“It should’ve been me, Bev,” she whispered, her voice breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek. “It should’ve been me.”
CHAPTER 6
Kane stood in the kitchen of Doug’s house, his shoulder pressed against the doorframe as family and friends crowded inside. The air was thick with grief, heavy enough to choke on, but he stayed alert. Old habit. His eyes swept the room; mostly what he witnessed was human sorrow, raw and honest, but the darker part of him couldn’t let go of the possibility that killers sometimes came back to watch their own chaos unfold.
From what he could tell, Beverly had been well-loved. The line of mourners at the visitation had been endless. Even when Monica’s father lost his mind in front of everyone, Kane hadn’t missed a single detail, not one potential threat. Now, inside the house, he saw some of the same people as well as new faces.
But his focus kept repeatedly drifting back to her.
Monica stood by the far wall, a forgotten plate of food in her hands, her gaze unfocused. She looked like she was staring at people without really seeing them. The sight of it hit him harder than he cared to admit. She was tough, no doubt about it, but beneath that fire was something fragile. A woman stretched thin,carrying more than anyone here could see. Hearing that her brother had been aware of Monica working for the bastard who may or may not have had something to do with their sister’s disappearance, and now death had pissed him off.
Kane clenched his jaw and looked away, trying to force his attention elsewhere. He’d been doing this type of shit too long to let feelings, especially protective ones, get tangled up with his work. There was something about her that chipped at the walls he’d spent decades building, and every time he looked at her, that damn protective instinct dug its claws in deeper.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit, because protection led to caring, and caring led to loss, and Kane had buried too many ghosts to add another.
Still, when Monica looked directly at him, every muscle in his body went taut, ready to act...ready to fight...for her. This, whatever this was, was a problem. A big one. One he needed to keep on a damn leash.
Her gaze shifted past him and narrowed, the smallest change but sharp enough that Kane followed it instinctively. A tall man in a dark suit had stepped into the kitchen. Kane hadn’t seen him at the visitation, and he definitely would have remembered if he had. The guy wasn’t here to grieve as his eyes scanned the room until they landed on Monica.
Kane felt the shift inside himself like a blade being drawn.
The man started toward her, and Kane’s body moved before he allowed it—mirroring the stranger step for step. It was only when Monica flicked a quick glance at him and gave a subtle shake of her head that Kane forced himself to stop.
He halted near the counter beside the trays of food, positioning himself at an angle—close enough to hear every word and end anything that needed ending, but not so close to give himself away.
He folded his arms, posture loose, and casual to anyone who didn’t know what to look for. But inside, he was already in lock-and-load mode. If the man made one move for Monica, it would be his last.
“What the fuck?” Kane cursed under his breath as he went with the protection shit again. It had been instant. He reminded himself that he was here because of the job...nothing more...nothing less, and definitely not because of the woman currently standing five feet away, holding herself together with sheer willpower.
“Monica?” the man asked, his voice smooth—too smooth. Kane caught it easily; his hearing was superb, as was his bullshit meter. The stranger’s expression told the real story. His eyes lit with recognition a split second too fast when he spotted her. The question of her identity in his voice was totally bogus. He knew that he was talking to Monica.
“Yes,” Monica replied evenly, her tone calm, but her eyes never leaving the man in front of her.
“I’m Neil Farrar.” The man extended a hand with a polished smile that Kane didn’t buy for a damn second. He’d seen that look before; men who smiled like that usually were hiding something ugly.
Monica glanced at Neil’s hand before giving it a quick, polite shake.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Neil said, his tone too smooth, too measured.
“Thank you,” Monica replied, releasing his hand as quickly as she could. “How did you know my sister, Mr. Farrar?”
“Please, call me Neil,” he said, still smiling.
“Neil,” she repeated, tilting her head slightly. “How did you know my sister?” Her tone didn’t waver, which made Kane smile. The woman was smart and had a good read on people like him. She didn’t trust this guy either.
“I didn’t,” Neil admitted after a pause. “I’m taking over operations for Mr. Griffen until he can come back. I heard about your sister from Mr. Griffen. He sends his condolences.”
“Come back?” Monica asked, feigning confusion. “His vacation going that well?”
Neil frowned. “Vacation?”
“Oh,” Monica said with perfect innocence. “He’s not on vacation?”
For a moment, Neil looked thrown before forcing a laugh. “No, he’s not on vacation. He’s finalizing the sale of R & S Logistics.”
Kane’s gut tightened. That wasn’t good. Traffickers didn’t just vanish; they rebranded.
“Well, I guess that means I’m out of a job for real,” Monica said softly, and Kane caught the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Not because of the paycheck, but because the trail to her sister’s truth was slipping away again.