Page 86 of Ireland

“Must’ve been fairly close for accuracy,” Raúl said, almost to himself. “Way easier to hit the glass than this relatively small patch of siding between them. Thirty to fifty yards. Maybe a bit more distance if the guy’s an expert.”

Rizwan shined a flashlight around and beneath the Adirondack chairs nearby. “Got something else.”

Withdrawing a vinyl glove from a cargo pocket, Raúl crouched. He straightened with what looked to be a tube of black duct tape in his gloved hand. Bringing it into the house, he joined Gideon in the kitchen. The others followed.

Jaw clenching, Gideon knew with sickening certainty that they’d received another menacing note after two years of silence—delivered courtesy of the bolt.

He quickly wiped off the breakfast bar with a bleach wipe and watched grimly as Raúl tugged on another glove. Eva joined them, sliding onto one of the barstools. Her eyes were big and dark, her lips white. She clutched the lapels of her robe in a fist at her throat, her other arm hugging her waist.

Underneath the tape, a transparent sheet protector filled with black paper uncoiled as Raúl gingerly spread it open on the counter. Gideon’s jaw tightened with growing fury, a chilling rage spreading through him. The modus operandi was horrifyingly familiar. There were the Glasgow smiles carved into recent paparazzi photos of him and Eva. There were the mismatched letters crudely cut from headlines. And there was the twisted children’s rhyme.

He took his wife to the sea, sea, sea

To see what they could see, see, see

But all that he could see, see, see

Was her body at the bottom of the sea, sea, sea!

Eva shook her head mechanically, tears streaming down her face.

He turned his back on the malevolent taunt and focused on his wife, whose state of shock was his primary concern at the moment.

All the excitement he’d felt such a short time ago felt like something from a dream, and the plans he’d hoped to share with her were now trapped in his dry, aching throat. An unknown menace, dark and perverse, once again shadowed the cautiously optimistic future he’d envisioned.

The feelings of being unsafe and violated were made worse by their location. Their beach house had always been their safe place and now that was taken from them.

“I’m okay,” she told him hoarsely as he helped her back to the sofa.

But she wasn’t. And neither was he.

Ireland awakened to the feeling of freefall, her entire body jerking in alarm. Heart pounding, she lay there a moment, willing herself to calm. Blizzard stretched out a meaty paw and placed it on her leg, extending his claws just enough that she felt their prick against her calf.

“Listen, buddy, I’m not happy about being awake, either!” she groused.

She’d gone to bed early, the lack of recent sleep catching up with her, but she kept waking intermittently. A glance at the clock told her it was just past four. She debated just getting up. A cup of coffee, a shower—if she took her time, she could stretch it out and get to the office around six. Early, but so what? There was so much to be done; she could use extra hours in the day.

Reaching for her phone, she frowned at the notifications of missed messages. Yes, she silenced her phone at night, but no one ever contacted her anyway. She opened her messenger app and was delighted to see Ronan’s name with a new notification. She would never admit it, but she’d nearly locked her phone in the half-bath to prevent herself from calling him.

There was also a text from Angus, sent just after nine. She made herself open that one first.

Let me know a good time to stop by tomorrow. I’m available all day.

She chewed on her lower lip. Did it mean anything that he wanted to talk face-to-face? A text or even an email would save him trouble. But maybe that’s just how he liked to give his reports and was most comfortable with that routine…? If there were anything of an urgent nature, surely he wouldn’t delay telling her.

What did she hope to find out? That Ronan was as perfect as he seemed so that he could be an even bigger regret? The sexy, charming, talented, intelligent, phenomenal-in-bed, wealthy, musical dream man who got away. Or was she hoping a skeleton in his closet would be a dealbreaker for her, freeing her from his spell?

She opened Ronan’s message.

Invite me over

She exhaled through the surge of heat that flared throughout her body. She could hear his voice in her head, saying those three words to her in his melodic drawl, as seductive as sin itself.

He’d followed up with another message a couple of hours later.

Please

The last message was a few hours old, but she felt the intense craving behind it. That a man as magnificent as Ronan Boudreaux was jonesing for her rather than easily scoring a hookup… God, it turned her on to be so explicitly wanted by a man like him.

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