What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(45)

His lips flattened as he returned his gaze to her face. “Blood is blood, no matter how many years pass.”

What did that mean? Carmen didn’t have a clue. She pasted a meaningless smile on her lips.

“What have you been doing with yourself? Did you get married and have a family?”

“No, not yet.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Here and there,” he said. “I like to travel around.”

Carmen hesitated. Was he being deliberately vague? Or was he naturally awkward around women?

“That’s nice. I’ve been traveling myself.” She made her tone casual. “In fact, I just drove here from Kansas City.”

She carefully watched his expression, looking for any hint that she’d struck a nerve.

There was nothing.

“It must have been cold there,” he said, his expression unchanging. “I heard there was a snowstorm in the Midwest.”

“There was. Did you have to drive through it?”

“No.”

Stalemate. Carmen reverted to her journalistic skills. It was possible Ronnie was trying to hide something. On the other hand, there were people who simply didn’t like to talk about themselves. At least not directly.

She needed a new approach.

“It’s been several years, but I still remember when you were young and you helped me sneak cookies from the jar your mother kept on top of the fridge,” she said.

His wary expression eased. “It didn’t seem fair to keep them out of reach.”

Carmen wrinkled her nose. “She probably knew I’d eat the whole batch if I could get my hands on them,” she said with a laugh. “I had a terrible sweet tooth.”

His thin lips moved in a ghost of a smile. “Not the whole batch. I usually stole a few for myself,” he admitted.

“Do you have a job you can do from home?”

He gave a lift of his shoulder. “I do construction, and gardening when I can find a job.”

“Like your dad.”

An indefinable emotion darkened his eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

Her lips parted. She wanted to probe deeper into his travels, but before she could ask, the door at the top of the stairs was pulled open and a short, heavyset man with silver hair stepped onto the landing. He was wearing a faded muscle shirt and a pair of jeans, with bare feet.

Andrew.

“Ronald,” the man called down, barely glancing at Carmen.

“I should go,” Ronnie muttered.

“It was good to see you,” Carmen said as Ronnie hurried toward the stairs.

“You too,” he said without glancing back.

Carmen released a frustrated sigh. Could Ronnie be the one tormenting her?

He hadn’t seemed to recognize her, but that could be an act. And he’d admitted he was more or less a drifter, which meant he could have been traveling around the country killing women and terrifying Carmen.

But why?

Their paths had crossed when they were young; they lived on the same property, after all. But Ronnie had never been aggressive. And as far as she could remember she’d never done anything that would anger him.

Lost in her thoughts, she was caught off guard when her uncle suddenly stepped into the garden, closely followed by Griff.

“Ah, there you are, Carrie,” the older man said, his expression strained.

Carmen briefly wondered if Griff had caused her uncle’s tension. Probably. For a man who seemed so cool and collected, Griff had a unique ability to get beneath a person’s skin.

“Done with your tour?” she asked.

“Yes.” Lawrence cleared his throat, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. “I’m afraid we have plans for today, but you’ll come to lunch tomorrow? We’d love to spend some time with you.”

Carmen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was perhaps the most insincere invitation she’d ever received.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she said.

“No intrusion.” Lawrence managed to force the words past his stiff lips. “I insist.”

“We’d be happy to join you,” Griff smoothly agreed. “Until then we’re staying at the Regal downtown.”

*

Griff didn’t try to draw Carmen into conversation as they drove toward the center of town. Her face was pale, her eyes dark with the wounds he’d forced her to reopen.

Leaving the truck in the hands of the uniformed valet, he wrapped his arm around Carmen’s shoulders and led her through the double glass doors. They angled across the expansive lobby that was festively decorated for the holidays, and hit the bank of elevators.

A few minutes later they were safely enclosed in the privacy of their room.

Griff moved to the desk near the window that overlooked the city and opened his computer. Behind him he could sense Carmen wandering around the large suite that was designed in muted shades of tan and brown. It was an old-school hotel that had once catered to the wealthy travelers, and later to businessmen who demanded the finest accommodations.

The elegance of a bygone era remained, along with a solid masculinity that was rare in newer hotels.

At last her aimless circles led her to stand next to his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He pulled up one of the programs he’d helped to create for Interpol and typed in the name Lawrence Jacobs.