Anything He Wants: The Betrayal(6)
“What about Archangel?”
Jeremiah’s question recaptured Lucas’s attention. “He’s new in the professional circuit but rapidly working his way up. I know of at least twenty confirmed hits but am certain there are dozens more. The man is a master of disguise and uses any tools necessary for the job. He’s good enough to leave no evidence, even so far as to hack surveillance cameras.” He jerked his chin toward me. “She’s the only one who’s seen his face and lives to tell the tale.”
I went cold. “So he really is after me now, too?” I whispered. The room suddenly spun and I clung to a nearby countertop for support.
A frown flickered across Lucas’s face and he took a step toward me, but Jeremiah was already there, an arm hugging around my shoulders and pulling me close for support. I appreciated the much-needed gesture and gave Jeremiah a smile, even as Lucas was held back again, the guards on either side grabbing his arms.
“Who hired him?” Jeremiah asked, his eyes on me and not his brother.
“It doesn’t matter, only that the assassin’s coming after you.”
The nonanswer drew Jeremiah’s full attention. “You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”
The deadly note in the billionaire’s voice shivered through me, but Lucas merely shrugged it off as if he heard similar threats every day. Maybe he did in his line of work, I thought as Lucas replied, “We can worry about that after the fact.”
“We can worry about it now. What are you hiding, Loki?”
Consternation flickered across Lucas’s face at the use of his other name. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he said, the jovial mask slipping for a moment.
“Why not?” Jeremiah shot back. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
“That name was given to me, I didn’t create it myself.” Indecision warred on his face, as if he wanted to say more, explain what he meant, and Ethan chose that moment to come into the room. If the bald bodyguard noticed or cared about the increased tension in the room, he gave no indication. “We have a visitor.”
Jeremiah’s lips thinned at the interruption. “Who is it?” he asked.
Ethan glanced over at Lucas. “Anya Petrovski.”
I was watching Lucas when Ethan spoke so saw the spasm of anger across his face. He saw me looking and tried to cover it up, but his eyes still burned with emotion. Just like his brother, I thought. It’s all in the eyes.
“There’s no need to involve her,” Lucas said, his voice smooth and dismissive. If I hadn’t grown so accustomed to reading Jeremiah’s stoic expression, I might have been taken in by the words. “She’s probably here to plead my case to you, which is entirely unnecessary.”
I glanced up at Jeremiah and saw him studying his brother through narrow eyes. “Would she know anything about this?”
Lucas snorted. “Definitely not, other than the fact I came here to warn you.”
He sounded flippant and uncaring, but Jeremiah seemed unconvinced. He turned back to Ethan and said, “Leave her car outside the gate. Search both it and her thoroughly, then bring her to the house.”
Ethan nodded and whispered instructions to a nearby guard who disappeared from the room. For all of a second, Lucas’s lips pursed and his eyes flashed, then the jovial mask slipped back into place. “I do love drama,” he said, his lips turning up into a tight smile.
“What is the meaning of this?” came a woman’s voice from the entryway, her strident tones bouncing off the wood and stone. Lucas’s smile froze, eyes widening as his head snapped around toward the voice.
Jeremiah glanced at Ethan, jaw tightening in annoyance. “Why isn’t she gone?” he demanded.
“She hadn’t left the gate yet when you ordered the lockdown,” Ethan said just as Georgia Hamilton swept into the room. She was flanked by two more guards who faded back toward the front door, escort duty done. The older woman fixed her eyes on Jeremiah and marched straight up to him angrily. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped, glaring up at her son. “You throw me out of my own home, send your police force to escort me off the property, then force me back in when I’m obviously not wanted?” She drew in a shaky breath, covering her mouth with the knuckles of her hand. “Haven’t you any concern for my feelings?”
The overwrought performance was sublime but, given my experience with the woman, I couldn’t dredge up any sympathy for her imaginary plight. Nor, apparently, could Jeremiah who replied coldly, “Rest assured, Mother, you’ll be gone from this house as quickly as we can manage.”