“I’m always okay, Lance.”
She disappears behind the bar, and I sit there alone, her words rolling around in my brain.
Benny’s working for Art?No way. I must have heard her wrong.
But still… I can’t shake off the gut-wrenching feeling that the Art I knew is gone. And I don’t know who replaced him, but the man sitting at the bar is someone I’m not sure I recognize anymore.
I spend the next few minutes watching Genevieve smile at Art while something dark and possessive claws at my chest.
Art returns to the booth at some point, clapping my shoulder as he passes. “She’ll stay with you until after the party. Then we’ll figure out the next step.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Sure.”
He’s already walking away, phone in hand.
I don’t know when I lost Art. But sitting here tonight, watching him perform, I think it might have been a long time ago.
And I just didn’t want to see it.
Chapter 30
Genevieve
“Art says the threat is over.”
Lance is leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. I’m curled up on the couch with Cavall’s head in my lap, pretending to read a magazine I haven’t absorbed a single word of because I’ve just tried my father for the third time in two days and he still hasn’t answered.
I set the magazine down. “What?”
“The guy following you. Art says his name is Bors. Sent by Myrddin to keep tabs on your dad while he defended a case in Boston. Case is done, charges dropped, no reason for anyone to be watching you anymore.”
“So my dad was the reason.”
“That’s what Art says.”
“Then why isn’t my dad answering my calls?”
“ThatI can’t tell you.”
“And Art found all this out how, exactly?”
“Million-dollar question.” He shifts his weight. “He told me yesterday at the tavern. Didn’t tell you, obviously.”
“Of course he didn’t. I’m just the girl who gets moved around like furniture. Stay here, Ginny. Don’t leave the cabin, Ginny. The threat is over but I’m going to tell your bodyguard instead of you, Ginny.”
“Genevieve.”
“I’m not mad at you.” I press my lips together. “I’m mad at the fact that the only way I get information about my own life is secondhand from you.”
Cavall whines, sensing my agitation, and I drop my hand to rub between his eyes.
“There’s something else,” Lance says.
He’s staring at the floor, jaw working, that muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Rosalie told me something yesterday. At the tavern, after Art left. She said Benny’s working for Art.”
I blink. “Benjamin Voltaire.”
“Yeah.”