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“Check her pockets,” I instruct the housekeeper. “See if you can find an ID.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Penelope mutters as she sifts through the woman’s belongings. She pulls out a black flip phone —a burner— followed by a small black case. Penelope unzips it, revealing a selection of lockpicks. “I have averybad feeling about this.”
“Anything?” I ask, applying an ice pack to her ribs.
“Nothing. Should I check the car outside? She crashed straight through the front gate.”
I shake my head, brushing the woman’s hair away from her face. It’s caked with dried blood and dust. “No, don’t bother. Just make sure to keep Odette away from the wreck. I don’t want it triggering anything.”
“O-okay. Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?”
Penelope doesn’t know about my past. Neither does my daughter. If they did, they’d know that turning to the police for help is the worst thing to do. I’m not particularly worried about any of our neighbors calling the cops since we live just outside of the city’s limits. We have a good handful of acres on all sides of the property for privacy, so I doubt we’ll have to deal with any nosy witnesses.
“No,” I say firmly. “Stay with Odette downstairs and distract her. I’ll handle this.”
“Distract her? How?”
I grind my teeth, my patience running thin. “Let her eat the damn gingerbread. Turn on some cartoons. I don’t care. Whatever you do, don’t let her up here.”
Penelope nods stiffly before turning on her heels, scurrying away like a mouse. I get that she’s frightened, but I don’t have time to coddle her right now.
If Chet really did send this woman to come find me, something major must be going down. It was my choice to leave that world behind —and my old friend along with it— so deliberately getting me involved after all this time must mean something seriously dangerous is happening.
I’m just about finished patching her up when her eyes snap open. She gasps, body jolting.
“Who are you?” she shrieks, wincing in pain. “Where am I?”
I put my hands up, a tamer calming his lion. “Relax. You’re safe.”
She looks around the room, lost in confusion. She props herself up on her elbows, struggling to sit up. “I have to go back for him. He needs me!”
“Lie down,” I snap. “Before you hurt yourself further.”
“I need to find Gabriel Lacroix.”
“You found him.”
She blinks at me. The poor thing reminds me of a little bird, lost and broken and at the mercy of the world. “You?”
I nod. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Raquel,” she whispers. “Raquel McHale.”
My throat goes dry. “Raquel,” I echo, equal parts amazed and bewildered. It suits her, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. A thought rips me from my thoughts, however. “Wait a second, you’re Chet’s daughter?”
She passes out again before I get an answer, but I don’t need one. Now that I’ve wiped most of the dried blood off her face, I can see the resemblance. She has Chet’s straight nose and high cheekbones. I’m fascinated by her full lips, her long lashes, and the light scent of peaches beneath the salty tang of blood in the air.
Now that I have a moment of calm, it’s hard to deny her beauty. Raquel is…
Wow.
Stunning is probably the best way to put it. I have to tear my eyes away as I pull the blankets up to cover her body, ignoring the strain in my pants. Just because she’s out cold, that doesn’t give me the right to ogle her. I’m not a fucking creep, and if she really is Chet’s daughter, that makes her doubly off-limits.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed and breathe a heavy sigh.
Well, shit. So much for our peaceful Friday morning.
Chapter 3
