Page 5 of Stolen Love

I climb into the passenger seat and shut out the paps. A second later, he jumps in and guides us into traffic. The media hounds run for their vehicles.

“There will be more outside your building.” Jason’s gaze is glued to the road as he gets us out of there as fast as possible.

I drag the jacket off my head and crush the material on my lap. I could use a cigarette, but I haven’t had one in over a month and Jason never has. “Did they find Marty?”

“No.” His jaw line sharpens.

“Fuck.” I thump my fist against the door as the back of my neck creeps. She’s the only journalist I trust. And barely at that. We were working together to find the true reason why Nicole won’t let her daughter go. “It’s been more than a week.”

She’s been out of contact for too long.

“What if Nicole realized we were on to her? The woman doesn’t seem to have a line she won’t cross in order to keep Ivy under her thumb.”

His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “Do you think she’d hurt Marty?”

“If she suspected Marty found evidence that Nicole paid to have Ivy’s dad murdered, then…” I can’t bring myself to voice my fears. My teeth grind. “I think we need to find her as soon as possible.”

“I know a man. A private investigator,” Jason says. “He’s ex police. Better than a bloodhound at finding people who don’t want to be found.”

It doesn’t surprise me that Jason has a contact for everything. With the way things are shaping up, we can use all the help we can get.

Especially when my usual go to guy is in the middle of a family crisis. Not only do I need to tell Ivy that her mom is more than likely responsible for her dad’s death, but I also have to fill Adira in. Richard Love was his uncle. But more than that he was the only family other than Ivy who supported the queen.

I groan. This is going to be hard. “Get in contact with him.”

He nods.

I slump down in my seat. Everything has become so complicated. Ivy has to be freaking out. And somehow I have to go home and break that news on top of everything else that’s going on.

Chapter Three

Rogue

The media outside on the pavement are rabid. They swarm the car before we can reach the code box for the mesh security gate. Pressing their faces and their cameras to the tinted windows, they shout questions at us. Some of them voice their unwanted opinions just as loudly.

A bucket of what looks like blood is thrown onto Jason’s windshield and a woman screams “murderer!” Several reporters get splashed and shriek.

“Paint.” Jason tsks. “That’s going to be impossible to clean off. I should file suit against each and every one of these idiots.”

“I’ll buy you a new Maserati.” Stick a bow on it and call it a Christmas bonus. I burrow my knuckles into my forehead as I hide behind my hand. “I was struggling with what to get you anyway.”

Security guards bustle out of the building and usher everyone away from the vehicle as the gate begins to lift and Jason guides us into the parking garage.

He grimaces and rubs his lips together.

“Don’t say it.” I know what he’s thinking. With Christmas only two weeks away and Nicole Hawthorne hell-bent on framing me for Mark Anders’ death I might not be celebrating the holiday with my family and friends this year.

Christmas has never been a particularly magical holiday, but it has always been one spent with my brothers. Even when we were taking care of mom and barely had food in the house we would still make cranberry and turkey sandwiches and exchange cheap gifts.

Ivy had it worse. All Richard Love’s wealth couldn’t make up for the way Nicole and Alec treated her. I’d hoped to start rectifying all those awful birthdays and Christmas days, starting this year. I wanted to create new memories. Our memories. Happy ones that could erase the loneliness and hurt she experienced.

Instead I’m going to destroy her world, and then possibly I’m going to have to leave her all alone in it. That’s the last thing I’m prepared to do.

My knuckles crack against the dashboard. “Fuck.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

The glovebox springs open to reveal an entire filing system’s worth of paperwork. Between the papers, I glimpse the butt of a handgun. “Are you fucking serious? What do you need a gun for?”

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