I watch as she races toward the marina with the tender in her wake. I pull out my phone and call Taylor.
“Sir.”
“What the hell are you and Anastasia playing at!” I shout.
“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey wanted to try the Jet Ski.”
“But she could fall. Drown—fuck!” Words fail me.
“She’s quite competent on it, sir.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t let her come back on it!”
I hear Taylor’s sigh. But I don’t give a fuck. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you!” I press end call.
In the salon, I find the binoculars and watch as Ana pulls up beside the tender. Taylor helps her in, then onto the dock.
I call her number and watch as she fumbles in her purse for her phone.
“Hi,” she answers, a little breathlessly.
“Hi.”
“I’ll come back on the boat. Don’t be mad.”
Oh. I’m expecting a fight. “Um.”
“It was fun, though,” she whispers, sounding exhilarated. And I see her once more in my head, flying past the boat, the wind in her hair and a huge smile on her face.
I sigh. “Well, far be it for me to curtail your fun, Mrs. Grey. Just be careful. Please.”
“I will. Anything you want from town?”
“Just you, back in one piece.”
“I’ll do my best to comply, Mr. Grey.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Grey.”
“We aim to please.” She giggles, and the sweet sound makes me smile. My phone beeps.
“I have another call. Laters, baby.”
“Laters, Christian.”
I hang up and Grace is on the line. “Hello, darling, how are you?”
“I’m good, Mom.”
“I’m just calling to check that you’re all okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Shit. Maybe she knows. “Are you calling about the fire?”
“What fire?” she asks, suddenly terse.
“It’s nothing, Mother.”
“What. Fire. Christian.” Her tone is intimidating.
Sighing, I quickly fill her in on what’s happened at Grey House, sparing no details. “Mom, it’s no big deal. No damage.” The last thing I want to do is worry Grace.
“Will you come home?”
“I don’t see any reason to cut my honeymoon short. The fire was contained and hasn’t done any damage.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Grace. It’s okay.”
She sighs. “If you say so, darling. How is your honeymoon going?”
“Well, up until this incident—it’s been wonderful. Ana loves London and Paris and the yacht, she’s yar.”
“Sounds heavenly. Did you go to Saint-Paul-de-Vence?”
“We did. Today. It was magical.”
“I fell in love with the place. I won’t keep you, I know you’ll have a lot to think about and do. The reason I called was to invite you and Ana to lunch on Sunday, when you’re home.”
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Lovely. See you then. And, Christian, remember, we love you.”
“Yes, Mom. Thanks for the call.”
When I hang up there’s an e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Thank You
Date: August 17 2011 16:55
To: Christian Grey
For not being too grouchy.
Your loving wife
xxx
I type back.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Trying to Stay Calm
Date: August 17 2011 16:59
To: Anastasia Grey
You’re welcome.
Come back in one piece.
This is not a request.
x
Christian Grey
CEO & Overprotective Husband, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A couple of hours later, I’m sitting at the small desk in the study and I get the call I’ve been dreading. “It’s arson,” Welch says.
“Fuck.” My heart sinks.
Who the hell is doing this to me? What do they want?
“Exactly. A small incendiary device was placed beside one of the server cabinets. Interestingly, it was designed to set off smoke, but that’s it. I think it’s a warning.”
A warning?
“Any idea when it was placed?” I ask.
“We don’t have that information, yet. We’ve already doubled security. I’ll post a guard 24/7 outside the server room. I know it’s the lifeblood of the company.”
“Good idea.”
“Will you come back early?”
“Do I need to?” I don’t want to end our honeymoon.
“No. I don’t think so. I think the biggest question for me right now is if this is linked to your EC135.”
“Let’s assume it is. That’s the worst-case scenario.”
“Yes. I think that’s prudent,” Welch responds.
“There’s nothing I can achieve there that I can’t do here. Besides, I think we’re safer on the boat.”
“There’s that,” he agrees, then pauses. “I know all our leads for a potential suspect have led to nothing. But we’ll double-check all the footage in and around Grey House. We will find this person.”
“Do. Nail the prick.”
“The police forensics team are in the server room right now, dusting for prints.”
“I bet Barney’s thrilled about that.”
Welch’s laugh is wry. “He’s not.”
“Goddamn it, this is frustrating,” I mutter into the phone.
“I know, Christian. The EC135 was dusted for prints by the FBI a few weeks ago. We’re still waiting to see if that yields a suspect. Eurocopter have the helicopter now. They’re assessing the damage to see if it can be repaired.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call if there’s an update.”