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He gave me a disarming smile. “I’m your grandfather, of course.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. How stupid did this man think I was? “If you’re Seamus McDonough, then I’m Hilary Clinton. You’re either a twin or a really close doppelgänger.”
His eyes shifted to Sheila. “I told you she is perceptive.”
Sheila huffed a mirthless laugh. “But easily conned.”
What the fuck were these two nutcases on about?
“I admit, though,” my evil grandmother kept on. “I was truly touched when word reached me that you were concerned about my safety. Those small fear responses are always so helpful in gaining access to one’s emotions and using it against them.”
Well, suck a duck.
Karma really was a bitch.
“You played me.” I scoffed in disbelief. “You knew I was going to be at the gala, didn’t you?”
“And you played your part so spectacularly well, little Ava.”
“What part?” I asked. “You didn’t gain anything that night.”
“Didn’t I?” She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “You did the one thing I needed the most, and that was to reveal the mole in my operation. Two, actually. And you did it so well.”
Seamus’s look-alike nodded and smiled at her words. “Not only that, Avaleigh,” he told me, “but you helped us to eliminate some of our loose ends along the way.”
“Dr. Martin.” My grandmother rolled her eyes. “That horrible offspring of Cartwright’s.”
“He was particularly foul, wasn’t he?” the man agreed. “Nasty for business.”
“And of course, your carelessness and urge for vengeance allowed us to easily access the Dashkov building.”
“God rest their souls.” Seamus’s doppelgänger shook his head in mock solemnities before calling for the waitstaff to bring out food and drinks. My stomach growled as the room filled with fragrant spices and sizzling hot plates as the waitstaff rushed in from the kitchens holding trays of decadent goodness. My body had been starved of nutrients for the last three days, and it took every ounce of control I had not to grab up the spiced apple roast and dig in like the Grinch at a Christmas feast.
“Do eat, dear,” my grandmother urged me. “I promise I didn’t drug any of it this time. We are sharing from the same dishes, after all.”
The old crone was right. There was no reason not to eat. If she wanted to drug me, she would have had them deliver an individual plate instead of allowing me to serve myself from the same dishes as them.
“As long as you cooperate, there will be no reason to drug you.” It was a warning, and it wasn’t subtle. Behave or back to woozy land I would go.
I loaded up my plate with the roast, potatoes, green beans, and a few other vegetables I could reach before sitting back in my chair and slowly beginning to make a dent in my food. Several quiet minutes passed, and I hated to say that it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
It wasn’t cozy either, but at least they weren’t hurling death threats at me. They probably had that saved for dessert.
“So.” Yep, I wasn’t going to let the silence go on forever. It was beginning to grate on me. “What’s your actual name? You know, the one you were born with.”
The man sitting across from me, the enigma I hadn’t been able to place on the chessboard, beamed at me.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out I wasn’t Seamus,” he compromised.
I could do that.
“The Seattle police took photos of my mother’s dorm room after she disappeared,” I told him. “One of the photos easily seen is of her, Seamus, and Cruella here on the day of her graduation, which was also the day you were seen meeting with Dante Romano’s father here in Washington.”
“Clever girl,” he praised me. “A keen eye for detail.”
Sheila snorted. “Stop pandering to her, Remus. It’s below you.”
Remus.
