Page 41 of Donovan Blake: Passion

“Then I suppose I’d better go out there.”

“Not without Trevor and me,” Donovan exclaimed.

“I’m sure that’s not necessary. It’s the delivery we’ve been waiting for.”

“Probably, but we can’t be too careful. Trevor and I will check him out. If he’s legit we’ll bring him to you.”

“Ah, yes, quite right, I understand,” Peter said sheepishly. “I’m not used to all this cloak and dagger business.”

“You two stay here,” Donovan continued, looking at Phoebe and Jane. “Come on Trevor, let’s make sure this guy is legit.”

* * *

After patting down the somewhat surprised driver, Donovan and Trevor led him to the house where Peter signed for the delivery.

“I’ll rather Jane not know about this just yet,” Peter said quietly as the three men headed back to the library. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her—or us. What do you think, Donovan?”

“I agree, not that I think she’ll find herself in the company of dangerous people again, but you never know. Trevor, can you keep her busy while we deal with this?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he replied as they approached the library. “Jane can you join me, please,” he asked as they entered.

“I want to see what it is.”

“You will, but not yet,” Peter declared. “Please go with Trevor.”

“What’s so secret? Is it news about Jimmy and his friend Nigel?”

“Jane, with me,” Trevor said firmly.

“Daddy, I’ll go, but only if you promise to tell me later.”

“I will, but it won’t be today, maybe not even tomorrow, but I will when I can.”

“This is sooooo annoying,” she grunted as she marched across to the door.

As she sharply closed it behind her, Donovan locked it, then returned to stand with Phoebe and watched as Peter carefully unwrapped the precious package.

* * *

“Why am I the only person who doesn’t know what that is?” Jane demanded angrily as Trevor walked her down the hall to the games room.

“Hey, I don’t know either.”

“That’s different,” she grunted, ambling over to the pool table.

“Why?”

“Because I’m me. I’m a Hawthorne, I should be told.”

“Perhaps, Jane, it’s for your own good. Perhaps knowing about it could—”

“My own good!” she retorted, cutting him off and glaring at him. “I’ve been told that my whole life. Wear the ugly riding helmet, it’s for your own good. When I lock away the hard liquor it’s for your own good. Things are always for my own good!”

“And so is this.”

A tiny voice in her head told her to bolt, but she was too captivated by the glint in his eye…then suddenly it was too late. He was grabbing her wrist, spinning her around and bending her over the pool table.

“What are you doing? Let me go.”

---