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The wind threw her voice around, but he was able to catch the gist of her words. The fact that she’d even consider his well-being told him she was a better person than the man she was going to marry. “I’ll be fine.”
He got the impression she was watching as he fought his way down the stairs. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t simply gone in and shut the door, but he tended to draw attention wherever he went—despite his desire not to. Part of it was his size, he supposed. Not many men were taller than he was. And he was broad, too, especially through the shoulders—something that had only become more pronounced since he started lifting weights in prison, a habit he’d continued after being released because it was like yoga for him. The focus and determination it required quieted his mind.
By the time he reached the ground and looked back, she was gone.
A second later, he saw a dim light appear in the window. She’d turned on the lantern, which made him glad he’d gone to the extra effort of bringing it to her.
Ismay took the lantern the Windsors’ caretaker had brought into the living room, with its many sculptures and other expensive art, and sank onto the soft leather couch. She’d have power soon. She no longer had to fear she’d regret using her cell phone, so she called Remy again.
“Did Bo get the power on?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.
Ismay turned the ring on her finger so she could see the tiny diamond. She and Remy had talked a lot about marriage during their time together, but she hadn’t let him buy her an official engagement ring yet. She’d known he wasn’t really the one who’d be paying for it, not while he was in school, and that bothered her, especially because she knew he’d push her to get something big and expensive. They’d compromised with a dainty promise ring in yellow gold. “Not yet. He’s working on it, though. And he brought me a lantern, so I’m no longer stranded in the dark.”
“Good. I told you everything would be fine.”
An image of the man she’d just met rose in her mind. He had dark distrusting eyes, a strong jaw covered with razor stubble, hollow cheeks, short dark hair that’d been plastered to his head by the rain—and he’d been huge. A mountain of a man.Shewas six-one and he had her by at least four inches, maybe more.
“You did tell me that,” she said. “Bo seems capable enough. I’m sure he’ll get the lights back on before too long.”
“You didn’t find any candles?”
He’d never told her where they might be.
Ismay wished she’d never even searched for emergency supplies. Then she wouldn’t have discovered what was in Remy’s closet. She wanted to at least mention the underwear and jewelry—wanted to hear what he had to say about them. There was a possibility they weren’t his. Bo had access to the house, which was more than a little unnerving, considering his size and the fact she hadn’t even realized there was a strange man moving about the property. As polite as he’d been at the door, she’d seen enough true crime shows to know what those items in the duffel could signify. The police called them trophies.
Of course, it was the notebook paired with what she’d found in the bag that’d taken her mind down such a dark alley. The items in that duffel could merely be tokens of Remy’s past conquests.
Still, what kind of guy would keep a memento from each woman he slept with?
“Ismay?” Remy said.
She blinked and drew her attention back to the phone. “What?”
“Are you going to answer me?”
“Oh, sorry.” She cleared her throat. “This storm has me...distracted. I found some candles in the master bathroom, but there was nothing to light them with.”
“Good thing you no longer need them. You should ask Bo for a lighter, though, just in case.”
“Do you think he’ll take the lantern he brought me?”
“Who knows? I doubt the generator will fail once he gets it going, but it’s better to be prepared.”
“I’ll ask him.” She nibbled on her bottom lip as she tried to decide what to say—or not say—to Remy about what she’d found. She craved reassurance but the question alone, and what it implied, would upset him.
Should she just assume it was someone else? That it was Bastian, the contractor, or Bo?
She supposed if it wasn’t Remy, Bastian was more likely to have hidden that bag than the others. Although she had yet to meet him, Remy often talked about what his brother was like—said he had no direction in his life, couldn’t accomplish anything, preferred to live off the family fortune and on and on.
In the end, it was the notebook that stopped her from saying anything. Those drawings had obviously been Remy’s—she’d seen his work before and recognized it—which made her believe the other stuff had to be his, too.
“I know you’re busy,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to studying.”
“Okay. You’re in good hands now.”
She almost disconnected, but then she thought of something she wanted to ask. “Remy?”
“Yes?”
