The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(50)

“No,” I said tiredly. “But you can sit with Ashabee and help him through this.”

Jeff’s head dipped down in a gracious nod, and then he moved to sit next to Ashabee, taking his employer’s hand into his own. “There, there, sir,” he said in the same stiff and formal tone as before. I couldn’t help but chuckle, as it looked about as comforting as being consoled by Marina or Selina.

I cringed belatedly when those particular enemies flashed into my head, my hand drawn inexorably to rub against the scar over my heart, unerringly finding the spot through the bloodstained shirt I was wearing. I wasn’t sure when I had picked up that habit, but I was more aware of it these days. The tiny twinge where Violet had cut the tracker out of my back was nothing in comparison to my memories of that wound.

I lowered my hand, reminding myself yet again that I had survived and the princesses hadn’t. “Now—the system.”

Ashabee gave in. “It’s a closed system running on an automated server, buried in the house, making it impossible to hack. A perimeter is formed using nexus laser crystals that emit an infrared beam, undetectable to the naked eye, all around the property. Those lines form a tightly woven—”

I groaned loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I’m not buying it from you,” I said, annoyed that he would walk me through such miniscule details. “As far as I’m concerned, I own it for the next few days. So, spare me the techno-babble, and tell me how it works.”

Ashabee’s eyes narrowed on me, his mouth a thin-lipped line of consternation. “Fine,” he spat. “I’ll tell you—but I demand to see my daughter!”

That was it. That was my breaking point. I stood up so hard the computer chair I had been sagging on tipped over, landing with a thump on the carpet. Everyone froze as I leaned over the desk and slowly dragged the gun over to me, letting the sound of metal on wood fill the room before bringing it to a stop by my side, the muzzle pointed at Ashabee.

“Everyone is doing their part, Ashabee,” I enunciated, my anger cold and tight, begging to be released. “Everyone except you. You are doing nothing but wasting my time. And out of all of us, your staff included, you are the most expendable. So let me be clear—you are not to go anywhere near Amber ever again. Especially not after what you did to your wife.”

Ashabee’s face, which had frozen into abject fear, broke apart into an expression of pure puzzlement as I came to the end of my speech. My anger came to a shuddering halt. I was poised on the precipice of picking up the gun and holding it on him, when my analytical mind suddenly kicked in, screaming loudly that I had missed something. I looked over to Jeff, whose face was an implacable mask.

“Mrs. Ashabee died in a car accident, sir,” Jeff said, and I could swear I detected a hidden note of pity. “Mr. Ashabee wasn’t even at the house that day—he had been in the city for a month, demonstrating his new defense system.”

I blinked, suddenly feeling too heavy and bereft of all of my anger, which had drained out of me quicker than water in an open sink. Straightening my chair, I sat down heavily, shaking my head. It didn’t make any sense.

“Then… why does Amber hate her father so much?” I asked.

“Who knows with women!” Ashabee griped. “They’re a hysterical bunch, prone to gross overreactions! Right, Jefferies?”

“Quite right, sir,” Jeff supplied automatically. I could tell by his face that he did not quite agree, but I wasn’t about to call him out on that. My anger returned again. Maybe Mr. Ashabee hadn’t killed his wife, but why had Amber been so quick to suspect him of it—shooting him in the leg? Was it childish exaggeration? Or the product of years spent growing up… with this?

“His name is not Jeffries,” I spat. “It’s Jeff. Jeff Vane. He’s been working for you for almost ten years, and you still don’t know his name! If he were a worse man, he would’ve killed you by now. I’m frankly surprised he hasn’t. But I can, and I will.” I suddenly realized how tiring posturing was, and decided to opt for an escape. “To hell with this—Jeff, when Quinn is done, escort Ashabee to the room nearest the king’s. I don’t want them to be together, but it will help ease guard duty. Mr. Ashabee, I better wake up to an explanation on how the security system works, preferably written down, so I can spend as little time with you as possible. Understand?”

Ashabee gasped, eyes bulging as Quinn dug into his leg. But he managed to nod at me, his face pale and sweating.

“Excellent. Good night.” I whirled on my heel and made for the door.

“Viggo!” Quinn cried after me. “I’m almost done! Can’t you wait to let me look at that wound on your back?”

“It’s nothing!” I said to him, the desire to sleep fueling all my decisions at the moment, and marched out. I could hear the young man muttering something about us all being stubborn as I went down the corridor.

Unfortunately for my sleep-addled brain, I had one more task to handle before I could call it a night.

I made my way up to the second dining room, which was a long room filled with an almost, but not quite as long, table. I hooked a left, coming through the doorway to the main hall. It was flanked on either side by a set of stairs that connected briefly in the middle, led up a few more steps, and then broke apart again in opposite directions—both leading to the second floor, of course. I made my way up the staircase.