Hush (Black Lotus #3)(33)

She smiles and places her hand on top of mine in a gesture that is both comforting and foreign. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

I nod, and after she gives my hand a light squeeze, she moves back to her seat across from me. She takes a sip of her champagne, smiles, and then adds in jest, “We should order more champagne . . . Declan’s treat.” She winks and pulls out one of his credit cards and laughs. “He slipped it to me when I picked you up in case you refused to use the other card he gave you.”

I shake my head. “That wretch!”

“Well, that wretch is going to pick up our tab.”

Conversation is less stressful now that the brick of worry and secrecy has been lifted off my shoulders. She asks about our trip back to the States, and I tell her all about Chicago. I’m not about to tell her my whole life story by any means, but for now, I’m enjoying the light conversation with someone other than Declan or Lachlan. Those two know so much of my darkness, but with Davina, I feel a little . . . de novo—and even a little normal.





I STUFF THE manifest along with my notepad and contact list into a manila envelope and zip it up in my suitcase. Last night was another long night of letter scrambling. I know Declan thinks it’s nonsense, and maybe it is, but I refuse to sit idle and wait. I’ll always find a way to keep moving, because I have to, because I need to find him.

“Do you know where your duffle bag is? I need it for my workout clothes and trainers,” Declan asks.

“It’s on the top shelf on my side of the closet.”

I sit on the bed and wait for him to finish packing. He walks out of the closet with the bag, and I admire him in his fitted button-down that’s tucked nicely into his charcoal slacks. Always so polished and refined, even when he’s dressed down in jeans and a cotton shirt.

“You want to wipe the drool off your chin and help me?” he heckles when he peers up at me and catches me gawking.

“You’re so full of yourself,” I shoot back when I hop off the bed to go grab his shoes.

When I return and set the shoes on the bed beside the bag, I watch him pull out a picture frame. He holds it with both of his hands, and I remember it being the picture I found of him in Isla’s bedroom at The Water Lily.

“I forgot this was in here,” he says.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“When you were missing, I went through all your belongings, and I came across this,” he tells me. His eyes remain on the photo of himself as a little boy, and then he looks to me, asking, “Where did you get this?”

“At the bed and breakfast where I was staying. I found it in the owner’s bedroom.” I pause for a moment, and when he doesn’t speak, I ask, “It’s you, isn’t it? I mean, your name’s written on the back.”

“Yes. It’s me.”

I look at him in confusion and he reflects it back to me.

“Do you know her? Isla?”

“No. Did you ask her about this when you found it?”

“She wasn’t there. I found it when you were in London, and I had gone back to pack up the rest of my things. It was the day Richard kidnapped me.”

“This photo was taken at my parents’ home. This was the pond that was on the property. It would fill with lotus blooms, and my mum would spend hours out there.”

“Maybe she was friends with your mother,” I suggest.

“She never said anything. I saw her each time I went over there to visit you. If she knew me, why wouldn’t she say something?”

“Do you want to call her?”

He hands the picture over to me, saying, “We don’t have time. We need to get to the plane. I’ll deal with it when we get back.”

“Are you sure? You seemed bothered by this.”

“I’m not bothered,” he states and then throws his clothes and shoes into the bag before zipping it up. “You’re probably right. She must’ve been friends with my mum.”

He picks up the bag along with mine, and without another word, he walks out of the room, leaving me alone. Finding that photo has stirred up something inside him. His eyes exposed too much to me, more than he intended. Perhaps it was just the sheer memory of his mom, so I’ll respect his request to avoid it until after our trip.

We secure the apartment before leaving to drive to Biggin Hill Airport, where the pilot is already waiting for us. Aside from him, we are the only others on the plane.

“How long have you had this thing?” I ask as I settle into my seat that’s next to the window.

“This is more than just a thing. It’s a G450 Gulfstream jet,” he boasts, and I chuckle at him with a shake of my head.

“I see I’ve offended your toy,” I go on to pester.

He takes the seat right next to me instead of across from me.

“Buckle up, because this toy is about to takeoff,” he says with a sexy smirk and then reaches over to fasten my seatbelt for me, yanking on the strap to tighten it.

The plane is extravagant with its white leather seats and espresso wood finishes that add a masculine contrast. Double seats on the left and single seats on the right with a beverage station in the back next to a decent sized lavatory. There’s a flat screen television above the small eating table towards the front of the aircraft next to the cockpit.