Page 26 of My Christmas Billionaire

“Was?” My heart sinks and I hate that the light in his eyes dim.

“She was fourteen when she died. I was at university and my mother called to tell me she had her put down.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It was for the best. She had cancer and was in a lot of pain. Part of me is glad I never witnessed her suffering and yet part of me wishes I was there to say goodbye.”

I don’t know what to say because I’m not the best in these situations and so I say softly, “I always wanted a dog.”

“You never have?”

He looks interested. “No. My parents wouldn’t let me because my sister is allergic.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was probably for the best, anyway. No attachments, no pain.”

He stares at me with curiosity. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know, Robert. If you don’t develop any feelings in the first place, they won’t be hurt.”

“That’s sad.”

“Not really.” I pull myself up and say firmly, “Anyway, the cards.”

“Yes. The cards.”

He reaches out to a stack on the side of the desk and hands them to me, and I’m surprised how many there are.

“Thirteen.” He answers my question as if he can read minds, and I shake my head. “Wow, somebody really does want you to notice them.”

He points to the seat by the fire and as I sit, he says, “They are sent to the house by Royal Mail. There is no indication where they are posted from, just the London sorting office, which gives nothing away.”

As I open the top one, I see the bold print revealing the worst kind of greeting.

This will be your last Christmas. Enjoy life while you can.

As I flick through the rest, the messages are similar, and I’m not surprised he reported them. For the first time since learning of this job, I understand the seriousness of the situation and despite how much I disapprove of him and his lifestyle, I experience a surge of sympathy for the man sitting silently beside me.

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“None.”

A clock chimes on the wall and I say with a sigh. “It’s getting late. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll look through them and compile a list of questions. Whoever is sending these will be caught. You have my word on that.”

“That’s good to hear.”

I’m not sure he’s taking this as seriously as he should, judging from the smirk on his face, but pushing my barbed retort aside, I say quickly, “What are your security measures for this house?”

“An alarm on every window and door, that is deactivated when they are opened from the inside. When I leave, I set the master alarm that is connected to the security company I use. The approach to the house is littered with sensors and alerts the security company to anyone coming and going and they are paid to keep it under surveillance 24/7.”

“Impressive.” Not that I’m surprised, and my attention returns to the cards in my hand.

“I can see now why they are sent through the post. It tells me that whoever it is, knows of your security in place.”

“You think it’s someone I know?”

He seems shocked at that, and I laugh out loud. “I definitely think it’s someone you know. I’m pretty sure you have many enemies out there, Robert, but it takes a very misguided person to actually take it this far.”

---