That was what he was doing now—protecting her. Gabriel Traver was a nice boy, but he was poor and unrefined. Not to mention reckless, speeding around on that scooter of his.
The boy wasn’t good enough for Cate. His parents were pleasant, but Nik had never entirely trusted their son. He’d convinced Walther to allow Cate and Gabriel their outing today in order to give him time to investigate, though he still wasn’t sure what he expected to find.
The Traver house contained only two small bedrooms; it was easy to guess which one was Gabriel’s. With posters of sports cars pasted on the plain white walls and piles of dirty clothing littering the floor, it was clear that a teenage boy resided there.
Nik wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d grown up in a strict German household with dozens of servants to pick up after him, but he’d been tidy and organized even without the maids. Cleanliness was next to godliness, after all.
He began his search at the small wooden desk beneath the window against the back wall, but all he found were completed homework assignments and a stack of university applications in the process of being filled out. The boy was interested in higher education. Nik found that surprising.
Moving away from the desk, he swept his gaze around the room and wondered where to look next. Wondered what he was even looking for.
Maybe he was being ridiculous. Maybe the misgiving he’d been harboring ever since he’d caught Catarina and Gabriel alone in her bedroom was completely unwarranted.
But Nik’s instincts had never failed him before, and they didn’t fail him now—the second he spotted the papers peeking from the pocket of a discarded pair of black jeans, alarm bells went off inside him.
Narrowing his eyes, he snatched the papers and unfolded the thin stack, then smoothed out the first page.
When he saw what was on it, fiery rage consumed his body.
He stared at James Morgan’s face, those piercing blue eyes that had haunted him for years.
He’d been in the same room as Morgan only a handful of times, usually watching from afar as the bastard worked his charm on Ariana, who’d been too sweet and innocent to know she was being played.
But Nik had known. He’d always known. He’d tried warning Walther about the man, but Ariana had her father wrapped around her little finger, and she’d insisted that James Morgan was the one she wanted.
And Nik, the man she was
supposed
to be with, the man who’d been promised her hand in marriage, had been left out in the cold.
Ariana had been his, damn it. Their families had arranged the union before Ariana was even old enough to walk.
He fought another burst of anger. That son of a bitch had stolen his wife. And now he was going to steal the daughter who should have been Nik’s.
How had Gabriel Traver gotten his hands on this file?
But the real question was—had he shown it to Catarina?
Ice hardened Nik’s veins as he pondered the implications of that, and he quickly reached in his pocket for his cell phone. He dialed Dietrich without delay, his jaw tense as he awaited a reply.
“We have a problem,” he said after Walther picked up. “Are you with Catarina?”
“Yes, the Traver boy just dropped her off. We’re about to leave for Ariana’s house.”
“Tell Cate to wait in the car. I don’t want her to overhear this.”
After a few seconds of silence, Dietrich returned with a brisk, “What is it, Nikolaus?”
In a terse voice, he told the older man what he’d discovered—and what it could mean for them. When he’d finished, Dietrich sounded thoroughly disgruntled.
“Do you think my granddaughter has seen the file?”
“I’m leaning toward no. You know Catarina—she doesn’t shy away from confrontation. She would have come to you immediately and demanded answers.”
“I’m inclined to agree with that.” Dietrich paused ominously. “The boy is on his way home. I assume you’re capable of handling this?”
“Yes,” Nik said grimly.
“Good.”
A click sounded in his ear.
Still gripping the papers, Nik went back to the desk and pulled out the rickety wooden chair. He stiffly lowered his body into it, leaned back, and waited.
“Is everything okay?” Cate asked when her grandfather rejoined her in the backseat. He’d just stepped out to answer a phone call, and now there was a deep line digging into his forehead.
“Of course,” he answered. “Just a business call.”
As the car started moving, leaving the mansion in the rearview mirror, Cate stifled a weary sigh and hoped her grandfather didn’t pick up on her current state of agitation.
