Page 52 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“Yet here he is, working for you.”

“I keep track of Rurik’s known associates. When Oliver immigrated to Alaska many years ago, I hired him.”

“Why?”

“To find out if he was a threat against my family and to ensure he didn’t know who I was. When I cut ties with my parents and changed my name, I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

“You fear Rurik’s enemies?”

“I don’t fear them. But I like to know if someone is hunting me.”

“What about Frankie?” Air catches in my lungs. “Would they go after her?”

“Not without me knowing.”

“Considering she was abducted from your house, I don’t have a lot of faith in your awareness or security.”

His eyes blaze, and his fingers flex and release, a rhythm of barely restrained aggression.

For a moment, I think he might try to rip my throat out. Instead, he takes a long breath, his shoulders sagging.

“You’re right. I was complacent, overly confident in my handle on things, and too focused on my career to see the danger lurking on my island.” His voice drops to a deadly snarl, each word a weapon aimed at himself. “My failures put her through nine months of hell and caused her unfathomable pain. I can’t undo what I’ve done, and it’s eating me alive.”

He pauses, looking away as if gathering his composure.

When he focuses on me again, steely determination draws his features in harsh strokes.

“I made changes to the security protocols on the island. All new equipment, motion detectors, outdoor cameras, and a rotation of vetted guards with twenty-four-hour surveillance. I also hired a self-defense instructor to train her.” He straightens. “This is not the same place she was abducted from. I won’t let anything happen to her again.”

“Neither will I.” My breath steadies as I consider the security weaknesses I found during my tour of the estate. There aren’t many. “Frankie gave me a passcode for the door to the guest house. Is that a code she had before?”

“Yes. I reactivated it last night so she could get in. I’ll assign new ones today for all of you.”

“What code did Denver use to get in?”

“He figured out my personal code.”

“How?”

“It was the date of his assassination.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

I see the torment in his expression, the anger at himself for failing, and the determination to make things right.

In that flicker of vulnerability, he appears to fight with himself to say something, his jaw working and his eyes flaring with conflict.

“I’m sorry.” He pushes the apology past his teeth, the words rough and strained with angry pain. “I should’ve killed your father when I learned what he was. Running to Rurik was cowardly. If I’d done it myself, Denver wouldn’t have been able to ruin your life.”

Dark hatred burns in his gaze. Even though some of that loathing is for me, his guilt makes me reconsider my harshness.

“You were nineteen. No one faults you for not wanting to murder your own brother.” I choke on a mirthless laugh. “If anything, my existence is to blame.”

Denver said as much in the video.

A twist of fate spared me when I confessed to my father that same week that I would be a father. I got sweet, little Tia Langston pregnant, and that revelation stayed my father’s hand.

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