BIG: (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (36 page)

“Ric.” Leesa tugged on his fingers. “I don’t want you to do it alone either.”

As he glanced down, his rigid glare melted, then his face crumpled. “So we’ll both have nightmares for years. Not sure that’s a good idea. Do me a favor? Turn away while they show me Dad?”

She nodded, stepping back as he walked up to the window and knocked. The curtains on the other side opened to reveal a gleaming, sterile room, the only humanity shrouded under a white sheet.

Ric positioned himself so his body was blocking her view of his father’s head, and as the sheet was drawn back by an orderly, Ric gave a gasp and a sharp nod. The curtains were quickly shut again on the other side of the window and Ric spread his hands on the sill, breathing deeply, head bowed.

There was this awful sound of trundling on the other side of the viewing glass, and then Goddard guided her gently over to the window.

“In your own time,” he murmured.

She took a few deep breaths. “Now, please.”

He knocked and the curtains opened again, but this time, as the attendant reached for the sheet, it seemed that his hands weren’t travelling towards Elsa’s head. They settled on a section at the shoulder.

Annalesa’s numbness gave way to a wobble and she looked up at Ric. “H-he’s not showing her face. Why won’t he show me her face?”

Ric clamped his hand on her shoulder, tears running fast down his cheeks.

She looked back to see a bare, impossibly white arm revealed, and then the attendant retreated to reveal a very recognizable birthmark.

She’d seen that birthmark so many times—shaped almost perfectly like an apostrophe—each time her mother had been wearing one of her nighties and bent over to tuck her into bed. And the last time she’d said goodbye to her mother, it had been impatiently, willing her to go away.

Annalesa whipped around to face Ric, gripping his shirt in her fists. The sobs burst out of her in choking waves.

“Ma’am?” Goddard’s voice was soft but didn’t soothe her even a little. “Is that a positive identification of Elsa Ryker-LaFevre?”

“Yeah, that’s a positive fucking identification.” Ric’s front went rigid against Annalesa’s cheek. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

“Of course.” Agent Goddard opened the viewing room door for them. “You should get some rest. Ordinarily, we’d advise a hotel, but the main house on the compound has been forensically cleared. And it’ll be a lot easier for us to guard you on your own premises.”

Annalesa felt sick at the idea of sleeping where they’d died, but Ric’s grip on her strengthened as they followed Goddard out.

Annalesa tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Every time she had her eyes closed more than a minute, the image of her mother’s dead, naked arm branded itself behind her eyes. An arm that would never hug her again, joined to a hand which would never again waggle while the other toyed with a wine glass.

She gave up after a couple of hours, hit the shower, dressed and went to find Ric. At the door, something drew her back into her room and towards the locked safe that was still sitting in the bottom of her armoire.

She opened the doors and then the box, drawing out her Lady Sif handgun and belt. She checked it was loaded and that the safety was engaged before putting the belt on, pushing the holster to her left hip.

Typical of Brad, the belt had been made exactly the right size for her waist, but now she had to cinch it in to the tightest notch. She pulled a leather jacket from a hanger and slipped it on. It had been form-fitting a few months back, but now hung loosely, covering the handgun. The belt, with its clear rhinestone flecks and turquoise gems, just looked like an accessory.

She felt just a little safer, wearing it.

When she got downstairs to the den, Ric broke off the discussion he’d been having with Goddard, and a female agent, and got up to go to the bar. He poured two generous tumblers of Akavit and handed one to Annalesa.

“Get any sleep?”

“No. You?”

“I didn’t try.” Ric sat down next to her on the couch, his face dark with barely-controlled anger. “Agents Goddard and Manning keep asking the same damn questions while I’m trying to figure out what the hell’s been going on.”

Goddard paced while Manning kneeled by the coffee table with photos spread out over the surface. Even in Annalesa’s scattered state of mind, she couldn’t help noticing how unnaturally gorgeous the agent was. She was slender and had long, silky black hair with dark red tones tied back in a low ponytail, and a warm, olive complexion.

Manning looked up as Annalesa took her seat and gathered the photos, turning them face down.

“I won’t break,” Annalesa muttered, feeling a little stronger as Ric’s arm stretched across the couch behind her.

“You’re braver than me.” Manning quirked her a half-smile.

“Brave? Not really.” She practically sucked down half her glass of Akavit. “At the moment, I’m numb. Tell me about the photos.”

Goddard picked up the stack of photos, rifling through. He handed her a head shot of a dead man who looked a lot like one of the guys she’d seen leaving Ric’s room at Hotel de l’Europe.

“This is the man Mr. Arensen shot when he came to the house to find a disturbance. You asked me earlier why the Feds were here. Well, it seems that one of the attackers was on the Interpol watch list, and we’re trying to establish how, and when, he got through Homeland Security.”

