I smile as she joins me at the island, reaching for her hand and squeezing. “I’m much better,” I assure her before she can ask. I ignore Esther’s light snort. “How’s your dad?”
“Insufferable.” She cranes her neck to see what Esther’s making, reaching across and plucking a raisin out of the dish. “Doc thinks he had a mild panic attack.”
I laugh under my breath. That’s not surprising, given what’s happened.
“You heard from the guys?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I look down at my cell again, my heart naturally picking up pace. I’d like to think Danny’s destination wasn’t Hilary and Derek’s house. Not when he walked out of here with most of his men and a small arsenal of machine guns. And yet I know Danny. He takes no prisoners. But I also know his adoration for my son is limitless. He wouldn’t storm in with guns, literally, blazing, not with Daniel around. But . . . Daniel wouldn’t be home. He’s at school, and Derek would be at work. “Oh God.” My head goes back into my hands, hurting, but shoots back up when my cell rings. I scramble to gather it up, deflating when I see it’s the gate calling. “Hello.”
“Rose, it’s Bud. I’m on the gate. There’s a visitor for Beau. I’ve tried calling her but I’m getting no answer.”
“She’s here,” I say, handing my cell to Beau. “Visitor for you.”
She frowns, accepting and taking it to her ear. “Yes?” She stiffens. “What?” It’s Beau’s turn to rub at her forehead. “Yes, sure.” She hangs up and hangs her head. “Fuck.”
“What?”
Pushing my cell onto the island, she gets up from the chair. “My dad’s girlfriend is here.”
“Oh.” I know how Beau feels about her. “Just smile sweetly and it’ll all be over very soon.”
“You’ve not met her. She’s unbearable.” She wanders off, muttering under her breath.
“I’ll come rescue you. Just call.”
She throws a small smile over her shoulder, and I return forward, finding Esther now plonking slices of buttered bread in her dish. “I’m going to lie down,” I say, getting up before she can resume grilling me.
“Okay,” she replies quietly. Thoughtfully. I pass Tank at the doorway. “Is it necessary for you to follow my every move around the house?” I ask, sounding grumpy.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He’s been following me around since the moment he was appointed my personal shield. Today is no different, I’m just being snappy.
I see Beau closing the doors into the TV room, and I take the stairs, each step I’m climbing seeming to drain me more. It’s an effort to simply walk. I make it to the top and drag myself toward our bedroom, scanning the bright abstract paintings lining the corridor.
I slow to a stop when I hear the front doors open in the distance.
“Where the fuck is my wife?” His voice echoes around the mansion, and I whirl around, panicked.
“Oh shit,” I murmur, glancing up at Tank. His lips are straight, his hairy face expressing all the wariness I’m feeling. “He doesn’t sound happy, does he?” I murmur lamely.
“He’s sounded better.”
“This is your fault,” I fire accusingly, creeping to the top of the stairs.
“He pays me to do a job.”
“Someone needs to remind my husband that he signed everything over to me when he died, so it’s actually me paying you.”
“I dare you to tell him that.” Tank chuckles.
I flip a quick evil look over my shoulder before returning my attention forward as I approach the top of the stairs, seeing two men being manhandled toward Danny’s office. His eyes land on me like a pair of wrecking balls, and I find my spine lengthening in an act of feigned strength I know deep down won’t wash.
James moves in close to his side, flicking a cautious look my way. If he’s trying to silently warn me that my husband is in a rotten mood, it’s wasted. I’m practically disintegrating under his fiery stare. I’ve never wished Danny would be too busy with work to give me his time. Except now.
James speaks, Danny nods, eyes unmoving from mine, and then James walks away, following the two men who’ve been practically kicked into Danny’s office.
“Today’s catch?” I ask cockily, lifting my chin.
“Don’t change the subject, Rose.” He climbs the stairs with purpose, claiming my elbow and pushing me toward our room. I don’t put up any resistance. I’m not a complete idiot. “Take a break,” he snaps at Tank as I’m hauled past his mountain of a body and thrust through the door.
“Sit down,” he orders, so I go to the bed obediently and lower to the mattress, hands in my lap. He can’t hide his surprise. Subservience isn’t something he’s used to or expects from me, and it’s obvious he doesn’t know how to handle it. But, truth is, I’m too drained to fight him.
He starts pacing up and down before me, his eyes on his feet, his mind obviously whirring, and my gaze follows him back and forth at least a dozen times. What’s going on? Where’s the attack? The monster? The threats to strangle me if I don’t comply. I’m feeling as lost as he looks.
Danny eventually stops. Inhales. Looks up. I withdraw at the swirl of regret in his icy eyes. “Am I a bad husband?” he asks, throwing me even more for a loop.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He comes to me and drops to his knees, his hands squeezing my thighs and pulling them apart so he can move into me. “Am I a bad husband?”
What is this madness? “Well, you’re legally not a husband at all.”
“Small technicality that’ll be remedied in a few days. Answer my question.”
“Why are you asking me this?” My hand reaches for his overgrown dark waves and pushes them back from his face.
“I’m just trying to figure out why everyone else seems to have noticed you’re throwing up, but I didn’t.”
“I’m fine.”
“Rose,” he says, low and full of warning. “Why are you throwing up all the time?”
“It’s not all the time,” I say over a laugh, like he’s being dramatic. He is. “A few times, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried,” I blurt. Sick with worry. Worry for him, for Daniel, for me, for us. I’m simply out of my mind with worry.
“Why?”
“Really, Danny? You’re asking me that?” I try to brush his hands off my thighs and get precisely nowhere, his fingers curling into my flesh. I hiss, throwing him a filthy look. Here he is. The hard-handed monster. “You got shot at a few days ago. You walked out of a burning building yesterday. Today, I’ve been told I can’t see my son.”
“Daniel’s sorted.”
I tilt my head. “How.”
“Some polite persuasion.”
A bark of laughter erupts, and Danny glares at me. “Polite? You?”
“Always.”
“You walked out with a machine gun, Danny.”
“But I didn’t use it.”