Deception (Infidelity #3)(56)
My mouth filled with a sour taste. I didn’t want Brantley anyway.
If only I were the na?ve woman Nox assumed I was when he first told me that I would have a driver, when I first protested. If I were, I wouldn’t be familiar with the way the system worked. Yes, the man or woman entrusted with my safety would be my bodyguard, but life experience told me that no matter where he or she came from—Deloris or Montague—I wouldn’t be the person who the bodyguard ultimately reported to. Supposedly, where I sought security was my choice, but in reality all it did was determine who would receive the reports of my daily activities, Nox or Alton. Knowing which answer I wanted, I shook my head and fingered the new drop-pearl necklace dangling from my neck.
The style looked chic and simple: a large ivory pearl floating freely within a diamond-dusted platinum cage. To the unknowing, it was a beautiful, understated accessory. Only a few people knew that the pearl wasn’t real but an iridescent casing around a microchip that broadcast my location via GPS to Deloris. More than that, it recorded my movements, my respiration, and even my heart rate.
Deloris had offered earrings, beautiful pearl-looking ones with a serpentine diamond base. The issue was that she wanted me to wear the jewelry all of the time—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I didn’t like sleeping in earrings, but I could in a necklace. According to her, it only needed to be removed when I swam.
When she explained that I should basically not remove it, I narrowed my eyes and asked her to confirm that there wasn’t a camera attached to the necklace. She promised me that it was more like the health bracelets everyone wore, with the added benefit of pinpoint-accurate global positioning.
Recalling my telephone conversation with Nox from the night before, my face warmed. More than likely my cheeks were changing to the same color as the markings I’d willingly delivered to my own body as I worried about the heart-rate part of this necklace. I wasn’t sure I wanted Nox’s security to know that much about me.
I could hear them now. “Her heart rate is too high. Maybe we should call an ambulance?” And then they’d rush in and find me and their boss in some compromising position.
Shaking my head, I sent my text message to Clayton:
“I WILL BE DONE IN AN HOUR AND A HALF. YOU CAN PICK ME UP THEN, SAME PLACE YOU DROPPED ME OFF.”
Almost immediately Clayton’s response buzzed on my phone.
“YES, MA’AM. I’LL BE THERE.”
I FELT ODD watching Lana cook, but not Pat. I loved seeing how he combined ingredients to create heavenly meals. I sat at the counter overlooking his kitchen. Just beyond the smooth surface and my glass of chardonnay, my cousin was once again preparing magic in a pan—in three pans, to be more exact.
“Did you see the latest about the woman who was shot?” Patrick asked.
I cradled my head in my hands with my elbows on the granite. I had too many things to think about. I wanted her to be safe and spend my time with other concerns. “No. What did it say?”
“Oh! This isn’t a hold-your-head kind of thing.” His voice was full of animation. “They’ve changed their mind about her being an innocent bystander.”
I lifted my eyes. “What do you mean?”
His brow lengthened, revealing more of his forehead with his thinning hair, and his light brown eyes danced with secrets. “I don’t know for sure.”
“You lost me.”
“I think you should call that Mrs. Witt lady. All I know is that they said the case has been changed to attempted murder.”
“Wouldn’t it be anyway? I mean, she was shot. It’s not like I’ve been questioned and the police think Nox or I was the intended target.”
“That’s the thing. In the beginning they were saying that she was a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now there’s something about her relationship with her husband, questioning his whereabouts. It all makes it sound as if she was the intended target.” He continued to dice and stir, filling the air with the wonderful aroma of onions and peppers. “I could be reading too much into it, but I bet that woman knows more.”
“The woman who was shot?” I asked.
“No, that Witt woman.”
I shook my head. “Pat, I don’t know if I can entertain any more conspiracy theories.”
“But don’t you get it? If she was the intended target, it wasn’t you or Mr. Good-looking.”
I took a deep breath and leaned back against the tall stool. “That would be nice.”
“By the way, does he know you’re here?”
“Yes. My sleepover is Demetri-approved.”
“What about Montague? Do they approve?”
I shrugged. “Does it make me a terrible daughter if I say that my fucks are completely used with other concerns? I have no more to give.”
Patrick laughed. “No, little cousin, I think you deserve that. Now where were you last night?”
“Nox’s house…” If it had been almost anyone else, I wasn’t sure if I’d have answered the question so freely, but Patrick made me feel safe, just as he had all of our lives, protecting me in ways I didn’t even know.
After dinner, I asked, “Do you know anything about marijuana legislation?”
“You mean, did I consider moving to Colorado?”