“For God’s sake, I told you,” Ric snapped. “They were probably already here days or weeks before the attack. My father had a meeting with a group of people who wanted us to supply arms to them. He saw them in person and said ‘no’. I’m guessing they took this badly. Mr. Arensen will tell you exactly the same. In fact, the whole board will tell you exactly what they thought of these people’s operating methods.”

“Yes, he’s been very helpful, and he’s still in shock. I think he blames himself for not being there to protect them.” Goddard stroked his chin. “But their response strikes me as being...”

“Extreme,” Manning offered. “If we take a cold approach to this, and sorry—we have to—it makes no strategic or logical sense. Killing the CEO of an arms manufacturer for refusing to supply is not going to open their supply options with other arms groups. Was your father tight with his competing CEOs or was there any hostility?”

“None,” Ric muttered. “He believed in networking, and it’s a small world. Nothing good comes from pissing off the competition.”

“It’s getting late.” Goddard sighed and shot Manning a meaningful look. “We’ll leave you to it. Just one last question. We’ve been wanting to speak with the bodyguard you flew over here with but haven’t seen him in a few hours.”

“Henrik Gulbrandsen.” Ric sipped his drink. “What about him? He came over with us, so you know he wasn’t involved.”

“We’d still like to talk to him. For a bodyguard, he doesn’t seem to be sticking very close to you.”

Ric went still. “You can talk to him as soon as you get a Norwegian translator.”

“He doesn’t speak English?”

“Not well enough to give you an authentic emotional response during an interrogation.”

“I didn’t mention an interrogation, Mr. Ryker.” Goddard blinked. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

Annalesa got up to pour herself another drink as Ric saw them to the door. The clock on the kitchen microwave said it was only seven in the evening, which seemed impossible. Even given the time-zone change, the day seemed to have gone on forever. She raised the glass to her lips but the smell of the drink brought on her gag reflex and she put the glass right back down again. Ric joined her in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You doing as horrible as I am?”

“Yes.” She stroked his forearm, glad he’d just gotten right to the point. “Why do you think they want to talk to Henrik?”

“He’s a twitchy guy. His resting expression is suspicious. They probably took one look at him as he got out the car with us and thought he was hiding something.” Ric sighed. “I’ve got to talk to Anders. I know he’s had it rough today, but there are too many questions spinning in my head.”

Annalesa took a deep breath and prepared to say something dangerous. She needed Ric right now and the last thing she wanted to do was infuriate him by going back to the anti-Arensen agenda.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that he’s nowhere to be seen right now?”

“No, I don’t think it’s strange,” he told her. “Because if he’s doing his job, he’ll be arranging an emergency board meeting for the morning. But I’m gonna call him. Hey, could you call Alan Bremmen?”

She frowned, still a little too foggy-headed to put a meaning to the name.

“From our family law firm. If Anders really has been trying to keep the company running, Alan’s the first person he would’ve called. I just...”

“Want to know what tone to take with Anders when you talk to him?”

“Exactly.” Ric fished out his iPhone.

“Wait... give me a chance to call Alan first.”

“I’ll spend a while talking through this morning with Anders first. See what you can get from Alan.”

Glad for something to do, Annalesa went to the study to find one of the folders with their legal correspondence for Alan’s mobile number. She found an envelope with the law firm company logo on it, grabbed a letter opener and took them both back to the den, slitting it open as she went.

Ric was just leaving a voicemail message for Anders as she dialed Alan’s number. He picked up after a couple of rings and she switched the phone to speaker.

“A-Alan Bremmen s-speaking?”

Annalesa shot Ric a sharp look. She didn’t know how Alan usually sounded or whether he was a particularly nervous guy, but right then, he sounded very frightened.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

“Sorry, I only just got connected. Alan, it’s Annalesa LaFevre—”

“Oh!” Alan sounded fractionally relieved. “I’m
so
s-sorry for your loss. How are you and Ric holding up?”

“We’re still stunned.” Annalesa looked over to Ric, who was scrawling something on the back of the envelope:
Ask how Anders is doing. Make out like I’m in bad shape.

She nodded, putting an edge in her voice as she went back to the call. “Well, I’m still stunned. Ric’s... Ric’s not handling things well. He’s... he’s... never mind. How’s Anders holding up? Have you heard from him?”

“Sure! Well, he’s upset, of course.” There was a long pause. “He asked me to arrange a meeting for the morning to uh... to... to protect company assets.”

Ric scribbled furiously.
He’s working under duress. Where is Alan right now?

“That’s really diligent of you, Alan, but you’ve known my parents a long time. I’m not sure you should be working.”