Griff believed him. Lawrence was the sort of man who would consider the housekeeper’s son beneath his notice.
Before Carmen could ask another question, there was the light sound of footsteps. Griff glanced toward the doorway to watch as a thin, waiflike woman wearing one of those designer dresses that looked plain but cost a thousand dollars drifted into the room. Her skin was pale and her dark auburn hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were unfocused.
A medicated zombie.
“Ah. Here’s Vi,” Lawrence said in bluff tones, moving to wrap an arm around his wife’s narrow shoulders. A warning? “Look who’s come for a visit. Little Carrie.” His gaze returned to Carmen. “Although you’re not so little now, are you?”
Vi didn’t seem particularly joyful at the reunion. Instead, she blinked, looking confused.
“Why on earth are you standing in the kitchen?”
Carmen gave a lift of her hands. “I was just looking around my old home.”
There was another awkward pause, and then Vi managed a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“What a nice surprise. We should have some coffee,” she said, as if she’d just been struck by divine inspiration. “Or tea if you prefer.”
“Not here.” Lawrence forced out a chuckle. “We’ll go into the salon and be served like civilized people.”
Vi nodded. The obedient zombie.
“If you want,” she said, turning to head out of the kitchen. “This way.”
Lawrence remained. “I’ll find the housekeeper and get her started on the coffee,” he said.
Carmen remained in the center of the kitchen, her expression hard with determination. Griff, however, captured her gaze and gave a nod of his head toward the door. Viola Jacobs would be much more likely to speak openly if she was alone with Carmen. Besides, this was a perfect opportunity to force Lawrence to answer his questions.
Carmen hesitated, as if trying to decide if she was going to insist on being the one to interrogate her uncle. She was the journalist, after all. Then she heaved a resigned sigh.
Clearly, she sensed that her uncle was too jumpy in her presence to let down his guard. For now, she’d have to content herself with trying to drill through her aunt’s medicated haze.
Waiting until Carmen disappeared through the door, Griff glanced toward the older man.
“If you don’t mind I’d like a tour around the estate,” he said, the words more a command than a request.
Lawrence frowned. “There’s not much to see. My family didn’t invest in more than a few acres of land. Just enough to keep their private stables.”
Griff spread his hands. “I’m just looking for an excuse to stretch my legs, to be honest,” he said. “You know how it is after a couple days of traveling.”
The man hesitated. He obviously wanted to say no. For whatever reason, he was unnerved by the return of his niece and wanting to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
But he was a businessman. And he wasn’t willing to insult Griffin Archer, famous entrepreneur and current darling of Nasdaq.
“Certainly. I’ll have a word with the housekeeper and grab my coat.” He nodded his square head toward the door. “I’ll meet you on the back terrace.”
Griff exited the house and strolled across the wide veranda. His brows lifted at the magnificent sight that spread before him.
There was the usual sunken garden that was bedded for the winter, as well as a pool and tennis courts, but it was the rolling grounds that captured his attention. A layer of frost coated the pastures and the distant hills, shimmering like diamonds beneath the morning sunlight. It emphasized the quiet peace that surrounded the estate, reminding him of his grandparents’ farm.
Beautiful.
Fifteen minutes passed before Lawrence at last joined him on the terrace. The older man had pulled on a leather coat and managed to compose his expression into a polite mask.
Griff had seen the same expression a hundred times, in a hundred boardrooms.
The professional business face.
“Would you like to see the old stables?” Lawrence led Griff toward the steps without giving him time to answer. “I’ve had them converted into a garage.”
Griff quickly followed the man off the terrace and with long strides was walking at his side.
“This is a lovely estate,” he said.
“Yes.” They used a pathway that circled the edge of the driveway and headed toward the long, white single-story building that was near the old paddocks. His steps were slow and deliberately casual. Just two men strolling together. “Carrie said that she was in the area, but she didn’t say why,” he at last spoke the words that had no doubt been trembling on his lips.
Griff shoved his hands in the pockets of the new trench coat he’d bought at the shop in the hotel. At some point he needed to get home so he could pack a suitcase. He’d rather spend the money for a plane ticket to California than to face the holiday shopping madness trying to buy new clothes.
“We didn’t have any firm plans for Christmas, and Carmen mentioned that she hadn’t been home in years,” he said. “I convinced her that it was time for a visit.”
“Ah.” The fake smile remained firmly in place. “Wonderful.”
“I’ll admit that I was curious when Carmen told me that not one of her father’s relatives have ever made an effort to contact her,” Griff said, covertly watching the man at his side.
Lawrence’s profile tensed, his hands clenching into fists. But with an admirable composure, his steps never faltered.
“She didn’t tell you about Stuart?” Lawrence demanded, his gaze locked on the building just ahead of them.
“I know what happened to her parents.”
“Then you should realize that her grandparents took her away and insisted that we have no contact with her.”
Griff made a mental note to ask Carmen if she’d ever discussed the shooting with her grandparents. Did they have a reason to fear Lawrence might be as violent as his older brother Stuart?
“And you agreed?” he asked.
“Carrie had suffered enough,” Lawrence smoothly pointed out. “The last thing we wanted was to remind her of what she’d lost.”
They left the pathway to crunch over the graveled driveway that ran in front of the old stables.
“Very admirable,” Griff said, his tone deliberately insincere. “But even if you were reluctant to visit her, I would assume that your lawyer would have insisted on a few visits.”
“Lawyer?” Lawrence sent him a wary frown. “What are you talking about?”
Griff arched a brow, as if surprised by the question. “Carmen’s inheritance, of course. She might not know much about business, but I do. She should have received a quarterly account of her share of the family funds.”
The man scowled, trying to look suspicious. Instead, he looked nervous as hell.
“Just what is your interest in my niece?” he asked in gruff tones.
Griff refused to rise to the bait. He’d long ago earned more money than he could ever reasonably spend. No one in their right mind could accuse him of being a gold digger.
“She’s in my care,” he said. “I’ll do whatever necessary to protect her.”
“In your care?” Lawrence snapped. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I intend to protect her.”
“Against what?”
“Anyone who might think they could hurt her.” His eyes narrowed with a silent warning. “Or take advantage of her.”
Lawrence flattened his lips, quickening his steps as he reached the front of the stables.
“Here we are,” he muttered, punching in a series of numbers on the keypad that was set next to the newly installed steel door.
Griff waited until the man had stepped inside and turned on the lights before he followed him. It wasn’t that he was afraid. Even if Lawrence was responsible for terrorizing Carmen, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill a respected businessman at his own home. Especially not a businessman who also happened to have connections to the top law officials in the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security.