Blaire

I’d never had a more relaxed dinner in the presence of this political crowd—maybe because I wasn’t sitting beside Grant who drew everyone’s attention. It was fortunate that he was engaged in conversation on both sides of the dinner table. It seemed Andrew Spencer turned out to be closer to my age of twenty-nine. He had the look of a college freshman. He lamented his boyish features, saying that people frequently underestimated him and it had been difficult to find work out of college. He’d been lucky to land a position on the Florida governor’s campaign and managed to turn a beleaguered politician’s career around. That was how Gus Lynch discovered him and offered to be his mentor.

“I’ve admired August Lynch since college,” Andy said with obvious hero-worship. “I can’t believe he called me a few weeks ago and offered me a job.”

“You mean he called you out of the blue?” I asked.

“No. I sent in an application when there was an open position,” he said. “I had these alerts that notify me of available openings with lawmakers I admire.”

I was careful not to reveal too much of myself to Andy. I knew his affable behavior could be a smoke screen for a cunning political mind. Why else would a shrewd man like August Lynch hire him to be his aide. I immediately felt guilty when I thought about it. No harm. No foul. Andy was a consummate dinner companion and conversant.

When people started to rise from the dinner table, I saw Grant make a beeline for his dad.

Shit. This is it.

All my nervousness from earlier returned and that last bite of chocolate pie seemed to have lodged in my throat. I gulped some coffee.

“Hey, you okay—?” Andy started. “Hmm … looks like I’m needed. Uh-oh, I hope your boyfriend’s not complaining to the senator about me.” For the first time that night, Andy looked unsure of himself as he pushed back from the chair. “Excuse me, Blaire.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I enjoyed your company at dinner.”

I wanted to assure him that Grant’s call for a meeting with his dad and political advisors had nothing to do with one of them hitting on his girlfriend. Even Grant wasn’t that petty; he would’ve handled that situation himself. I kept my mouth shut though. Andy would find out soon enough that fifty percent of what I told him over dinner was fabricated.

* * *

The guests had started to leave. Amelia and Valerie were busy chatting them up on their way out while I sat in one corner of the parlor, pretending to show interest in the latest issue of Elle Home. I’d made some acquaintances, mainly women who were curious as to who had managed to hold Grant Thorne’s attention for months. As for the men, they wanted to find out how they could win favors with my man. I wasn’t delusional to think it was my sparkling personality that attracted their interest. I snickered inwardly.

The door to the senator’s office opened and a stone-faced Grant emerged, heading straight for me. Uh-oh. Not sure those forty-five minutes that they’d spent holed up was a done deal. When he reached my side, he held out his hand. “They want to talk to you.”

“Of course,” I replied, but it didn’t mean I was going to tell them everything.

When we entered the senator’s study, Marcus was perched on the edge of his desk, Andy was sitting in front of it and Gus was pacing the length of the room. The collective gazes that zeroed in on me when we stepped through the doors nearly had me retreating, but Grant’s firm hand on my elbow was all the courage I needed.

I smiled tentatively.

Gus Lynch was about to open his mouth when Senator Thorne held up his hand to stop him. “Blaire, please sit,” he said.

Grant guided me to the chair. He walked back to the entrance, closed the door, and leaned against it.

“I’m going to be cliché for a second,” the senator led in. “To say that this was a big surprise is an understatement. I thought Grant was going to tell me he was getting married.”

I glanced at Grant, but his expression was unreadable, he didn’t even crack a smile. Okay, this wasn’t reassuring. My initial bravado deserted me, and I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

“This link to Russian Organized Crime is troubling,” the senator admitted. “But we don’t choose our families. What we want to know, my dear, is if you have participated in any way in that business.”

I remembered how Grant had stopped Jake from asking me the same question. This time he remained silent by the door, but not a muscle twitched on his face except for a subtle darkening.

“My father brought me along sometimes when I was too young to be left alone, and when there was no one to look after me. The calls mostly came late at night or early in the morning.”

