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Amano’s expression darkened. He clearly caught Dane’s meaning.
Dane said, “My office next, then the entire floor.”
Dane pressed the ice pack to my hand, then collected my things again. He left me with Amano for a few minutes while he gathered his bag as well. Then we headed downstairs.
Brandon brought around the SUV and Dane dismissed him for the evening with a hearty tip for the extra hours he’d put in.
I still burned with pain as we drove to the creek house. It was even an effort to speak. “So they know about me.”
“Obviously.” Dane was about to take angst to all-new levels. He was incredibly tense, massively on the edge, distressing me greatly.
“That means they’ve been watching us for a while.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?” I shot back, turning in the seat to face him. “I announced my two biggest scare factors—rattlesnakes and scorpions. And guess what? That’s exactly what I got scared by!”
“Ari—”
“No! Do not try to calm me down!”
I started crying again.
“Fine.” His tone was strained. I couldn’t help but think of the conversation we’d had after the snake in the stairwell. I already felt the wrath building. He would find out who was behind this—and I had no doubt they’d pay dearly for what they’d done to me.
I couldn’t reconcile how I felt about that. Instead, I asked, “What does Amano know about bugs?”
“He has equipment. Knows to check for phone taps, too. He did it frequently at my parents’ estate.”
“And who were they that there was a concern over someone listening in on them?” I asked. It helped to keep my mind focused on something, rather than the sting rushing through my veins and the pain in my hand.
“My father was a political strategist. He died before there was an Internet, and since most news articles hadn’t begun to be posted until around 1985, including a lot of those archived, it was easy to keep just about everything related to him off the Web. My mother, too.”
“Why do I feel as though I’m part of one big conspiracy theory?”
“You sort of are,” he deadpanned.
“Jesus.” My eyes squeezed shut. More tears streamed down my face. I concentrated on the questions. “What happened to your parents? How did they die?”
His tone radiated his frustration as he said, “Plane crash. Their private jet went down outside of New York City after a night at the Met. They saw the operatic version of Sweeney Todd. Ironic.” He gave a disgusted laugh. “He was a murderer.”
My pulse jumped. “You don’t think your parents were—”
“No,” he was quick to say. “I was just pointing out that it’s about tragic deaths.”
I hated hearing the pain in his voice. “Dane, I’m so sorry.” I would have reached over and covered his hand with mine, but I still clutched my throbbing hand to my chest. “How old were you?”
“Not quite a month. My aunt and Amano were looking after me that night.”
“A month,” I said on a heavy breath. “You never even knew them.”
“Aunt Lara was good at making sure I did—with photos and stories. They were very well respected in Philadelphia society, though apparently quite private. They kept personal matters to themselves. Not easy to get to know beyond their philanthropic efforts.”
“Must be where you got your secretive ways.”
“Amano always thought it was a smart tactic, due to my father’s political affiliations. In D.C., you never know your true enemies.”
“Zoe Barnes can attest to that,” I mumbled.
