“Am I allowed to ask why?” Sebastian asked, curiosity in his voice.
“Gianna is staying here at my grandfather’s place. I caught her breaking into my grandfather’s desk looking for information on Etta Rose. She won’t tell me why she wants the info, but I can tell it’s personal. I know I didn’t talk to you before I left on leave, but I got a letter from the old man that said he would give me answers if I came home.” Sebastian’s voice trailed off.
“Is this about your mom and dad?” Sebastian could hear the concern in his friend’s voice. Gideon knew about his mother’s murder and his dad’s death.
“That’s the only reason I would ever bother to breathe the old bastard’s air again. The fact that Gianna’s looking for something to do with Granddad that happened twenty years ago really has my senses tingling. But, for all I know, she could just be an opportunist who’s just trying to swindle an old man.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“She isn’t a swindler. All of this is connected,” Sebastian said softly. He leaned forward and smoothed out the crinkled papers on the desk.
“All right, I’ll have something for you by the end of the day.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
After Gideon hung up, Sebastian looked at the old pages in front of him. They were handwritten letters, all on different letterheads. It took him an hour to read through all of them. They were all requests for Lazar to intervene on behalf of a prison reform bill that was coming up in nineteen ninety-six. They gave heartrending accounts on behalf of loved ones who had gotten ill or died in prison.
So far nothing in the drawer was getting him any closer to the answers he needed regarding his mother and father’s deaths or the mysterious Etta Rose. He shoved everything back in and locked the desk back up. It was eight in the morning and he had no idea when his uncle would wake up, but he couldn’t risk him finding him. There would still be tomorrow night to check things out.
Sebastian turned out the lights and went back to check on Gianna. When he got to the drawing-room, she was gone. There was no sign that she had ever been there. The kitchen was empty too. He went upstairs to make sure she was okay, but when he knocked on her door there was no answer. He tried the doorknob but it was locked. Apparently, she was well enough to get her ass in bed.
She should have packed her blow dryer. Instead, here she was trying to towel dry her hair with a baseball-sized bump on her head. No, this wasn’t making her cranky at all. Gianna took another look at herself in the mirror and grimaced—she looked like death warmed over. She was normally pale, but right now her pale skin looked albino white, and she was sporting some really dark shadows under her eyes. Too bad she hadn’t packed any make-up. Maybe she could just brush her dark hair forward and let it cover her face for the day.
She snorted, yeah, that so wouldn’t work. Hell, even Jada had said there was no hope for her when they’d Skyped at noon. She still couldn’t believe all the shit that Sebastian had been through as a kid. Then there was the stuff that Jada had been able to unearth about his military career. How in the hell she’d been able to pull up classified material was beyond Gianna, but she’d done it. Sebastian and his team were freaking scary. Thank God they were good guys.
Gianna opened the bathroom door just a smidge and when she saw that the hallway was clear, she made a run for her bedroom across the hall. She quickly dressed in what she considered her armor. Since she wouldn’t have to leave the house, she didn’t have to worry about comfortable shoes, so she was going to wear some of the clothes she’d packed to impress Lazar. Hopefully, they would work on his grandson and keep him off her back, and stop him from noticing her looking like the walking dead.
She shook out her green sweater dress with the scoop neck, the one that hit her just above her knees, and threw it on with her sheer gray tights. She paired that with the leather boots that slid up above her knee. They’d been a New York purchase when she’d sold a couple of her designs to a store that wanted exclusive rights for a new bedding line they were starting. She’d made bank on that deal.
Gianna brushed and dried her hair for another ten minutes until she could feel it was shiny and dry, then she headed for the kitchen.
“You’re not going to tell me what I can and cannot do,” she heard Armand say belligerently.
“I wasn’t. I was offering some advice.”
Gianna pushed open the swinging door and found Sebastian seated at the small kitchen table drinking coffee with Armand standing over him with his fists clenched. He was wearing his coat and boots.
“If I want to drive the four miles into town, that’s my prerogative, and your punk Army ass isn’t going to stop me.”
Gianna walked to the counter where the coffee maker sat and pulled out a mug. “Navy, Armand. He’s in the Navy.”
“Doesn’t matter, he’s a punk.”
Gianna poured herself a cup of coffee and went to the fridge to get out the creamer. After she was done doctoring up her coffee, she sat down at the table.
“I’m hungry, I feel like French toast. Since I’m going to cook, can I make some for either of you?” she asked as she sipped the extremely good coffee.
“It’s lunchtime.” Armand glowered at her. “The storm has subsided, so I’m leaving.”
Gianna cocked her head. The wind might not be howling the way it had last night, but it was still loud.
“Armand, the roads are going to be shit,” Sebastian said. “What’s so important in town that won’t wait until tomorrow?”
“That’s none of your goddamned business, boy.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket, then hit the kitchen door so hard that it swung wildly as he left toward the front door of the house. Gianna could hear the heavy winds when the front door was opened, even from her seat at the kitchen table.
“I’m not thinking he’s making a wise decision,” Gianna said as she took another sip of coffee.
“I’m not thinking that ‘wise’ is part of his make-up,” Sebastian said as he got up and opened up the refrigerator. Gianna watched as he pulled out a carton of eggs and milk.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you make breakfast.” He also pulled out half of a ham that had been wrapped up in plastic wrap. “What do you think of fried ham to go along with the French toast?” he asked.
“Sounds good to me,” she said as she started to get up.
“Stay there, Gianna. I’ll cook. How does your head feel?”
“Not bad. I took some pills that I had in my purse before coming down, plus the caffeine is helping.”
He pulled out a frying pan from a cupboard beneath the stove, he seemed to know his way around the kitchen. “Well, that’s good.” He started slicing off pieces of ham. “How did you like attending NYU?”
Gianna set down her mug of coffee. “Well, that didn’t take long.” She got up and grabbed a whisk off the rack where the utensils were kept. “How much intel were you able to find out in just seven hours?”
She picked up the eggs and milk and moved over to another counter, then looked for the cinnamon on the spice rack.