Sean cleared his throat. “Devon.”
He blinked. “Yes?”
“Control yourself.”
Sawyer snorted. “Like that was ever going to work. Since when does telling him to behave get him to behave?”
“Control myself how?” Devon scowled. “I’m not a dog.”
“Wish you were. Dogs are obedient.”
Andrei chuckled, pointed at Devon’s lap. “We’re in the window seat, Dev. Kids are around. They don’t need to see your hard on.”
“My fly is zipped,” he retorted, peering down at the admittedly large bulge as he stuck the fork upright in the cake. “It’s not like they can see anything. Plus, they shouldn’t be looking at my crotch if they don’t want to see a penis.”
Sascha coughed out a laugh and covered her mouth. “How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?” he asked, perplexed. His eyes bugged as a thought came to him. “Get an erection?” Did she not know? he thought, wildly.
She snickered then blew out a deep breath as she fingered a few crumbs on the plate in front of her. “No, silly. Make me laugh when I feel like the whole world is going to hell. Nothing is what it was before I met you guys. I’m not even Sascha anymore. I’m this Eloisa chick.”
He blinked at her somber statement, then racked his brain. “Why’s the world going to hell?” Had he missed something in the news? It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last. Still, even when he missed important bulletins, life had a habit of carrying on around him. Wasn’t like it needed his input for that to happen.
Sean sighed. “Devon, for God’s sake. Get with the program. Someone’s tried to hurt her.”
“Not hurt,” Andrei corrected grimly. “Kill her. She’s entitled to be shaky.”
Sawyer elbowed Andrei in the side. “Great going, arsehole.”
Sascha shook her head. “He’s right, Sawyer. There’s no point in prettying it up. My life now belongs in a Martina Cole novel. It’s official.”
Kurt snorted. “That’s Andrei’s life.”
Andrei frowned. “Who’s Martina Cole?”
“She writes novels about gangland London.”
The Russian growled. “I’m not in a gang.”
“No. Your grandfather just runs one of the biggest Bratva organizations in Russia,” Sawyer retorted, but his voice was low.
“That’s him. Not me. And he’s retired now.”
Like that made it better.
Sascha bit her lip. “We really need to not mention that in front of my dad. You know, the cop?”
Sean stifled a grin. “Don’t worry. We won’t.”
We.
That one word had him settling down inside. It always had. Probably always would.
When he’d heard Henry talking to Sascha, her father explaining the truth of her past, Devon had known, instinctively, that she’d run.
Strange how he’d known that when he rarely understood people. He just knew that he’d run when he’d found his mom lying in the bathroom, her wrists sliced from the base of her hand to her forearm—so there was no mistaking that her attempt wasn’t a cry for help.
It had been no attempt at all.
He’d found her that way and had run. And run and run.
Why wouldn’t Sascha?
Her mother had been murdered. Her father, too, and she’d been shuffled off to America by a member of the staff. And now, she was back in London, where her biological father’s family had discovered her existence once more... A family who apparently wanted her dead.
“Do we think Edward knows anything about her?” Sean asked, out of the blue. Almost like his thoughts were on track with Devon’s, which was an impossibility.
If anyone could keep up with Devon, it was Sawyer, and even he was usually a few steps behind.
Devon’s brain was like the Victoria sponge cake. Layers within layers. Each one individually processing a subject that mattered.
The thickness of the layer represented how much attention he gave something.
Rather pleased at the analogy, he was determined to use it on Sascha when she tried to understand how his brain worked.
He wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, but she asked him odd questions. Queries that told him she wanted to understand him, and because no one had ever wanted to do that before, he wanted to please her in return.
“I doubt it,” Andrei said roughly. “At least, I hope not. Why would Edward know about Sascha?”
A few days after Sascha had been knocked over by a car, she and Andrei had been due to attend a gala where Andrei was the keynote speaker. Edward Jacobie, a recent client of Andrei’s as well as the founder of a tech company that had taken over the globe, a man who was also Sascha’s nephew now her ancestry was known, had been invited to introduce Andrei to the masses.
That gala had never happened thanks to a bomb blast. The capital was still reeling from the terrorist attack.
“How much time was there between you RSVP’ing the event with Sascha as your guest and her being targeted?”
Devon’s words cut through the conversation like the knife had sliced through the cake.
Sean sighed. “He has a point.”
“When doesn’t he?” Kurt grumbled.
Andrei ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the white blonde locks he kept neatly cut close to his head. “I RSVP’d the night before the accident.”
“Edward Jacobie’s security teams would be in the know of all the changes to the guest list.” Devon shrugged. “It’s their job to know these things and to run security checks.”
“But he’s a billionaire, dammit. Why would he be interested in Sascha?”
“Because his mother’s a murderer?” Kurt said dryly. “That’s a nasty family secret. People have killed to cover up smaller secrets.”
“Have you met Elizabeth Jacobie?” Devon asked Andrei, who shook his head.
