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“Why?”
“I learned something tonight.”
Her eyes narrow faintly and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip. “What about?”
Cara pulls herself up onto one of the stools, keeping the counter between us. Maybe it’s for the best. I pick up my cup again, this time seeking the distraction as the warmth of the coffee soothes my tongue and throat.
It fails to ease my thirst.
“Cain and Declan learned that the bomb was likely retaliation for the death of Grigoriy Lenkov. The Russian brigadier that I killed. It may have been a personal retaliation, either to kill me or hurt me.” My words hang in the air and I take another sip of coffee, studying Cara’s face for any hint of what she is feeling.
Her brow dips and her gaze falls away from me to the counter where she is running her fingertips along a scratch that exists there. Silence follows and my skin tingles faintly.
Is she angry? Hurt?I wish she would say something already.
“He is the one that had me kidnapped, right?” Cara asks and her dark eyes flicker back up to me.
I nod.
“So my—my father… he wasn’t the target?”
“No. It was likely me, or you. Or both.”
“Hmm.” Her gaze falls again and my breath catches in my throat. I can’t read her face, the alcohol must be keeping her emotions at bay. I set my cup down and walk around the counter, stopping near her and taking her hand. The moment her smooth skin brushes against my calloused fingers, my heart rate slows and calmness settles into my chest.
Even if she is angry with me, I won’t care.
“It’s not your fault,” Cara says quietly and this time her eyes shine when she looks up at me. “That bastard had to die. We knew there would be retaliation. At least it wasn’t because of something shitty my father had done.” She chuckles wetly then and tension I hadn’t realized existed melted from my spine.
She doesn’t blame me. So I shouldn’t blame myself, right?
Her fingers curl against mine, threading our hands together and she wets her lips, their glistening trying to distract my thoughts.
“I have something to tell you as well,” she says and she clears her throat, gripping my hand tighter. “It’s important.”
“About?”
“Where I really was that night.”
Her directness catches me off guard. In the past, she’s been cagey, and secretive until I’ve dragged things out of her. Now she’s opening up freely? I gently squeeze her hand in turn, showing I appreciate her openness.
“Wait here.” Cara leans up and presses a wet kiss to my cheek before she slides off the stool and scurries out of the room.
I stare after her, my own hand absently seeking out the score in the marble that she had been tracing moments before.
Coffee forgotten, I walk into the lounge as my gut twists and a small flush of nausea bubbles. Cara’s confirmation that she really had left the club that night concerns me. Reckless behavior like that is what gives the Russians hope for an opening to kill us.
She returns a moment later, her neck flushed from her hurry and her chest rising as she pants. She holds out a small sheet of paper and chews on her lip as I take it.
“What is this?”
“A letter,” Cara begins to explain. “From Blair.”
“Blair?” Heat pulses through me, reigniting the tension in my spine.
Fucking Blair. Why is she always involved?
“Yes. When you attended business that night, she came looking for you. Asking to meet and I got the note instead. I know I shouldn’t have read it, I’m sorry but I was so— soangrythat she wasn’t getting the hint and leaving us alone.” Cara begins to pace in front of me as I skim down the letter, my heart starting to pound harder in my chest.