She couldn’t stop thinking about James Morgan. Maybe she’d been too hasty, running away from him like that. She still had so many unanswered questions, so many things she wanted to say to him, but when he’d asked her to come home with him, right out of the blue like that, she’d panicked.
Your grandfather is a very dangerous man
.
Those ominous words continued to float around in her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Morgan was wrong. There was nothing dangerous about her grandfather. He was overprotective, sure, but that didn’t make him
dangerous
.
And truth was, Cate couldn’t deny that her grandfather had every reason to worry about her. He’d already lost so much, and she didn’t blame him for going out of his way to keep her safe. Her grandfather loved her, damn it.
How could she abandon him for a man she didn’t even know?
A man who might not even be your father.
Cate dismissed the thought the second it entered her head. She might have demanded a DNA test, but she knew without a shred of doubt that James Morgan was her dad. And in the brief time they’d spent together, she’d felt a real connection to the man. He exuded a sense of strength and honor that fascinated her, and an intensity that Cate recognized in herself.
“Catarina?”
She looked up guiltily. “What?”
Maurice frowned. “I asked if you enjoyed your visit to the Eiffel Tower today.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I did. It was a lot of fun.”
“You should have bought a souvenir for your mother. You know she loves those little souvenir shop knickknacks.”
“Does she?”
The frown deepened. “Yes. And you might have known that if you spent more time with her.”
A frustrated breath got stuck in Cate’s throat. God, she was so tired of his guilt trips. She saw her mother as often as she could, but it was never enough for him.
“I’ll tell her all about my visit to the tower when I see her,” she said meekly. “I’m sure she’ll love hearing about it.”
That got her a pleased nod, and then her grandfather focused his attention on his smartphone, his wrinkled fingers moving over the touch screen.
She was grateful for the reprieve, but her stomach was still in knots, and it only got worse when they arrived at her mother’s house. Her palms became damp and sweaty as their driver punched a code into the panel at the wrought-iron gate.
She hated these visits. It probably made her the worst daughter on the planet, but sometimes she desperately wished she never had to see her mother again.
Once the car came to a stop, Cate reluctantly stepped outside. Her gaze rested on the beautiful Tuscan-inspired house with its terra-cotta roof tiles and limestone-sheathed walls. The entry courtyard consisted of a lovely stone wall and ivy-draped trellises, and as she walked up the driveway, a citrus-tinged scent wafted toward her from the direction of the grove directly behind the house. Her grandfather had shipped most of the fruit trees in from the UK; a team of landscapers worked around the clock to tend to the delicate trees, which didn’t always thrive in the French climate.
Cate and her grandfather were greeted at the door by her mother’s butler. “Herr Durand, Catarina,” the man said in German. “Ariana has been waiting for you.”
A burst of annoyance exploded in Cate’s stomach. She knew Maurice had instructed the staff to say stuff like that, but she was so sick of hearing it.
“Go on ahead,” her grandfather urged, his dark eyes fixated on his phone. “I have a few more calls to make.”
With a nod, she crossed the grand parlor toward the twin staircases that curved upward. She climbed the steps on heavy legs, then made her way across the expensive Aubusson rug toward the master suite at the end of the wide hallway.
A moment later, she walked into the elegant sitting area she’d visited a thousand times before.
“Catarina!” Mimi, the dark-haired maid with gentle brown eyes, greeted Cate with a warm smile. “Perfect timing—your mother’s masseuse just left.”
Like the butler, Mimi addressed her in German, the same way she spoke to Cate’s mother. Maurice insisted that Ariana preferred it.
As Cate headed for the bedroom, Mimi took a discreet step to the door. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Cate hesitated in front of her mother’s room, then took a deep breath and pushed open the French doors.
“Hi, Mama,” she said softly.
As usual, the woman on the bed didn’t respond.
