Page 126 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

He lurches out of his chair, landing a foot from mine. “What do you want me to say? Huh, Chief? Want me to tell you I wish she were mine? That I love the feel of her in my arms, the sound of her musical laugh, the smell of her raspberry hair?”

I rise, meeting him eye to eye for the spearing truth that will impale me.

“That I’ve thought and dreamed about—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I warn, poking him in the sternum, left of his wound.

At the same time, Gage hisses, “Fucking hell, Liam,” and Ty throws his head back with a, “Fuck, man.”

The four of us square off while soaring over the Atlantic.

Liam scrubs a hand over his face, scratching at the scruff. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love her like you do, like you always have. Not enough. And she doesn’t want me to. It wasalwaysyou. It’s why I stepped aside. She deserves you. There were moments, opportunities. Chemistry.” I growl at the thought, but he ignores me, casting a hand through the air. “But if you were in the room, her eyes were glued. Like she told me at the park, she couldn’t look away. Still can’t.”

He sighs, stumbling backward to his chair, nearly as intoxicated as me. “I love you both. That’s why I took a bullet before I ever got shot. I didn’t want to do it.” His explanation becomes thick with emotion. “Honestly, I thought she’d never speak to me again, which would’ve killed me anyway, but then—”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge. She chose him too—a monumental gesture in Liam’s world. “That’s my Little Storm. Fierce.” I swallow my contempt. The brutality of his loss is enough. “Especially for us.”

After sleeping off my drunken misery, I’m able to contact Suzanna. Ivy does have a recent painting. She agreesto text me a picture until I can pick it up. I have a storage room full of Ivy’s art. Some used to hang in the house—my bedroom, above the fireplace, in the hallway. I kept them hidden until Tom called me out on my obsession with his daughter. That conversation freed me to display them, which he found hilarious. No one but Tom knew whose they were. It was something tangible of hers, something I could keep. Until she moved in. The trade-off was well worth it.

My phone vibrates in my hand, but it isn’t Suzanna. It’s also not a call I’m thrilled to field. I answer after a cleansing breath. “Hello, Natasha.”

“Where the hell is she, Gavin?”

“How did you know she was gone?” I ask, hoping Ivy dropped a breadcrumb with her mother.

“She left me a note.” Her voice quivers.

“Read it to me,” I demand, and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue or snarl.

“Dear Mom. You gave me twenty-three beautiful years of love and freedom. I won’t forget that. Even now. Ivanna.”She sighs. “She hasn’t spoken to me since she got released, and now … this is a goodbye. Where is she?”

“I’m working on it. We—”

“You’re working on it?” she sneers. “Youpromisedshe’d be safe. Tom told me to trust you, and in spite ofallmy reservations, I went along with this preposterous ruse because I trustedhisjudgment, and, in turn, yours. But so help me, if something happens—”

“We have strong leads,” I assure her. “I’ll get to her.”

Silence crackles through the line until she clears her throat. “Tom left me a letter to give her if things went sideways. I planted it, nervous she wouldn’t take it from me. I assumed it would make things better. He’s always known how to, but …”

It’s not surprising he’d offer her a contingency plan, but I’m disappointed I don’t know the finer details. “Any idea of what was in it?”

“No,” she says. “His instructions said it contained everything she needed tounderstand and act.”

Not giving Natasha the details was for her own protection. It sounds like he presented Ivy with an escape route. And she took it.

I pour myself three fingers of scotch, just enough to take the rapidly building edge off. “Thanks. That helps.”

“How much danger is she in?”

Too much.“Natasha, your daughter’s life means more to me than my own. I won’t stop until we find her and bring her home.”

“She thinks I betrayed her.” She sniffs—a mannerism attesting to the fucking mess she is. Natasha Kingston doesn’t broadcast emotions.

“I’ll fix it,” I vow. “I’ll be in touch.”

Natasha has been as much of a victim as anyone in all of this. Tom left her a letter with his living will, explaining most high-leveldetails. She knew Ivanna had come to them through a delicate situation, but after her pregnancy losses, all she cared about was keeping the baby in her arms.

In his letter, Tom told her, when the time was right, I’d reach out to take Ivy, which was exactly what I did. The surprise I wasn’t prepared for was his emergency plan—the letter instructed Natasha to threaten Ivy’s inheritance with a marriage requirement should an urgent need for extraction occur. He knew that would set her off and send her running into my arms, provided I positioned myself in precisely the right place to catch her. Natasha shared the plan with me the same day I arranged Celeste’s excursion. It was a pat on the back from Tom—a reminder he believed in me, trusted me with his most cherished treasure.

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