“Jesus, how old were you?” the senator asked while Grant cursed. Gus stopped pacing and watched me intently. I couldn’t look at Andy.

“My mother died when I was two.” I shrugged. “I went with him until I was thirteen.” This explained my relative calm around dead bodies.

“And you didn’t assist in anyway?” Gus asked.

“What? Like hand him the pliers so he could extract their teeth?” I asked.

“You think this is a joke, Blaire?” Gus snapped.

“I’d watch your tone if I were you,” Grant warned his father’s aide.

“You asked me if I assisted him. I remember handing him stuff because he was busy trying not to leave evidence behind,” I retorted. “You think it’s a picnic for me recalling the childhood I had to spend among the casualties of the ROC?” I tapped my temple. “I see it in my head. I hear my father’s voice explaining to me why blood is spattered the way it was or how the person was killed. I had to cope, so my father made it into a science project. But as I got older, don’t think I didn’t see how wrong it was.” I took a deep breath. “I was eight-years old when I was pissed at the dead because they made me miss school and I had to skip art class. Years later, when I think back to how I felt, I realized how this had fucked me up so bad.”

Andy, who was fidgeting on his phone, looked up. “It said here Yuri died of heart failure.”

“They didn’t want the police looking into it, probably because they also killed my father.”

“You’re safe from getting prosecuted for his death,” Gus concluded.

“It was self-defense,” Grant barked, walking across the room to put his hands on my shoulders. I put my hand on one of his to reassure him I was fine.

“It was self-defense,” I said. “My conscience is clear on that point.”

“That’s good,” Gus said. “Look, Grant. I have to play devil’s advocate here. Blaire is on the run from the Russian mafia and, as much as we want to distance your father’s campaign from your relationship with her, it’s impossible. Your relationship with her … is your family’s relationship with her. She’s not some first or second cousin. She’s your girlfriend and, through you, she has direct access to the senator.”

“The ROC is not a top priority for the FBI,” the senator said. Marcus Thorne was the Vice Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. “It’ll be challenging to pull resources to investigate them. Mobs are just hard to dismantle, especially since they’ve blended so well into the community.”

“I’m having my men look into them,” Grant said.

“I’d be careful poking into their business, son,” the senator replied. “The Russian mafia is known to have ties to the Kremlin. In fact, the Russian government and the oligarchy have used the mafia to do its dirty work. Your business interests in Russia could become vulnerable.”

Grant shrugged, as if unconcerned. “I’ll tell my men to be careful. If I have to pull out of the Russian market so everyone feels better, I’ll do it. I’d just hate to give those fuckers the satisfaction.”

“As long as they exist and want Blaire, they could be a threat to this family’s safety,” Gus said, turning to me. “I’d like to help you, my dear, I really would. We don’t want the Thorne family to be a target of the Russian mafia.”

“They’re nothing like the Italian Mob, though,” Andy interjected. “They prefer to do things low-key. The last thing they want is to go after a high-profile target.”

“They should have thought about that before they went after my son!” the senator snapped, momentarily losing his cool.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I heard Grant mumble something to his dad.

“Grant said you have several flash drives that have a collection of evidence regarding the crime scenes,” Gus said. He looked doubtful. “What’s on it?”

“Photos, voice recordings, and some videos,” I said. “A witness list.”

“Okay, that’s a start,” Gus said. “But what of the other evidence, Blaire? The physical evidence that a forensic lab can process? Without that, photos and recordings are not much to work with.”

Of course you’d expect a lawyer to always think like a lawyer in evidentiary support. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to mention the self-storage unit yet.

“There’s a storage unit …” my voice trailed off. Grant’s hands dropped from my shoulders.

“You didn’t mention that to me,” he stated flatly.

“It didn’t come up,” I offered. It was a lame excuse, but that was a big piece of what the ROC was after, their history of crime and violence was stored in an eight by ten space in an industrial lot in Miami.

“So, where is it?” Gus asked.

My lips thinned. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you right now.” Liam and I didn’t know the exact location either, but he was working on it.

