“Not from us, he won’t,” I assure her. “Carter knows better. You’re going to need to keep a low profile for a while. Have Jodie or one of us run any errands that require you to go into town. We’ll drive you to and from work. The mansion and your brother’s cabin are two of the safest places in the world for you and Matty to be, okay?”
Clara doesn’t answer right away. She’s rattled and confused, scared out of her mind.
“Okay?” I ask again.
“Okay.”
This is going to be a fucking painful mess to untangle. It’s going to cause plenty of anger and grief, and while part of me is mad that Clara kept all of this to herself, I can understand why she did what she did, why she left, why she felt hopeless.
I can even understand why she felt she couldn’t come to us about Bill. Carter and his father may have a difficult relationship,but they’re still family, and when it comes to family, Carter always thinks twice before he says or does something.
Bill Lockwood is a powerful man. He’s also dangerous.
And I’ll be damned if I let him anywhere near Clara and her son.
13
DAMON
Bill doesn’t know Clara is in town. Carter and I made sure of it, though Jace refuses to tell us why Clara reacted the way she did, nor will he tell us what he and Clara talked about before he drove her home the other day. There are questions left unanswered that are bothering the hell out of Carter and me, but we respect Jace’s request to trust him.
Clara’s back at the mansion, working on her designs. Matty and Shiloh are in the Vanguard daycare. Carter is busy negotiating a new contract with a federal agency, while his father handles a few affairs in Blackthorn Falls before he plans to leave again.
Jace is off doing something he hasn’t divulged, and while the mystery irks the hell out of me, I do my best to keep busy. After the encounter at the summer fest, I’m compelled to follow up with Elizabeth to make sure she steers clear of us. I make my way across town and into the Lafayette Gallery to talk to her.
“Of all the galleries in the world, this is where you chose to get involved,” I say as soon as I find her reviewing several paintings.
The custodians carefully mount and hang each of the pieces under her guidance as she takes notes and instructs them on lighting and room temperature.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, honey,” Elizabeth says without even looking at me. “Pierre, you’ll need a soft white LED right above the Degas. It brings out the chalky texture of the pastels, and bring in a cooler bulb for the Matisse. We’ll need it once the room gets crowded.”
“Yes, madame,” the custodian replies, then gets off the ladder and heads into another room to get the requested items.
Elizabeth turns around to face me and smiles.
In another life, there might’ve been nothing between us. She was never really my type. But the grief of Clara’s departure left its mark, and it clouded my judgment. That being said, Elizabeth and I made a child—and I love Shiloh more than anything in this world.
“I take it you’ve reconsidered your stance?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m actually here to make sure you stay away from us, Elizabeth. You’re no good for our daughter. You said so yourself when you relinquished any and all parental rights.”
“That was two years ago. I’ve changed.”
“Had you changed for real, Shiloh and I would’ve heard something from you during the time you were gone. A phone call, a postcard, something, anything. So, let me ask you again. What are you really doing here?”
“I was ashamed, okay?” Elizabeth exhales sharply. “I didn’t know how to approach you and our daughter, especially after the way I left. But I’m here now, and I am ready to make amends.”
“And I told you that you’re not coming anywhere near us until we discuss this through family court.”
A grin slits her face. It’s cold and ugly against the warm peach color of her elegant pantsuit and cream stilettos. “Oh, I’m not worried about family court, not with the kind of legal power I’m bringing to the table,” she says.
“I take it you’ve made quite the fortune selling and buying art for Middle Eastern princes then?”
“And local businessmen, too,” Bill Lockwood says as he walks into the room.
For a moment, I freeze, holding my breath as I watch the grey-haired tycoon saunter across the white marble floor—his gray suit and appearance in perfect order. There’s a physical resemblance to Carter, but he bears none of his son’s kindness or noble character. Truth be told, I never liked Bill, though I always afforded him the respect, as he was my best friend’s father.
“So, you and Elizabeth are putting this exhibit together,” I say after a moment, reaching out to politely shake his hand.
