mind.
I smile. “It’s your hotel. They’ll play whatever you tell them to.” He’s moved on from my chest to my stomach and seems to be taking special care there. His gaze is fixated on my belly button as he gently rubs the sunscreen in. “Hawk, stop. It’s fine. I’m going inside anyway. I don’t need more sunscreen.”
He stands up abruptly like he’s just realized where he is. What he’s doing. He shoves my towel into my bag. “Let’s go.”
I reach out, grab his hand. “Wait.”
When he looks impatiently down at me, I can’t tell what’s in his eyes. It’s like a storm of emotions and it’s strange, that storm. Like it carries him away from me and the feeling that comes over me, it’s like a weight settling in my belly.
“Did something happen?” I ask, forgetting what I was going to say.
It’s like he’s not here, not hearing me.
Like he’s a world away.
“Hawk?”
He gives a shake of his head. “Let’s go, Melissa,” he finally says.
I rise, pick up my cell phone from the table.
He hurries me along as we make our way to the elevator.
When I meet my reflection in the mirrored doors, I look at myself in the skimpy bikini—he didn’t even give me time to put my wrap on. My skin gleams with sunscreen and sweat while he stands beside me, impeccable in his suit. Unreadable. Like nothing can penetrate him.
I wonder what it’s like to be like that. To be so confident and comfortable and unafraid.
The elevator doors open and we step into the penthouse.
