Page 90 of Keep Her from Them

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

She dipped her head at the window. “You might have noticed that my fiancé doesn’t come inside this place. His mother is a hoarder. He was forced to live in circumstances like this and couldn’t help her. Hers was an extreme case, and I managed to do something to make it better, but not every family is happy and supportive.”

I huffed agreement, knowing that well. I’d managed to ignore mine for a couple of days, but every time my brain slid back to the events I’d fled, the more it put my family at the centre of things.

I couldn’t go back to them. That much was certain. Even if they somehow tracked me down. It only complicated things with my dad who was the one person I needed to protect.

Daisy continued, “Some people are broken beyond repair or completely alone. The things they bring into the home and the money they spend create glimmers of happiness. In this case, the trash is the treasure for the lady who collected it all.” She gave a short laugh. “Though I hope for our sake that isn’t the literal truth.”

She tossed a box of bathroom tile samples, then found another. A heavier box with packaging I instantly recognised.

“That’s oil paint,” I told her. “I use that brand.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist.” Daisy offered it out. “Reckon they’ll still be good?”

I accepted the unopened box and looked it over, pulling out tubes and brushes. “They haven’t been touched. Oil paint lasts for years if it isn’t opened.”

“Want it? If there’s anything usable, I can message the nephew and make him an offer. I already did that with a teapot because I wanted it as a reminder of the woman and her life. He told me to keep it. He’ll probably do the same with that.” At my nod, she sent a quick text. “He says no problem. Keep them. Oh, there’s a stack of paintings with some blank canvases that I stored in the garage. We took them all off the walls on our first visit in case they were the treasure. None were very old, so that was a no, but the canvases can be yours.”

Last night, I’d dreamt of painting. I often did. For years, I’d had oil paint smudges on my skin and the compelling urge to return to my work-in-progress. Shutting it down at the point of starting work for my family had been a snap judgement. One I regretted.

“If you think that’s all right?” I stood shakily, urgency building in me all over again.

Daisy had already sent a follow-up message. “I’ll show you them now.”

We descended the stairs to the ground floor and stepped outside where fat raindrops had started falling. Ben was seated at his usual spot at a garden table, but he packed up his tablet and stowed it in a bag, presumably to shelter it from the weather.

Daisy and I entered the garage at the side of the house. The rumbling of tyres chased us.

“Must be Valentine returning.” Tugging my mask back up against the thick smell of something rotting, I followed Daisy to a stack of paintings. There had to be thirty leaning against the garage wall in stacks, some landscapes and others I couldn’t see.I leafed through the first few, checking what she’d said—that they were modern prints. To the right were three white canvases, still in the plastic wrapping. I took up one, the sense of certainty growing in me to towering proportions.

“Val’s still here,” Daisy said. “He’s round the back, stomping up and down on the garden while talking on the phone.”

“Then who just turned up?”

Earlier, Valentine had given me a new and secure phone to use, already programmed with the numbers for the team and for Daisy and Mia. I’d resisted the urge to message Raphael, almost scared to distract him, and relying on the updates Ben and Valentine provided. The last check-in from Jackson told us they’d arrived in Paris, but nothing since. There was no way this could be them.

Without thinking, I moved to the garage door and peered out into the now pattering rain.

Coming face to face with Barrington Bray.

Oh shit.I flushed icy cold.

Daisy hissed and circled to block his view of me. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Ben Graham.”

“You found him,” Ben’s hard tone sounded across the garden.

Barrington turned, and Daisy spun back to me, her eyes wide. She ushered me deeper into the garage while Ben took control.

“I didn’t think,” I mouthed.

She blinked, still appearing in shock, and whispered back, “Do you know him?”

I managed a terrified nod. “The leader of the other bodyguard team. The ones who are hunting for me.”

If they found me, my moment of peace would be broken. I’d need to talk to Sir Reginald. I’d have to fight him over hisexpectations and my work. I just wanted to stay with Raphael and to not be at the centre of that maelstrom.

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