There was a smug look on Gus’s face. “Grant, I thought you and Blaire were on the same page. What else has she not told you?”

I couldn’t look at Grant, but I wasn’t even sure he could look at me right now and I was right. He moved to the window of his father’s office, probably to stare outside and contemplate his woman who was full of secrets.

“Come on, guys,” Andy said. “The poor girl has been on the run for two years. She grew up with the Russian mafia, where it’s ingrained at an early age that discussing mob business gets you killed.”

I was startled to find an unlikely ally in Andy. With the way Gus turned to glare at his protégé, I was afraid he was going to get himself fired.

I quirked a smile at Andy, barely controlling the urge to grin broadly. He winked at me as if saying, “I got you, girl.”

Grant was instantly at my side, but I refused to look at him. As much as I understood where he was coming from, I felt he abandoned me when I needed his support, and it had taken someone I barely knew to give me what he should have.

“When did you suddenly become an expert in the mob, Spencer?” Gus demanded.

“The Godfather and Sopranos,” Andy said, deadpan.

“I don’t believe this,” Grant growled. “You got this clown as my father’s political strategist?” He was looking at Gus.

I wanted to smack Grant upside the head. I wanted to yell at him that at least Andy—a total stranger—stood up for me. I was about to get out of my chair and give Grant a good talking to when the senator intervened.

“Grant, Gus. Both of you, stand down,” Marcus ordered. “I can’t believe that you two couldn’t see what was happening here.” The senator shook his head. “Andy is right, we can’t expect Blaire to tell us everything. I know enough about ‘need to know’ working the Intelligence Committee.” He looked at Andy. “Well played, my man.”

Grant shot his father an incredulous look. His father returned his scowl and said, “I’m disappointed in you, son, but that’s conversation for another day.” Then the senator’s eyes landed on me. “Blaire, I’ll respect your wish to keep some of your knowledge private. I presume it’s to protect someone involved, but the sooner we address the threat to you, the better I’d feel about my family’s security.”

“Understood, sir,” I said.

The meeting broke up soon after that.

Grant and I walked out of that room with a wall between us. It was as if we’d withdrawn to our own corners. The drive home was quiet. He was brooding; I was still smarting from his perceived desertion. When we entered the brownstone, he went directly to the bar and poured himself a drink, then headed to his office and shut the door. I gave him time to stew at whatever it was I did that made him angry. I did not regret omitting the storage unit from my initial interview with Jake Donovan because Liam was on the trail of the person who had access to it and it would be a disaster to have another party involved. After I completed my nightly rituals and Grant had not shown up for bed yet, I decided enough was enough.

I marched directly to his office and flung open the door. His scowl did nothing to faze me; I stepped up right to his desk. “I find a lot of things attractive about you but sulking is not one of them.”

“I have nothing to say to you right now, Blaire.”

“Is this about the storage unit?”

“No, it’s about you keeping things from me that could hurt my family,” Grant replied levelly. “I know you’re only trying to protect Liam, but how long will you prioritize him over me, Blaire?”

“It’s not about who’s more important!” I yelled. “It’s more about doing the right thing.”

Grant shook his head in disgust. “Keep telling yourself that, honey.”

Somehow the endearment sounded like an insult and I realized we weren’t going to be dissuaded in our beliefs. I got him—I really did—but it wasn’t that simple.

He wasn’t even looking at me, just typing on his computer. When I hadn’t budged, he spared me a glance. “Anything else?”

I wanted to grab the paperweight and launch it at his head. Instead, I said, “I should have known better than to believe your words and promises.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“‘No matter what happens, I’m on your side?’ Ring a bell?” I scoffed. “Just because your ego was bruised that I didn’t tell you everything, you try to punish me with this closed-off version of you. Don’t make me regret coming back here.”

“That sounds like a threat, sweetheart.”

“Yes. Keep telling yourself that, honey,” I repeated his statement with equal mockery. I didn’t wait for his response and left his office.