Page 88 of The Thief
"Thank God," he murmurs against my hair. "Thank God you're safe."
I should pull away. Should maintain the careful distance I've been keeping since I arrived in Dublin. But his arms around me feel like something I've been missing my whole life without knowing it.
This is what I've been fighting against, isn't it? This feeling of belonging somewhere, of mattering to people who'd move heaven and earth to keep me safe. I've been so afraid of being hurt, of being abandoned again, that I've been pushing away the very thing I've always wanted.
Family.
"I'm okay," I say, my voice muffled against his shoulder. "I'm fine."
"I know. But when I heard Trace was after you specifically..." He pulls back and studies my face like he's making sure I'm really here. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you when I've only just found you."
The raw emotion in his voice breaks something open in my chest. This isn't duty or family obligation. This is love, pure and simple. Love from a grandfather who's spent eighteen years wondering about the granddaughter he never got to meet.
All this time, Henry's been trying to be family to me. Real family. And I've been holding him at arm's length, waiting for him to prove himself worthy of trust that should have been freely given.
"I'm here," I say, meaning it for the first time. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good. Because we need to move. This house isn't secure anymore, not with what happened tonight."
"Move where?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere Trace doesn't know about."
Denis appears beside us with blood on his shirt that I hope isn't his. "Cars are ready. We should go now, before he regroups."
"Right." Henry keeps one arm around me as we walk toward the vehicles. Protective, possessive, like he's not taking any chances on losing me again.
Freddie falls into step beside us, his presence solid and reassuring. Between the two of them, I feel safer than I have since Dad died. Like I'm finally part of something bigger than just surviving day to day.
The safe house is twenty minutes outside Dublin, hidden at the end of a private road that winds through dense woods. It's smaller than Henry's main estate but still impressive; an old stone cottage that's been expanded and modernized, surrounded by trees that provide natural cover.
"How many people know about this place?" I ask as we pull into the circular drive.
"Four," Henry says. "Now six, counting you and Freddie."
"That's it?"
"That's it. I bought it through shell companies, never listed it in any family records. It's completely off the grid."
Smart. A bolt-hole for when everything else fails, or when enemies get too close to the main operation.
The inside is cozy in a way Henry's mansion never was. Warm lighting, comfortable furniture, the kind of place where you could actually relax instead of worrying about breaking something priceless. There are family photos on the mantle, books scattered on side tables, a kitchen that looks like people actually cook in it.
"There are three bedrooms upstairs," Henry says, setting down his overnight bag. "Take whichever one you like."
"What about security?"
"Handled. Freddie's here and I've got two of my best men watching the perimeter. Anyone tries to get close we'll know about it long before they become a problem."
Freddie's been quiet since we arrived, checking windows and sight lines with professional efficiency. Making sure the place is as secure as Henry claims.
"All clear," he reports. "Motion sensors are active, cameras are recording. We're good."
"Excellent. Now then." Henry settles into an armchair by the fireplace, suddenly looking less like a crime boss and more like a tired grandfather. "I think we need to talk. Really talk. About your father, about your mother, and about everything I've missed."
I take the sofa across from him. Freddie disappears, but I know he won’t be far, and that if I need him, he'll be here immediately.
But maybe it's time to stop being afraid of the hard conversations. Maybe it's time to let this man be my grandfather instead of keeping him at arm's length.
