What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(42)

“We didn’t have any firm plans for Christmas, and Carmen mentioned that she hadn’t been home in years,” he said. “I convinced her that it was time for a visit.”

“Ah.” The fake smile remained firmly in place. “Wonderful.”

“I’ll admit that I was curious when Carmen told me that not one of her father’s relatives have ever made an effort to contact her,” Griff said, covertly watching the man at his side.

Lawrence’s profile tensed, his hands clenching into fists. But with an admirable composure, his steps never faltered.

“She didn’t tell you about Stuart?” Lawrence demanded, his gaze locked on the building just ahead of them.

“I know what happened to her parents.”

“Then you should realize that her grandparents took her away and insisted that we have no contact with her.”

Griff made a mental note to ask Carmen if she’d ever discussed the shooting with her grandparents. Did they have a reason to fear Lawrence might be as violent as his older brother Stuart?

“And you agreed?” he asked.

“Carrie had suffered enough,” Lawrence smoothly pointed out. “The last thing we wanted was to remind her of what she’d lost.”

They left the pathway to crunch over the graveled driveway that ran in front of the old stables.

“Very admirable,” Griff said, his tone deliberately insincere. “But even if you were reluctant to visit her, I would assume that your lawyer would have insisted on a few visits.”

“Lawyer?” Lawrence sent him a wary frown. “What are you talking about?”

Griff arched a brow, as if surprised by the question. “Carmen’s inheritance, of course. She might not know much about business, but I do. She should have received a quarterly account of her share of the family funds.”

The man scowled, trying to look suspicious. Instead, he looked nervous as hell.

“Just what is your interest in my niece?” he asked in gruff tones.

Griff refused to rise to the bait. He’d long ago earned more money than he could ever reasonably spend. No one in their right mind could accuse him of being a gold digger.

“She’s in my care,” he said. “I’ll do whatever necessary to protect her.”

“In your care?” Lawrence snapped. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I intend to protect her.”

“Against what?”

“Anyone who might think they could hurt her.” His eyes narrowed with a silent warning. “Or take advantage of her.”

Lawrence flattened his lips, quickening his steps as he reached the front of the stables.

“Here we are,” he muttered, punching in a series of numbers on the keypad that was set next to the newly installed steel door.

Griff waited until the man had stepped inside and turned on the lights before he followed him. It wasn’t that he was afraid. Even if Lawrence was responsible for terrorizing Carmen, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill a respected businessman at his own home. Especially not a businessman who also happened to have connections to the top law officials in the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security.

No, he was watching the man’s jerky motions. It revealed an anxiety that was hidden beneath the practiced smile.

At last stepping through the door, Griff allowed his gaze to travel around the stables.

The long, narrow room maintained the original wood plank walls and vaulted ceiling with open beams, but the old stalls had been gutted and the floor covered with a cement slab to accommodate the six Corvettes that were in various stages of being restored.

“Nice,” Griff said, as he walked toward the nearest car, a 1968 Rally Red Corvette convertible. “You work on them?” he asked.

“No.” Lawrence stepped next to him. “My older son Matthew tinkers with them when he’s around.”

Griff sensed the man’s eagerness to change the conversation. Which made him all the more determined to find out what the man was hiding.

“Do your sons work for the family business?” he asked.

Lawrence muttered a curse before turning to face Griff.

“I think you have a misunderstanding about the business, Archer.”

“Do I?” Griff shrugged. “It seems fairly straightforward. One business. Four heirs.”

“Not one business,” the older man denied. “Two.”

“What does that mean?”

Lawrence folded his arms over his chest. In the bright overhead lights, the wrinkles that carved his face were even more apparent.

“You’re an entrepreneur,” the man said.

“I am.”

“Then you realize that the business landscape is constantly shifting and reforming.”

Griff rolled his eyes. It was the sort of mumbo jumbo they taught in business school.

“I assume you have a point?”

The square face reddened. Griff sensed the older man would have given him a tongue-lashing if he had been just a random boyfriend of Carmen’s. Or God forbid, one of his employees.

“As I’m sure you know, my brother and I inherited a lucrative chain of hardware stores.”

“Yes.”

“They’d been started by my grandparents and provided a comfortable life for our family. Unfortunately, by the mid-nineties the big-box home improvement stores had cut into our profits,” he explained. “I could see then that it was only a matter of time before we were driven completely out of business.”