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“She made some very bad choices.” There was a pause. “I’ve managed to hold back my wife from punishing Pam.” There was faint amusement in his voice.
Bram’s lips twitched. He could only imagine what Devyn had planned.
“Now, Hex said you’re taking Addie out to lunch, and I’m sorry to interrupt…”
“What’s up?”
Killian sighed. “I got a call from Eamon Farley.”
Bram fought the urge to roll his eyes. Farley was an eccentric Irish millionaire who had his fingers in lots of businesses in New York, and owned a lot of artwork. He had a warehouse in the Meatpacking District that he’d converted into a private gallery. Most of the art inside looked like shite to Bram, but Farley gushed over it, and it was worth a small fortune.
Sentinel Security had installed the security system, and Farley had insisted on only dealing with Bram. Irishman to Irishman. He’d said he’d only trust a fellow countryman with his most prized possessions. Bram hadn’t minded the work, and liked the wiry, old man.
While Bram was overseeing the installation, Farley would often turn up at the end of the day with a bottle of Teeling 30-year-old single malt whiskey. One of Bram’s favorites, and normally out of his price range.
“Farley called, and there’s some problem at his gallery,” Killian said. “A sensor on one of the displays is malfunctioning and setting an alarm off, but the gallery’s empty. He wants it checked out now. And he wants you.”
Bram let out a sigh. “It’s fine, Killian. I’ll swing past and check it out.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later. I want an update on Addie’s stalker situation.” Killian paused. “And I’ll need to update my sister, as well.”
Addie gasped. “Um, Killian, I…never mentioned the notes to Saskia.”
Killian made a sound.
“Or the baby,” Addie continued. “She knew Bram and I…that I thought things hadn’t worked out.”
“I guessed as much, since on our recent trip to San Francisco my lovely sister skewered Bram with some death glares.”
Addie blinked. “Oh, no.”
“She’ll want to know, Addie,” Killian continued. “And that you and Bram have sorted things out.”
“Okay.”
“Now, go and let Bram deal with this problem for our pesky client, then enjoy your lunch.”
“Bye, Killian.” Bram ended the call, then turned the truck at the next lights and headed for the Meatpacking District. “Sorry about the delay for lunch.”
She smiled. “It’s fine, Bram. Actually, I’m excited to see you work.”
He grunted. “A lot of my work is boring. Surveillance, making phone calls, installing security systems.”
“It’s not boring to me.”
He felt something in his chest swell. But he reminded himself this wasn’t about him. It was about taking care of her.
He couldn’t fail her again.
Finally, he pulled up in front of Farley’s warehouse, and parked. Addie looked at the whitewashed building and plate-glass windows. There was a sculpture in one window. It looked like a kid had thrown a bunch of colorful play dough together in a pile taller than Addie. The bright yellows, blues, reds, and greens were garish.
“Oh, that’s…interesting,” she said.
“Farley leans heavily towardcontemporaryart,” Bram told her.
She smiled. “You don’t like contemporary art?”
He smiled back. “Not my thing.”
