When Grant bought the brownstone, it was for investment. He liked the neighborhood, but the house needed a lot of work. Unlike its typical townhouse architecture, this one was a sprawling bungalow with a basement. One of his companies was a construction firm so it wasn’t hard to get renovation started. They tore up the flooring and put down premium hardwood. The plumbing and electrical work were upgraded. The walls were done in shades of brown or taupe, and the furniture was cream-white leather. The kitchen had coffee-colored granite with antique white cabinets and professional stainless-steel appliances. Blaire remarked that it screamed “bachelor pad” so he encouraged her to give it her feminine touch with an unlimited budget. She was an artist after all. His face turned sour. She hadn’t touched a damned thing, not even hung any of her paintings. Now he knew why. Blaire hadn’t counted on staying. It infuriated him.
The door to the garage opened and Tyler walked in. Above the attached garage were furnished living quarters where the security team stayed.
“Coffee?” Grant offered when his man stepped into the kitchen. Tyler nodded and gave a deep breath. “Donovan called and said he made his flight this morning. He’ll be in by nine.”
“Any progress report from DC?” Grant asked.
“Yes, I talked with him earlier. He alluded to some information regarding Blaire’s background.”
“And?”
“I think they have a match and pieced together why and how she ended up in Colorado.”
“That’s good … that’s good,” Grant murmured distractedly as he poured Tyler some coffee. Afterward, he filled his mug and took a sip. Grant grabbed his tablet from the counter to flip through the morning news, but felt eyes on him the whole time.
“I’m okay, Tyler,” Grant grinned faintly and glanced up at his bodyguard.
“Donovan is gonna have my ass,” the bodyguard groaned.
“I hear you whine about it one more time, Tyler, it’ll be me handing you your ass. Cut it out.”
“Yes, Mr. Thorne.” Tyler’s face cleared of emotion.
Now the question this morning was breakfast. Blaire usually did the cooking. Grant could manage basic breakfast items like eggs and bacon. Waffles and pancakes from a box. Cereal and milk. He cringed. His housekeeper, who did most of the cooking, came in only on weekdays. She used to come in on Saturdays but, since Blaire moved in, Grant wanted to laze around in bed and all over the house with his woman and didn’t want to chance his housekeeper walking in on them. As he contemplated the cereal choices, he heard Tyler’s radio crackle.
“The vehicles of Mr. Thorne’s mother and sister are clearing the gates.”
Grant groaned inwardly, not ready for company at six-thirty in the morning. He prepared for the inevitable, noting how he looked in the mirror this morning which was actually worse than how he was feeling.
“Where is he?” He heard his mother’s panicked voice before he saw her march into the foyer with Valerie.
Amelia Thorne slapped a hand over her mouth, uttered a strangled cry that wrenched at his heart, and rushed toward his son. Grant loathed putting that shocked, anguished expression on his mother’s face.
“How did this happen, Grant?” his mother demanded.
“The traffic was bad in front of the Hyatt, so I told Tyler to wait for me at the corner of Main. Two men tried to mug me.”
“I hope the cops are looking for them,” Val said, outraged.
“They’re dead; Tyler shot them,” Grant stated flatly.
The two women gaped in shock.
“Are you … are you in trouble with the police?” Val asked worriedly. “It was self-defense, right?”
Grant nodded. “It was. How did you two find out?”
“A friend called me this morning to ask how you were doing,” his mother said, clearly upset. “She saw you sitting on the steps of an ambulance last night, talking to the police. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t know what she was talking about. She was also at the gala—an affair I forced you to attend in my place.” The last four words were uttered with self-reproach.
Grant hugged his mother. “Hey—none of that now. I’ll be pissed if you take any blame for this.” He looked into her distressed eyes. “Are we clear?” A troubling feeling nagged him and it had everything to do with the “mugging” lie he’d just told. He didn’t expect that covering up for Blaire would indirectly hurt his mother. If he told her the truth, the blame would fall on Blaire. If he didn’t, he was sure his mother would continue to harbor some guilt over what happened.
“So, Blaire’s not back yet?” Val questioned. “She had to rush off somewhere, right? Changed your vacation plans. That’s why you were able to attend in place of Mom?”
He didn’t like the accusatory tone in his sister’s voice. He knew she didn’t approve of Blaire. Hell, Val didn’t approve of any of his female friends if they weren’t in the required social class in her head.
“She’s here. Arrived late last night and she’s sleeping.”
Val eyed the row of cereal boxes Grant had pulled out. “So, you survived an attempted mugging, and you’re the one serving her?”
“Val, it’s none of your business,” Amelia censured. If there was one person who could attempt to muzzle his sister, it was his mother. “Grant, did you go to the hospital to have a thorough check-up?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t you?”
“Nope.”
“Grant …” He was a thirty-five years old and his mother was mothering. He’d once gotten pissed at her for nagging him like he was still a teenager with braces, but she told him until he got married and had kids, he would never understand.
“Good morning,” a quiet voice spoke from the hallway.
