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 him then.

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 fucking sinker.

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 to bits.

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 she was.

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 the plaster.

His personal assistant, Heather, rushed into his office, looking concerned.

“I’m okay,” Grant muttered. “Just dealing with some shit.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked softly.

Feeling uncomfortable under his PA’s scrutiny, he changed the subject. “Any word from Donovan?”

She shook her head. “He’s still in DC following up on a job you gave him. He said he might be back tomorrow.”

“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 forget her.

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 inside him.

* * *

Grant waited at 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 the corner.”

“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 with her.

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 she was.

He also knew he had to tell his father and soon. Grant would beat himself up if he ruined his dad’s chances for another run at the senate. The dossier he had on Blaire and Liam had been forged. Further digging into their background yielded falsified information. Their fingerprints weren’t in the FBI database. There was no record of a Blaire Callahan at the high school in the file. Her parents did not exist. No wonder she put him off about meeting them. As for Liam, he was supposed to be a product of the foster care system, but that was rigged as well. Grant hoped they were in some kind of witness protection, although the guns and the multiple passports nullified that idea.

He’d been brooding so deeply, he didn’t realize that two men had flanked him before it was too late. A barrel of a gun poked his ribs.

“Do as you’re told, Mr. Thorne, and you won’t be hurt,” one of the men said. That they knew his name meant this was not some random mugging. Grant immediately thought of his father and their security briefings he failed to pay close attention to. He’d left them mostly to Jake, but he’d sent the guy to DC.

He cocked his head at the speaker on his right and noticed belatedly that he had an accent … and a pronounced hawk nose. His cohort on his left wore a fedora pulled low that concealed most of the guy’s face. Despite Grant’s grim situation, anticipation churned inside him. Maybe this had nothing to do with the threat against the senator, but it had everything to do with Blaire. He couldn’t alert Tyler just yet because Fedora guy was holding on to his arm where he wore his security watch. They led him into a dark alley just a block from the hotel. Fedora man immediately slammed him against the wall and punched him in the gut. Grant coughed and hunched over, gritted his teeth, and discreetly twisted the dial on his watch to signal Tyler that he was in trouble.

“Where’s Paulina, mu’dak?” Fedora guy hissed.

“You idiot, he knows her as Blaire,” Hawk-nose corrected and smacked his partner upside the head. Grant wanted to ram their heads together, but keeping them talking was the better option.

“I don’t know. She left me,” he informed them.

“She was stupid to get involved with you. A senator’s son,” Hawk-nose cackled maliciously. “Let’s see how much she cares for you.”

Hawk-nose swung at him and Grant managed to block the blow. Fedora man’s ham-sized fist crashed against Grant’s cheek and another jab to his stomach sent him staggering. Just as the goon was about to kick him, he grabbed and twisted the other man’s ankle and flipped him onto the ground. Hawk-nose drew his gun, but Grant went low and slammed his shoulder against the man’s gut, sending both of them crashing to the pavement. Hawk-nose’s gun clattered to the side.

Grant recovered faster and went for the other man’s weapon, rolling on his back and instinctively pointing his gun at Fedora man who had his own firearm aimed at Grant. Hawk-nose picked himself up from the ground and was in the act of unholstering another firearm from his ankle.

Fuck.

Footsteps rushed from behind him and judging from his attackers’ expression, Tyler had arrived.

What followed was a blur of movements and explosion of gunfire.

Grant felt a burning sting to his arm as his assailants fell to the ground. Standing up, he walked over to them with gun still raised, but he lowered his arm when he saw their condition. Grant had put a hole through Fedora man’s gun hand, but Tyler had put a bullet between each man’s eyes.

Well, fuck.

It would be another three hours before Grant returned to the brownstone with Tyler who grimly walked ahead of him. After getting patched up by an EMT, Grant, together with his bodyguard, made a statement to the police explaining that it was an attempted mugging.

Grant crashed on the couch, grunting his appreciation when Tyler brought him a glass of Scotch that he tossed back.

“You know who those men were?” his security person asked tightly.

He shook his head. “Not really, but they had information.”

“About Ms. Callahan?”

Grant nodded. “They’re after her. My guess? They’re hoping that roughing me up will flush her out.”

Tyler emitted a frustrated huff. “I shouldn’t have agreed to let you walk.”

“Tonight was not your fault.”

“You’re my responsibility.”

“You did your job,” Grant muttered. “Quite thoroughly.”

His bodyguard’s jaw hardened. “You’re pissed I killed them.”

“It’s done, Tyler. Drop it.” Grant wanted them alive for questioning, but he could hardly blame his bodyguard for doing his job.

“Donovan’s coming back tomorrow,” his man told him. “We’ll review your security detail including expectations.”

Before Grant could reply, his phone, which was on the coffee table, vibrated. It was a blocked number. Both he and Tyler exchanged glances. Grant nodded, giving the signal to have it traced.

“Thorne.”

“Grant?” A choked sob. “Oh my God. Are you all right?”

Blaire.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting her voice wash over him. She had cared enough to call. To expose herself. That counted a lot. A whole damned lot. “Blaire,” he said simply. All the anger and betrayal sifted away like sand through his fingers.

“Where was your security? How did this happen?”

“I’m all right, baby,” he assured her and then, “How are you?”

An irritated sigh hissed through the receiver. “I’m fine. You’re the one who got hurt.”

“You sound pissed at me,” Grant stated incredulously. “I’m not the one keeping secrets.”

Silence.

“Are you in trouble, Angel?”

“It’s not your problem, Grant. I’ll handle this. I didn’t want to get you involved in the first place.”

“I already am.”

“No, you’re not. Stick to Jake and Tyler.”

“Tell me who’s after you, baby.”

“I can’t,” her voice cracked. “It’s best you don’t know. Forget about me, Grant.”

No fucking way.

“Blaire, I know about the guns and passports.”

“You broke into my cabin?”

“I had the key.”

“I don’t recall giving you the right …” she broke off. “Why are you doing this? You need to let me go.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now is not the time to be bullheaded, Grant.” There was rising hysteria in her voice. “How did they even get to you?”

His woman was distraught. Grant had yet to look at himself in the mirror, but he bet he didn’t look pretty. Fedora man had a solid right hook. There was blood on his Tuxedo from the flesh wound he sustained from a gunshot from Hawk-nose; he was thankful the man was a lousy shot.

“It’s not important how,” Grant said. “Now, I want you to come home.” He looked at Tyler who shook his head. That meant he hadn’t traced the call yet.

“Don’t do this, Grant. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to you or your family.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Responsibility to his family weighed heavily in his mind, but he needed Blaire with him to keep things under control. Knowing that dangerous people were after her was driving him insane.

“No, we won’t.”

“Goddammit, Blaire!” Grant roared, his calm deserting him. “You tell me where the fuck you are, right fucking now, or you can be sure I’ll find who those bastards are working for and get the fucking truth from them.”

“Don’t do that!”

“Your choice, Angel.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Call it whatever you want. Now,” he said in a steadier tone. “Tell me where you are.”