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Grant stood and glared at the wall before him. “I don’t know who she is anymore, Donovan. Is Blaire even her realname?”
“What do you want me to do here,sir?”
“Gather everything, especially the passports and flash drives.” He nodded in front of him. “Andthose.”
The wall ofguns.
A veritable arsenal of sniper rifles, carbines, semi-automatics andmore.
10
Grant
She’d lied to him.
A few days after the discovery at the log cabin, Grant had managed to control his rage enough to function on the low side of normal. He didn’t know what he would have done if Blaire had been with himthen.
Was she a spy? For which side? Or was she doing something illegal? His blood boiled, remembering the many times he thought about her excuse about being an introvert and he had fallen for it: hook, line, and fuckingsinker.
It always baffled him how the few occasions he’d brought Blaire over to his parents for an intimate dinner, she didn’t exhibit any social awkwardness at all. She charmed his mother and father. It was in public places where she seemed to withdraw into herself and Grant figured that was why she liked going to the park during the week when it was less crowded. This bombshell blew all his notions tobits.
She wasn’t socially inept. Whatever Blaire was involved in, being seen in public would be catastrophic. She couldn’t afford to have her picture taken and have it splashed over the tabloids. Being anonymous wasn’t a choice—it was imperative for who shewas.
The sound of a crash broke the internal war in his head and he realized he’d thrown the paperweight straight across the room and knocked one of their industry award plaques off the wall, leaving a dent in theplaster.
His personal assistant, Heather, rushed into his office, lookingconcerned.
“I’m okay,” Grant muttered. “Just dealing with someshit.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” she askedsoftly.
Feeling uncomfortable under his PA’s scrutiny, he changed the subject. “Any word fromDonovan?”
She shook her head. “He’s still in DC following up on a job you gave him. He said he might be backtomorrow.”
“That’s good. That’ll be all, Heather.Thanks.”
When his PA left, he resumed brooding. Logic dictated he should let Blaire go. His father was running for reelection. If Blaire were in some way mixed up in any illegal or clandestine activity that may cause a scandal in their family, he should forgether.
But his heart refused to listen to logic. They’d been happy. That was fucking real.No. He and Blaire were not over. Far from it. An underlying fear festered through all his anger, a gut feeling that his woman was in danger. The instinct to protect her roared insidehim.
* * *
Grant waitedat the curb of the Grand Hyatt, watching the limos crawl by. At this rate, he’d be out of here in another hour. He took out his phone and called his driver-slash-bodyguard.
“Mr.Thorne.”
“Where are you,Tyler?”
“Still at the parking lot. It’s a clusterfuck. Pardon my language,sir.”
“I’m heading your way. Instead of circling to get me, just make a right and wait for me at thecorner.”
“Are you sure,sir?”
“A seven-minute walk versus what could be another hour? Positive.” Besides, a walk would be good. He thought about Blaire and how she avoided situations like this. Maybe she had a point. Social scenes were getting old, or maybe he just missed her, and he wouldn’t hesitate to trade all the galas and parties just to have another night withher.
After he’d wrecked his office wall, he forced himself to gain perspective, setting aside the bitter taste of betrayal. Blaire had tried her best to avoid getting involved with him, but he was the jackass who wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, in some way, he’d brought this down on himself. Whatever Blaire had gotten herself into, she knew she wouldn’t fit in his life. Grant hadn’t accepted that. He wouldn’t give up on her until he understood who shewas.