When Cate was a little girl, she used to pretend not to notice her surroundings. She would look at the bed and see her mother’s petite form tucked under the thick, gold-hued duvet. She’d see long blond hair fanned on a crisp white pillow, beautiful chocolate eyes peering up at her with love and adoration. She’d even hear her mother’s voice, melodic laughter that tickled her ear and warmed her heart.
But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she no longer pretended she was seeing anything other than sad, grisly reality.
Ariana lay motionless on a bed flanked by machines on either side. Her dark eyes were open and unblinking. There were tubes everywhere—the feeding tube that gave her nourishment, the ventilator that kept her breathing, the IV drips dangling from metal poles and sticking into her arms. A kidney dialysis machine tended to her failing organs, while her heart monitor released a steady series of beeps that sounded deafening to Cate’s ears.
She collapsed in the comfortable wingback chair next to the bed, but didn’t reach for her mother’s hand—Ariana’s skin was always cold, bringing chills to Cate’s body.
She swept her gaze over the vast amount of equipment keeping her mother alive, then focused on Ariana’s face, which held a fake rosy hue courtesy of the makeup Maurice insisted that the staff apply daily. It was just another one of the macabre details that made Cate extremely uneasy, but she’d come to accept her grandfather’s delusions.
No matter what the doctors told him, no matter how many times they threw around words like “brain-dead” or “unresponsive,”
Maurice refused to admit his daughter was gone, and that she’d been gone since before Cate was even born. Several years ago, one of the nurses had confessed to Cate that Maurice had ordered Ariana’s doctors to keep her alive so she could carry the pregnancy to term, but after her baby was born via cesarean section, Maurice had continued to keep Ariana on life support.
For seventeen years she’d lain there with no brain activity, no chance of survival, dead from the bullet that had entered her right temple all those years ago. And for seventeen years, Maurice Durand had lived in denial, unable to accept that his daughter was never waking up. He demanded that everyone treat Ariana as if she were alive and functioning, and Cate was no exception to his rules.
“You look well,” she told her mother, the lie burning her throat before it left her lips.
Ariana didn’t answer. The soft whoosh of the ventilator echoed in the air.
Cate swallowed hard, wringing her hands together in her lap. She spared a quick glance at the door, then lowered her voice.
“I saw my father today.”
No response. The heart monitor beeped in a constant rhythm.
“He wanted me to go home with him, but I said no.” Tears stung her eyes as she pictured the devastation on James Morgan’s face. “He was upset. I think I hurt him.”
No response. The IV lines continued to drip.
“I know I have to tell Grandpa about it, but I’m nervous. He’s going to be so mad.” Cate gazed at her mother imploringly. “Why did he tell me my father was dead? What happened between the two of you?”
Ariana’s vacant gaze stared back, triggering a spurt of anger. God, she couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t look into those lifeless eyes and hold those ice-cold hands, talking to a woman who couldn’t hear her. A woman she felt no connection to.
She’d been battling the guilt her whole life, wishing she could feel something for the woman on that bed, but she didn’t. Ariana Durand was a stranger to her.
No. Ariana Durand was a
corpse
.
The tears spilled over and streamed down Cate’s cheeks. She hated herself for even thinking such a terrible thought, but it was the truth. Her mother was dead. She’d died a long time ago.
When she heard footsteps behind her, Cate whirled around to find her grandfather in the doorway.
A deep frown puckered his mouth when he glimpsed her tears. “Catarina,” he said sternly. “You know how much tears upset your mother.”
He strode into the bedroom and swiftly reached for Ariana’s limp hand. “Don’t mind her, darling,” he clucked softly. “Catarina is just crying because she’s so happy to see you. Isn’t that right, Cate?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “That’s why.”
Maurice smiled broadly as he stroked his daughter’s hand. “See, your daughter is just happy to see you.”
Cate wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and mustered a smile.
“Now,” her grandfather said briskly, “why don’t we tell your mother all about the lovely day you had?”
Nineteen years ago
They met in the same park that Jim had taken her to last month, where they’d danced in the fountain before getting chased by a security guard, and Noelle couldn’t help but smile as she looked around. What a wonderful night that had been. Then again, every moment she spent with Jim was wonderful.
