I LEFT ELIZABETH reading in the library. It’s been a few days since I found her, and even though bruises are fading and swelling is dissipating, she continues to be distant. I’ve yet to fuck her, not that I haven’t tried, but I also haven’t pushed. Taming the beast inside me isn’t something I enjoy while I wait impatiently for her fragility to wane.
Having Lachlan here has helped though. Whatever friendship they forged while she was staying at The Water Lily has dulcified the awkwardness for all of us, leaving just minor remnants. Knowing what Lachlan and I saw that night, the state we found Elizabeth in, doesn’t seem to bother her as much as one would presume, as much as it bothers me. I figure her lack of shame stems from her childhood and what she was forced to endure. It was just the other day she admitted that she saw herself as nothing more than rot.
“McKinnon,” Lachlan announces, redirecting my thoughts when I walk through the door of the guesthouse he’s staying in. “Sorry I bailed on breakfast this morning, I hope Elizabeth wasn’t offended.”
“Not at all. Important call?”
“Yes, actually.”
I walk farther into the house and take a seat in the living area.
“I got information about Steve from my contact.”
“And?”
He sits in the chair adjacent to me and drops a few papers onto the coffee table. “And . . . he’s a dead man.”
“What?”
“Everything checks out. Take a look for yourself. All the documents, the funeral information with plot and burial. Even the death certificate is there. It’s a dead end from that point on. Steve Archer doesn’t exist; he’s been dead for sixteen years.”
I pick up the papers and flip through them, examining the trail of proof that he is indeed dead.
“What’s he hiding from?” I ask aloud, not expecting Lachlan to have an answer for me.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I set the papers down, knowing damn well they’re nothing but bullshit propaganda to support the prevarication of death, and inquire, “What about the passenger manifest?”
“I’m working on it, but we’re talking about breaking some strict federal laws. I have a friend putting in a few calls for me, but it might be a long shot. I don’t know if anyone is going to be willing to risk their job or compromise their values.”
“Values can be bought for the right price, but we need more people on this,” I stress with growing intensity. “I want everything my money can buy. Private investigators, hackers, everything we can think of.”
“I know, and trust me when I tell you, I’m on it.” He takes a pause as I let go of a frustrated breath. “On another note, I got everything lined up at One Hyde Park, so the apartment will be ready by the time you arrive.”
“I’ve never been more thankful for buying that property than I am now.”
“You should have no worries with Elizabeth’s safety there,” Lachlan says about the building that I own an apartment in.
It’s one of the most secure properties in the world, if not the securest. The moment I started considering building in London, I went ahead a snagged up a dual-floor apartment in One Hyde Park. The privacy measures go above and beyond from bulletproof windows to x-rayed mail.
After being shot in Chicago, I not only transferred Brunswickhill into a private trust, but also moved the London property into one as well. No one will know where Elizabeth and I are except for the people I choose to inform.
“I need to go take care of a few things.”
“I’ll check in with you as soon as I get an update on the Archer case,” he says as I make my way to the front door.
“Don’t drag your ass on this one, Lachlan. I need this handled yesterday.”
“I’m on it.”
On my way into the main house, I peek in the library, but Elizabeth is no longer there. Just the book she was reading, facedown on the sofa.
“Elizabeth,” I call out with no answer in return.
I walk down to the atrium where I know she likes to lie on the chaise and enjoy the sun’s heat through the glass. The room is empty though. I stand for a moment, looking out the glass, and eventually movement catches my eye. I watch Elizabeth as she walks aimlessly. She loves taking long strolls outside to explore the grounds.
I make my way out to where she is. “What are you doing?”
“I never knew there was a stream over here.”
“There’s a lot you haven’t been able to see because of the snow,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms and pressing my lips to hers.
She quietly moans, slipping her hands under my coat and around my waist.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m okay,” she responds as I bring her in even closer, strengthening my arms firmly around her body. “What are you doing out here?”