He turned to Blaire, frustrated that he wanted to be alone with her, yet knowing it wasn’t happening soon. Add to that Val’s obvious hostility which wasn’t helping his woman feel comfortable about being here.
“Blaire,” his mother walked toward his woman and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re back and Grant has someone with him. How’s your aunt? Is she feeling better?”
A pained smile flashed across Blaire’s face. “She’s fine now. Thanks for asking.”
“One has to be more careful as we get older,” his mother offered. “It’s easy to lose balance and fall.”
“How old is your aunt?” Val asked. “Maybe it’s better for her to stay in a retirement home.”
“And it’s your business how?” Grant snapped. As much as he loved his sister, he hated her bitchiness and certainly wasn’t blind to it.
“What?” his sister replied innocently. “I’m just showing my concern for Blaire’s aunt. What if her neighbor hadn’t found her.”
Bullshit. Grant fumed and judging by the tight expression on Blaire’s face, she thought the same.
“I appreciate your concern, Val,” Blaire said with saccharine sweetness. “I’ll look into it.” Walking past his sister, and clearly dismissing her, Blaire opened the refrigerator to take an inventory. “I can make eggs and sausage for breakfast. Anyone hungry?”
Unconcerned that they weren’t alone, he approached his woman and brushed her ear with his mouth. “I am.”
Blaire inhaled sharply and flicked him a glare even as she turned scarlet. “Grant …”
“What?” His brows shot up innocently.
“Maybe we should go and leave you two lovebirds alone,” his mom suggested, smiling at him slyly. “On second thought, are you sure you should be exerting yourself, Grant, after the night you had?”
“Mom,” he growled at his mother’s innuendo even if he did bring it on himself.
Blaire, turning redder if possible, grabbed the eggs and sausage from the fridge and moved to the center island. His woman was flustered and damned if he wasn’t fucking turned on. His frustration at having unwanted company increased and Grant hoped he could make it through breakfast.
The morning meal progressed without much drama or any more embarrassing moments
. To Grant’s surprise, Valerie behaved and didn’t make more snide comments toward Blaire. He was proud of his woman as she turned out to be a gracious hostess. She sent one of his security guys to the bakery at the corner street for some crusty French boule and assorted muffins. She cooked enough for an army and even invited their security detail, including his mother and Val’s teams, to the table. They respectfully declined, so Blaire made them a platter to take back to their quarters and sandwiches for those who needed to stand guard outside.
“Your dad is flying up tomorrow,” his mother informed him. “He was worried for you. If he didn’t have that breakfast meeting with the president’s Chief of Staff, he’d be on his way to Boston right now.”
“What’s the meeting about?”
“Your dad’s reelection campaign. The party is discussing the next presidential election.” That was three years away, but potential candidates were being scouted and built up early. There were a lot of lessons learned from the tight and controversial race of the last election.
“Is Dad interested?”
His mother sighed. “He’s keeping his options open, but I’m not too keen on the idea.”
“I don’t blame you, Mom. Being a senator is one thing, but president?”
“You know how all these newly inaugurated presidents enter the White House with a head of black hair but when they leave it’s all gray?” his mother quipped.
Grant laughed. “You’re concerned with Dad’s gray hair? It’s almost all gray now.”
“Pshaw, you know I’m not that superficial,” his mother said, her Southern accent more pronounced. “But it’s a tell of how stressful the job is. I don’t want that for your dad.”
“In any case, Mom, you’d make a great first lady.” Grant meant that statement wholeheartedly. His mother had Southern charm and warmth that could relate to the people in the Heartland that felt disconnected from their leaders in Washington.
“Well, then you probably need to think about settling down soon,” Mom looked pointedly at Blaire who lost all color.
“Uh …” his woman stuttered, caught off-guard by his mother’s comment.
“Less tabloid fodder that way,” his mother sighed. “I know you’re not the playboy the tabloids make you out to be, Grant. I know my son better. Your dad pretty much has the senate race locked down.” His mother shrugged. “Unless some God-forbidden scandal happens to our family, which I hope it won’t.” His mom looked pointedly at Val, but Blaire was the one who choked on her orange juice.
“The pressure, Mom,” Val grumbled and forked a spoonful of egg into her mouth.
“It would help if you stayed away from college professors for a while.” Mom didn’t specify “married college professors,” probably to spare Val the humiliation in front of Blaire, but Grant didn’t think his woman heard anything else other than “scandal.”
This breakfast needed to end soon, he thought grimly as he watched Blaire swallow a piece of bread with difficulty. He tried to catch her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him and instead stared at her plate.
It was with much relief when Jake stepped through the threshold because he could ask his surprise visitors to leave without offending their sensibilities. Grant hated the political correctness of it all.
14
Grant
“Don’t forget dinner tomorrow night,” his mother reminded as he sent her and Val out the door. Grant stood there until they pulled away in the Bentley, their security details following behind them. He closed the door and went to the kitchen to assist Blaire in cleaning up.
She had loaded almost everything in the dishwasher. Looking up, she grinned at him. “I love your industrial-sized equipment.”
Grant smirked. “Thank you.”
“Is it always innuendo with you?” she laughed.