She wished he were here right now. She’d wanted so badly for him to meet her father, but Douglas Phillips had been adamant that she come alone. He’d sounded so agitated on the phone that Noelle had experienced a pang of worry, but she’d told herself it was no big deal. Her father had always been overly paranoid, and considering the covert nature of his job, she didn’t really blame him.
But tonight he was acting even more paranoid than usual. He hadn’t stopped checking his watch since he’d emerged from the shadows and joined her on the bench, and she got the feeling he was eager to go.
“Are you all right?” she asked in concern.
His blue eyes softened. He was still as handsome as ever, looking so much younger than his forty-two years. His blond hair gleamed beneath the glow of the lampposts, and he was as muscular as she remembered, his black wool coat stretching across a pair of broad shoulders.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m sorry. I know I’m acting a little strange tonight, sweetheart, but these last few months have been stressful.” He smiled at her, but his mouth seemed strained. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
She brought her gloved hands to her collar and wound her wool scarf around her neck a second time, hoping to ward off the chill. It was cold out, and both of them were bundled up in their winter coats, drinking hot tea from the thermos she’d brought. She wished they could just go to a café, or a restaurant, or anywhere warm, really, but her father had shot down the suggestion when she’d raised it.
“Listen...Noelle...” She detected the trepidation in his voice. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I have to go away for a while.”
Her forehead creased. “How long is a while?”
“Might be a long time,” he admitted. “Months...years, maybe.”
Alarm shot through her. “Years? Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Is it for work?”
He nodded.
Noelle’s lips tightened in an unhappy line. “Will I be able to visit you?”
“I don’t know.”
Those three frank words were like a dull knife to the heart. Her father was leaving for months, possibly
years
, and she couldn’t see him at all during that time?
Suspicion crawled up her throat as she searched his gaze, but it was veiled as always. It was impossible to read Douglas Phillips, especially when he didn’t want you to.
“I don’t like this either,” he said sadly, “but I don’t have much of a choice.” He hesitated. “And I want to tell you something else.”
“More bad news?” she muttered.
Douglas sighed. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”
She lifted her head, not bothering to mask her misery.
“You’re a warrior, Noelle.”
She blinked in surprise.
“A survivor,” he went on. His tone rang with both pride and regret. “When I look at you, I see my greatest achievement.”
“Dad...” she started warily, but he didn’t let her continue.
“Even though it might be a while before we see each other again, I’m not going to worry about you, sweetheart. I raised you to take care of yourself. I raised you to be strong and fearless.”
Her confusion intensified, bringing a queasy feeling to her stomach.
“You’re going to have to be strong and fearless for me now,” he said softly. “You might hear some things about me—”
“What things?”
“—but I know you’re strong enough to handle it. I know you won’t believe what they tell you.”
“Who’s they?” she blurted out in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but then his jaw slammed shut. He glanced around before turning to her with narrowed eyes.
“Who did you tell?”
Noelle had never been more flustered in her life. “What?”
“You told someone you were coming to meet me. Who was it?”
His outraged voice startled her. And it brought a rush of guilt to her chest, because she couldn’t even deny the accusation.
“I told you not to say anything,” Douglas hissed out. “Who did you tell, Noelle? Was it your mother? René?”
Her heart started pounding, and her hands shook so wildly she almost dropped the thermos. The fury in her father’s eyes was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. And the betrayal burning there...
She’d told Jim about the meeting.
Just Jim.
But only because she’d been so excited about seeing her father again and she’d needed to tell someone.
And because she’d trusted Jim to keep it a secret like she’d asked him to.
How had her father known? And why was his gaze darting around like that? It was as if he sensed a threat, as if he expected someone to pop out of the bushes any second, but that was insane because they were the only ones there. They were the only two people in this stupid park. Just him and her, just the two of them.
When a booming voice broke through the silence, Noelle realized just how wrong she was.