Page 9 of Bringing Chelsea Home

The light over the elevator flashed, and its double doors whispered open. Inside, a motor hummed beneath Elaine’s feet and seconds later they stepped out into a small foyer-like area. With another key, Griff opened a door facing the elevator and gestured for Elaine to enter. “Ladies, first.”

“Wow,” Elaine whispered. The understated luxury of the living area, decorated in rich jewel tones of cobalt and plum, gave the room a cool but welcoming vibe. It was big enough to seat many, but still felt inviting and intimate. “Someone has really good taste.”

“It is nice,” Griff agreed. “And this suite takes up the entire fifth floor. Is that your suitcase over by the hallway door?”

“It is. Would Anne have brought it and left it or did someone else bring it up?” Elaine was ashamed of the wobble in her voice. “I mean, can anyone else get in here without you knowing it?”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Griff’s touch on her trembling shoulders was gentle and comforting. “We got real live people downstair, watching the entrances all the time. Ain’t no way anyone can get in here without us knowing about it and having a special key. Either Anne brought it in, or security did.” His slate blue gaze was calming. “This building is so secured the Pentagon is jealous. I promise no one’s going to get in and hurt you.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t mean to be so jumpy.”

“For someone who was attacked today, you’re remarkably calm,” Griff said, lowering his hands. “But text Anne if you want to be sure. Do you need help with your suitcase?”

“It’s on wheels,” Elaine said. “And I’ll text Anne. Unless we have something to do, I could use a hot shower and a hotter cup of tea. Which room is mine?”

“Whichever one you chose,” Griff said. “There are five of them, two with their own bathrooms, and two that share one. I’m bunking there. The last one has an actual bathtub if you want to have a good soak.”

Elaine ran a hand over her hair. “A shower will suit me just fine.”

“Then I’ll make the tea,” Griff said. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Elaine admitted. “Considering everything that’s happened today, does that sound weird?”

“Not at all.” Griff took off his jacket and put it over the back of a nearby chair. “With all the adrenalin that must have been surging through you today, I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed from exhaustion, let alone hunger.”

“Hey, I fought off my attacker with a hatpin,” Elaine scolded. “I’m tougher than I look. Don’t let that lacy dress and fancy hat I was wearing fool you.”

“I stand corrected.” Griff gave her a grin. “Take your time with your shower. I made a casserole this morning and just need to warm it up to go along with the salad I’m going to make. Hank always makes sure the fridge, cabinets and bar are well stocked no matter where BP sets up camp.”

“Sounds good to me,” Elaine agreed. A need for some privacy swept over her. Except for the few moments alone in Mother Winnifred’s office and those in the convent dormitory, she and Griff Tyler had been together since they met.

Pulling the suitcase, she chose the third bedroom for its pale-yellow walls and robin-egg blue accents. The shower box was huge, big enough for two and Elaine’s cheeks burned as an uninvited image of Griff Tyler without his neat trousers, button-down shirt and well-tailored jacket slammed into her imagination. She really needed that cup of tea.

Fifteen minutes later, after a good scrub and shampoo, Elaine dried off with an oversize towel and pulled on jeans and a sweater. The carpet’s soft depth was a pleasure to her feet, and she left off her shoes and socks just to feel the silken fibers against her skin. She finger-combed her hair, too hungry to use the hair dryer. She checked her messages and found Anne had indeed, left her suitcase with the security team. Guess dating a Brotherhood Protector had its advantages.

She found Griff in the kitchen, tossing a salad. The aroma of onions and mushrooms wafted from the oven and Elaine realized just how hungry she was. The table in the dining area was already set with cloth napkins and a lit jar candle. “The table looks nice,” she commented. “And something smells wonderful.”

“My dad always insisted we set down to a well-set table,” Griff told her. “Even if we were only having grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, he said it makes for nice conversation.” He poured a cup of tea from the pot on the counter and handed it to her. “It’s his casserole recipe you’re smelling.”

“I can hardly wait,” Elaine said. She took a long, grateful sip of tea and sighed in contentment. “Tea makes everything seem more civilized; don’t you think?”

“Sounds like something Jane Austen would say.” Griff poured his own cup. “The casserole will take a few more minutes, so let’s touch base with Hank Patterson about today’s events.”

“The table is only set for two,” Elaine commented. “Is Patrick not joining us?”

“He sent me a text while I was in the shower,” Griff told her. “His errand for Hank is taking longer than he thought and isn’t sure how long he’ll be gone. So, it’s just us.”

The office was almost as large as the living room, the computer system breathtaking. Elaine recalled Anne’s praise for Griff’s expertise with all things IT as he slid into a chair and switched on the system. She sat in the chair beside him, putting her cup a safe distance from anything that looked important. The screen flashed and Hank Patterson’s image appeared. “Good evening,” he greeted. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Prescott. Are you settled in?”

“Yes, thank you,” Elaine said. “My room is lovely.”

“Is Griff taking care of you?” Patterson’s eyes held a definite twinkle.

“That depends on how you look at it,” Griff said, and described the day’s events. “Elaine got a good luck at her attacker and was able to describe him to the police sketch artist,” he finished. “But this never would have happened if I’d followed her into Mother Winnifred’s office.”

“Oh, hush,” Elaine scolded. “The church was open to the public so anyone could have slipped in during the service. Like Mother Winnifred said, it’s not your fault.”

But to her amazement, Hank Patterson was laughing. Laughing hard. “I’d give a week’s salary to have seen that,” he gasped. “A woman in a Victorian dress brandishing a hatpin like an Olympic fencer. When word of it gets to the street, that guy won’t be able to show his face for a while, even if you did slice it open.”

---