“I think my mom’s to blame for that,” he said in a mock-pained tone.
Blaire laughed harder. “Your mom is incorrigible. I like her.”
“Yeah, she’s all right,” he replied deadpan before pulling her away from the remaining dirty dishes to steal a kiss. When he was finished, he kept his lips by her forehead. “Sorry about that.”
“About what?”
“The ambush. I knew you were uncomfortable with the senate race talk.”
“I’m more concerned that I’m a liability right now.”
“I’m getting tired of that argument,” Grant snapped as a spike of anger shot through him.
“There’s nothing to argue,” Blaire leaned against the counter. Grant was getting more pissed because her face was serene. “Because …” she linked her hand with his. “I’m tired of that argument as well. It’s the truth, but it’s not fair that you’re the only one fighting for us. Whether there’s a chance of us making it or not, I’m taking it. I’ll fight for us, Grant.”
His anger evaporated as he dragged her into his arms, her body pressed to his. “Damn straight you are,” he growled and snatched her lips in his. He loved her tiny gasps. They seemed to have a direct line to his dick which hardened in no time behind his sweatpants.
Blaire tried to retreat, whispering his name on a giggle. He chased her mouth and recaptured it, kissing her like they were the only two people in the world. Shit, he wanted to take her right there in the kitchen.
A clearing of the throat sounded behind them.
He’d forgotten Jake was waiting for him in the office. Grant released Blaire who immediately returned her attention to the dishes. He turned to face Jake who was staring at Blaire with an expression that Grant was sure he didn’t like on his head of security.
“I will be with you in a minute,” Grant said with a curt nod.
Jake lifted his chin in acknowledgment and gave Blaire’s back one last look before leaving the kitchen.
“Why don’t you leave that for later and join us in the office,” Grant told her.
“This won’t take long,” Blaire said, glancing at the path where Jake disappeared. “I think you and your security team need a moment alone.
“You’re right,” Grant agreed. “But if you don’t show up in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you.”
With that statement, he left the kitchen to confront Jake. His security lead and Tyler were already in the office. Grant didn’t bother closing the door, because he had nothing to say to them that he didn’t want Blaire to hear.
“Let’s make one thing clear, Donovan,” Grant gritted through his teeth. “I catch you looking at my woman that way again, like she is some threat to be eliminated, you can find yourself another job.”
The stubborn set of Jake’s jaw reflected the man’s struggle to hold back. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Grant growled. “This isn’t the military. Say what you have to say to me now, because if you say anything that would upset Blaire, I’ll fucking kick your ass.”
“She’s entangled with Russian Organized Crime,” Jake said.
“So, we’re dealing with the Russian mob,” Grant stated matter-of-factly.
Jake nodded. “I can’t believe she’d put you and your family in danger like that. That they sent someone after you last night meant they’re desperate.”
“I pursued her,” Grant said dryly. “She wanted to stay out of the public eye but I was a jackass. After going through the trouble of forging those documents so she can remain safely in hiding, you think she’s just going to ‘fess up to a man who can complicate her safety?” Not expecting an answer, he continued, “What do we know of the men killed last night?”
“The ones who attacked you in the alley and the one killed in the motel are part of a Russian street gang here in Boston. Not directly a part of the ROC, but they do business together. Thug muscle and intimidation are part of it.”
“Update on security in the brownstone?”
“We’re upgrading the motion sensors around the perimeter as well as the fifteen-foot fence, adding trip wires where needed. They’re installing surveillance cameras
to all street traffic as we speak. We’ll be increasing personnel from three to six and adding hourly foot patrols. Interviews scheduled for this afternoon.”
“And you think the brownstone is the safest for Blaire?”
Donovan inclined his head. “It’s in the city. Boston PD has a five to seven minutes response time to provide immediate backup. It’s the only property you have that has a panic room and an armory.”
A movement at the door caught Grant’s attention. “Blaire, come in.”
To his benefit, Jake kept his expression neutral.
Blaire rubbed her hands nervously. Grant extended his arm and pulled her into an embrace. She kissed his cheek and extricated herself from his hold. His brows furrowed as she moved away from him, clasping her biceps as she hugged herself.
“I need to face you all when I tell you my story,” Blaire said quietly. She looked at Jake. “Have you looked at the flash drives?”
Jake nodded. “We’ve decrypted some of them, but I figured they’re mostly the same.”
Blaire exhaled deeply and looked at Grant. “My real name is Paulina Antonova. My father was Maxim Antonov. He was the cleaner for the Russian Mob.”
“Cleaner?” Grant brows drew together. “He’s the mob’s hitman?”
“The ROC has a couple of assassins. My Papa was usually called to sanitize a crime scene or, if there was no time, he planted evidence to mislead the authorities.”
“You said ‘was’.” He picked up on the loaded word.
“He’s dead,” Blaire stated flatly. “He took the blame when I killed the Vor’s son, Yuri Orlov. I did it in self-defense.”
Red hazed his vision for he knew in his gut why Blaire killed the boss’s son, but he kept his rage in check so she could get over this difficult part.
Captive Lies Page 10