Page 17 of Let It Burn (The Barrington Billionaires 4)
Without turning away from the window, she said, “It’s okay.” What she wanted to say was, “It will be okay. I’ll find a way to make it okay,” but she was afraid that if they started talking about anything serious again she would break down into tears. How could Uncle Clarence have left without knowing if I was safe? How do I even begin to be okay with that?
They didn’t speak for several minutes, until she couldn’t bear the silence another moment. If something didn’t change it would be a long, painful flight home. She forced a smile on her face and turned to look at him. “I prefer the nickname I came up with for you the first time we met.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Should I ask?”
“Probably not.”
A smile stretched his lips. “Is it a swear?”
She raised her chin playfully. “I’m not saying.” He turned down a private road. “I thought we were going to the airport.”
“Felipe Ambrosio has a home with an airstrip here.”
“The race car driver?”
“Yes. He should have a plane we can use. I’ll call him. If he doesn’t, I’ll have one here within the hour.”
“People lend you their planes? Just like that?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “You don’t know much about my family, do you?”
Helene remembered what her uncle had said about them. “I know they’re wealthy.”
He made a face. “To a repulsive degree. It defines who they are. I walked away from that life as soon as I was old enough. I go home only when I absolutely have to. There are, however, certain perks to being a Barrington. People tend to worry so much about trying to impress them, and therefore me, they forget they can say no when I ask for something.”
Helene opened her mouth to say she wasn’t impressed by money, but he brought the car to an abrupt stop in front of an enormous private home that was fully lit up against the dark night. Even though Andrew spoke of money as if it disgusted him, if the man who owned that house worried about impressing him, Andrew’s life had very little in common with hers.
Which isn’t a problem because all he promised was to stay until he knows I’m safe.
He let go of her hand so he could make a phone call, and she gave herself a firm mental smack. I don’t even really know this man. I was convinced he was kidnapping me earlier. If he actually gets me home, I should be grateful for that alone. The only reason he’s here with me at all is that my uncle . . . No, I can’t think about Uncle Clarence right now. I would have helped him if he’d let me. I just hope none of this makes the news back in the States, because I’ve never been able to lie to my parents, but if it keeps them from being involved in whatever Uncle Clarence did here, then I’ll learn to.
“All set,” Andrew said. “Grab your purse; his pilot is meeting us on the airstrip.”
“Right now? How is that possible?”
“He uses a local man.”
“Who is free right this moment to fly us home?”
Andrew made a face as if he was revealing a side of himself he wasn’t proud of. “As I said, people don’t say no.”
Half an hour later, Andrew poured a ginger ale and asked Helene if she would like something to drink. She looked like she would have welcomed something with a bit more of a kick, but he wasn’t sure he could pour one for her without pouring one for himself.
What a day.
He hadn’t allowed himself time to think too deeply about its twists and turns while he was in the middle of the insanity. He’d learned early that it was best to remain focused on the moment until the bullets stopped flying. Although none had physically been fired in Aruba, Andrew felt like a man who’d fought and lost again.
He was leaving Aruba without the answers his brother had sent him to find. He hadn’t been able to help Helene’s uncle and, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how much he would have done if given the chance.
The only thing I did right was get Helene out of Aruba. And now I’m taking her home.
A woman whose uncle’s actions forever changed my family. Not her fault, and something that happened before she was even born, but still, that’s fucked up.
I’m fucked up.
Helene was reading a magazine, affording him an opportunity to study her profile. A wave of possessiveness washed over him. There was no way he was walking away from her when they reached Florida.
He shook his head at his priorities.
I should care more about how my brother died than about a woman I just met. Kent is dead, though. What do I do with the knowledge that it wasn’t an accident? Tell my family? And then what? How will the truth help them? All it would do is rip open old wounds. And likely cause my mother to have another breakdown.
No.
Some men would vow revenge. They’d hunt Stiles down and make him pay. His death, though, won’t bring my brother back. I’ve killed too many people in the name of my country; I can’t handle more blood on my hands.
I can’t wrap my head around this, though. What possible reason could anyone have had to kill an infant? What kind of person could do something that heinous? Had Stiles done it himself or been part of the cover-up? And what was the link between my mother’s sister and Stiles? Why would a crime that Stiles committed be recorded in her journal? It wouldn’t be unless she’d somehow been involved.
Oh, yes, that would definitely send my mother over the edge.
He thought about Gabrielle. If the truth were what mattered most, he should tell her that her husband wasn’t the war hero she thought he was. It would ease his own guilt if he told her what he suspected they’d actually been doing there. How would she handle discovering that her husband’s death had only been honored because the colonel had needed to make sure Andrew would have a reason to keep the truth to himself?
His friends had died, not heroically trying to retrieve classified materials. They’d died because the colonel had wanted a trophy. They died for nothing. And they’d still be alive if Andrew hadn’t blindly accepted the colonel’s orders. He always studied the details of their missions, but they’d been at the end of their tour and were feeling cocky.
All I had to do was ask what was in the crate, but I charged ahead like we were invincible. What had Stiles said? “It doesn’t matter how much good we do before or after, we never rise above our lowest moment.”
Accurate for Stiles as well as for myself.
That’s fucking depressing.
Helene looked up from her magazine and smiled at him. “You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”
He cupped a side of her face with one hand, gently caressed her cheek, then let his hand drop. “No, you’re perfect just the way you are.”
She gave him a funny look, then said, “You’re just saying that so I won’t kick you in the head again. It wasn’t my fault, t
hough. I thought you were going to kill me.”
“You are a tough cookie to save. Worst damsel in distress ever.” He chuckled.
She laughed lightly, then sobered. “I’m still in shock. I mean, none of this feels real. I keep expecting my uncle to call and say it was all a mistake, an elaborate joke.” She sucked in an audible breath. “But he’s not going to, is he?”
Andrew shook his head sadly. No, unfortunately, all of it was fucking real.
She chewed her bottom lip before saying, “I don’t know what to tell my parents.”
“Nothing. You heard your uncle. If you tell them anything, you put them at risk.”
“They’re all the way back in Florida. Do you really think whoever my uncle is afraid of would bother them there?”
Andrew’s hands clenched. “We don’t know what or who he was involved with.”
She took a sip of her ginger ale. “I thought I wanted to know, but I don’t anymore. What if I discover he really did hurt your brother? What would I do with that? Am I a coward if I don’t actually want to face that?”
“You’re not a coward, Helene; you’re just more honest with yourself than most. You have no idea how much I wish he hadn’t told me he was responsible for Kent’s death. I don’t know what to do with that either.”
“Because of how it would hurt your family.”
“Exactly.”
“My mother thinks her brother is a wonderful man, just like I used to. How do I tell her there’s a good chance he’s a monster?”
“You don’t.”
“I just bury it? Pretend today didn’t happen?”
It was a question he’d asked himself a hundred, no a thousand, times. She was looking to him for the answers he was still searching for himself. “It’s all we can do.”
“Is it?” She looked into his eyes for a long moment. “Maybe it is.” She took another sip of her drink then swirled the ice in the cup. “My parents will want to know why I’m back. They don’t need me anymore. I was supposed to go out and find myself. I’m coming home more lost than I left.”