“I’ve met Louisa, his sister, but only because she’s his PA. I only realized she was his sister recently.”
Devon nodded, remembering that conversation—Andrei had been displeased by the idea he hadn’t known Louisa’s real identity.
“She’s a shadow,” Sawyer said softly, stirring milk into his tea, making the silver spoon tinkle against the porcelain.
“What do you mean?” Sean asked, frowning at Sawyer.
He, Andrei, and Sawyer had visited Jacobie’s home and had discovered their first tie between Sascha and the Jacobie family—a black and white photograph of a woman who was the spitting image of their partner. A woman they’d come to learn was Sascha’s grandmother.
“Didn’t you notice when we were there? Jacobie dismissed her. She didn’t like it. She drooped at the dismissal.”
“She’s a PA. She’s supposed to be in the background,” Kurt argued, slouching back in his armchair.
Sawyer shrugged. “Maybe. But she doesn’t have to like it, does she?”
Sascha blew out a breath. “This is all very informative, but what do we do?”
Devon blinked in surprise at the odd question. “Sean’s called the police, Sascha.”
“He has?” She gawked at him. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Devon asked. “One of the family is a murderer, and the others are undoubtedly involved in the conspiracy. Why wouldn’t we involve the police?”
Sascha raised shaky hands to her forehead. Rubbing at her temple, she asked, “So, they’re in custody now?”
“Have been since this afternoon.” Kurt shot Sean and Andrei a look, but Devon knew why.
Henry had explained the situation to them first before he’d told Sascha.
“They’re probably out on bail by now,” Sascha said bitterly. “That’s even if they’ve been charged.”
Sean shook his head. “I’d have heard. Plus, they’re under investigation,” Sean corrected Kurt. “The police are investigating the murders of your parents, Sascha, and also trying to determine if anyone aside from Elizabeth Jacobie
is involved.”
“Like her daughter,” Sawyer inserted gruffly.
“That means shit,” she snapped. “I’m in as much danger as I was before. With no proof, there’s no way they can arrest them.”
“Your dad gave us some,” Sean said softly.
Sascha gasped. “What?”
He shrugged. “We talked about this with him earlier. He overheard us discussing your situation, and demanded to know what was going on.”
“W-What evidence?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.
“You don’t want to know, Sascha,” Kurt said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she snapped, pulling her hand away. “I need to know. You’ve kept this from me. All of it. Kept me out of the loop, and if anyone should have known what the fuck was going on, it’s me!”
Her voice was raised, enough for a silence to permeate the still busy coffee shop, and for all eyes to turn their way. She positively vibrated with the tension strumming through her, and Devon gently squeezed her fingers, wanting her to know he was there for her.
When she made no other outbursts, disinterest soon followed from the café’s patrons. But, all the while, Sascha’s eyes had been caught by Sean’s. The two of them were staring at one another like they had a line of electricity connecting them, one that couldn’t be ruptured.
“Tell me,” she said softly, when the regular hush of the café returned.
“There’s a safety deposit box with files in it. Your biological father stored the information there in case you were ever in danger again.”
She rubbed her head once more. “Why has this crazy woman targeted me again? I was no threat to her.”
“Sweetheart,” Sawyer told her softly, his brogue thick. “You don’t seem to be understanding the gravity of the situation. When you were born, you became an heir to the Jacobie estate. That estate was used to fund Edward Jacobie’s corporation—that’s public knowledge. Everyone says he had a silver spoon in his mouth from birth, and they’re not wrong. But that means, whatever percentage the family plowed into his business, half is yours.”
She swallowed thickly. “B-But…”
“It’s worth billions, Sascha,” Andrei filled in gently. “There are a billion reasons why Elizabeth Jacobie would find your existence a threat.”
“But she didn’t know it was me! I have a different name! My dad said I was called Eloisa Jacobie. There couldn’t be more of a difference between that and Sascha Dubois.”
Devon tutted. “Sascha, you saw that picture the other day, sweetheart. That’s your grandmother, remember?”
“You look like doppelgangers,” Kurt said softly. “A basic security check from Jacobie’s team would get your picture. Anyone in the family would see the likeness. How could they not?”
“That photo was in the entry way of the house, Sascha. Seeing her and seeing you? There’s no mistaking the familial connection. Or, at least, there’s every reason to investigate further,” he amended softly.
Sascha raised her free hand, which had fallen into her lap, and covered her eyes. “I’m a housekeeper. I never wanted to be anything else.”
“And you don’t have to be anything else either,” Devon said, tugging at their still united hands. “You just have to be ours.”
She swallowed, peeped at him. “You mean that?”
He stared at her blankly. “Of course, I do.” When didn’t he mean what he said?
What was the point of words otherwise?
The tiniest smile had her lips curling out of the utter misery of moments before. “When don’t you mean what you say?” she asked, mirroring his thoughts.
Kurt softly whispered, “Do you forgive us? We were only trying to protect you.”
“Seems like people have been trying to protect me since I was baby,” she mumbled, sending them all a look. Then, her jaw worked, but she continued, “Thank you.”
