Page 88 of Illusive
Teller stuck his head out of the glass-inset entrance door. “What the fuck are you doing, Gail?”
“Give me a minute, babe,” she told him over her shoulder, her attention and smile still directed at Ronan. “Finish setting up. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Teller pulled the door open wider. “Is this guy fucking with you?”
“No. I like his sister’s dress, that’s all.” Gail spared a quick glance at her man. “Don’t be late getting started. I’ll be right in.”
The growing sense of unease Ronan felt raised the hairs on his nape. The woman knew far more than he could explain.
Cursing, Teller stepped back inside.
“Did you come to watch Graham get served?” Gail asked, too amiably. “You should stay for his set. See what you’re missing.”
“And you should find less risky games to play with far less dangerous people.”
Her laugh was so delighted that it chilled him despite the heat. She was so small in stature that he loomed over her, making any thought of her as a threat impossible for him to even consider. And yet the contradiction between her easygoing, friendly tone of voice and the nastiness in her gaze was so defined that it reminded him of the most vicious prisoners he’d been caged with.
“How’s Ireland, by the way?” she queried with a tilt of her head. “I bet she’s banged up pretty good.”
Ronan took a bold step toward her. “There’s not a scratch on her. But you’ll have to take my word for it because if I see you anywhere near her, you’ll be dealing with me.”
She laughed so loudly that it drew attention. “You think you’re scarier than Gideon Cross? I guess we’ll see.”
Claudette grabbed his elbow. “We’ve got a cab. Let’s go.”
Gail started backing up, heedless of the people she bumped into. “And I know you’re lying, Ronan.”
“Allons!” Claudy ordered tersely.
Ronan allowed his sister to pull him to the curb and then into the taxi but kept his gaze on Gail—and Teller through the window—until they’d driven far enough away that the couple was no longer in view.
“You’re deliberately looking fortracas!” Claudette muttered.
He pulled out his phone and called Ireland.
“Hey,” she answered, sounding groggy.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I took a nap earlier, and it’s lingering. You know how that is?”
“I do, yes. I’m in a taxi now.” It frustrated him that they were moving at a crawl, locked in growing traffic in one of the densest parts of the city. He knew that for the next half hour to an hour, they’d either be stuck at a light or waiting for a flood of pedestrians to cross a street. “I’ll be dropping Claudette off at Valentin and Genevieve’s first, then I’ll be on my way to you.”
“Okay.” She yawned. “You won’t have to cook after all. My sister-in-law brought over a casserole. Just have to heat it up.”
“Bon. Do you have a way to contact the detectives,cher?”
“Yeah. I’ve got their numbers. Why?”
Ronan’s knee bounced with impatience and aggravation. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Ronan exited the elevator into Ireland’s apartment vestibule, bristling with impatience. He was damned near desperate to see hischereven if she was still angry with him. He deserved herwrath. Not for taunting her father—he was owed at least that small pleasure—but for using the passion they shared between them to do it. The way Ireland made him feel when they made love was too vital to have cheapened it as he had.
He’d texted her as the taxi had pulled up to the curb, warning her that he was coming so that she wouldn’t be frightened again. He was now hyperalert to her fragility and determined to do nothing that would distress her. He’d spent some time with the representative from the security agency discussing the known trauma that kidnapping victims dealt with in the aftermath. It left him shaken and deeply concerned.
While the extra security at Vidal had been quickly executed, it would take a bit longer to build a personal team around Ireland. It was vital that she meet with proposed candidates and ensure there was a rapport between them. He was relieved to have learned that the agency used by Vidal had been originally hired by Cross and that the operatives were all highly trained former military or intelligence veterans.
The cost was eye-watering but certainly within his means, and Ronan accepted without question that if he wanted to share his personal life with a woman like Ireland Vidal, the expense was necessary.