The tension that had ratcheted up among them at her outburst slowly began to dissipate.
“How did my dad know he’d need to give us the location of the safety deposit box?”
“He didn’t,” Andrei said softly. “Know, that is.”
“But he must have brought the key with him.”
“He told us of the charm bracelet your mother always wore. The key was one of the charms.”
Her eyes rounded. “The key—the biggest charm. I always fiddled with it.”
Andrei murmured, “I saw you wearing it last week, and when your father mentioned it, knew where you kept it.”
“This is insane,” she breathed. The notion that this conspiracy was the epicenter of her world, was more mind blowing than she knew how to deal with.
Devon murmured, “It isn’t, Sascha.”
“How can you say that?” she cried softly.
“Insane is the opposite of sane. We’re all very sane people.”
She gawked at him then pleaded, “Don’t be so literal, Devon. Can’t you see how messed up this situation is?”
“Of course. But it’s not insane.”
Sawyer sighed. “Don’t be pedantic.”
“But I’m right,” he argued. “Insanity is a sickness of the mind. How can a situation be insane?”
“I think I’m going mad,” Sascha whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She pulled her hand from his and got to her feet. “I-I need to go.”
Andrei hissed at Devon. “Now look what you’ve done!”
Kurt stood, and as she made to sidestep them, grabbed her and tugged her into his arms. Devon watched, with a frown, as she struggled in his hold.
“It’s okay, Sascha. Everything will be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” she snapped, then sagged in his arms as he just held her tighter. Devon watched as she pressed her forehead to Kurt’s chest. “You don’t know that,” she repeated.
“I don’t. But I know that we’ll keep you safe, because we love you. No one will hurt you. Ever again. We won’t let them.”
“Now that’s the truth,” Devon said, pleased by Kurt’s declaration.
Everyone shot him a glower save for Sascha who was still burrowing fiercely into Kurt’s arms. Devon just shrugged, reached for his cake, and took a bite.
Thirty-Three
The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen was an endless stream of ‘Breaking News.’ So much so, Sascha stared more at that than the screen and the newscasters discussing her life.
She’d seen more pictures of herself on the TV than she had in a lifetime, and she knew it had to be a so-called friend who’d sold her out.
Bastard.
Considering her social media accounts were set to private, the broadcasters had somehow managed to haul dozens of images from there regardless of her settings. They couldn’t have done that without help from someone she knew.
Sean was talking about suing because her anonymity was a thing of the past. Privacy itself was a suddenly laughable concept in the face of how much of her world was now public knowledge. He’d spouted something about her human rights having been violated, but it was like locking the stable door after the horse had bolted.
Her face was out there now.
What was done, was done. She’d just been violated in yet another way.
Sascha knew she should probably be grateful that they hadn’t figured out her relationship with her bosses was so much more than just work-related. Because if they had, Sascha felt certain such salaciousness would have had them salivating. Chomping at the bit for more of the juicy details.
When sunlight suddenly penetrated the dark lounge, she winced, then sat up. She had the TV on and earphones in her ears. Coldplay was singing about how things were all yellow, while she contemplated how her relatively ordinary life had gone down the crapper.
She peered at the window and saw Kurt was there. Dragging the curtains open wider, the sunlight pierced her eyes as she let the light touch her for the first time in three days. She’d holed up in here after t
hey’d returned from Rossi’s, and she’d barely moved since except for bathroom breaks and to grab another tub of ice cream.
Wallowing?
Maybe. She wasn’t sure what she was doing if she was being honest. Processing seemed to be a better description, she figured, but processing what? Nothing had changed. Not really.
She was still the same woman she’d always been, except the past made a mockery of that, which was a block she had to overcome.
She was safe. That was all that mattered. The danger had passed. But that didn’t stop her from feeling endangered. From feeling like her very sense of self was in peril.
Tugging her ear buds out, she asked, “What are you doing?”
Kurt shrugged. “I’m coming to sit with you.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because I miss you.”
The words had her throat tightening. Through the madness of what was happening, their love was the only beacon that shone brightly enough through the gloom.
“I miss you too.”
He cut her a look. “Then you won’t mind me sitting with you.”
“I stink,” she told him bluntly.
He shrugged. “I’ve played rugby. You can’t stink worse than a bunch of wet, sweaty, mud-covered guys.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Wanna bet?”
His lips twitched. “I’ll stick to the other side of the sofa if it makes you feel better.”
Glumly wishing she’d taken the enormous step of showering this morning, she nodded. “Okay.”
They were in the lounge with the two L seater sofas, which were brought together to create an open-ended square. She was closer to the windows than the door, and he took the seat closest to the exit—downwind from her, she noted with relief.
Peering at him as he seated himself, she realized he’d brought a carrier bag in with him. “What’s in the bag?”
“Those sweets you like. Plus some donuts and other things.”
She couldn’t stop the smile that curled about her lips. “You brought me junk food?”
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 45