Because We Belong

He didn’t look thrilled about her decision, but he led her to his grandfather’s study nevertheless, staying close by her side.

Chapter Thirteen

Everybody stayed up late that night, the fading adrenaline in their blood making sleep difficult. Anne seemed especially concerned about Gerard, who was quiet and subdued by the time the police eventually concluded their investigation that evening, leaving two men behind to keep watch at Belford. For the second night in a row, they sat down to dinner without dressing, everyone rehashing the day’s events. Ian was waiting for a call from Markov that might shed light on the intruder’s identity and possible motive.

By the time they gathered in the sitting room after dinner, Anne seemed to be of the opinion that they’d discussed the alarming events of the day sufficiently. Francesca guessed from her worried glances at Gerard and her subtle altering of the topic of conversation that she worried her nephew had experienced quite enough for the time being. Francesca couldn’t have agreed more. The image of that man’s lifeless face covered in a shocking amount of blood kept flashing before her mind’s eye. That was a real hole in his head and real blood. Her consciousness couldn’t quite grasp it, even yet. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Gerard was experiencing.

Something about the jarring events of the day seemed to melt away her reserve about the family knowing she and Ian were involved again. All afternoon and evening, he’d been by her side, her hand in his or his arm around her. It’d seemed entirely natural to Francesca, so much so that she didn’t even think about it until that evening at around eleven when Ian’s phone began to ring. She’d been sitting in the circle of his arm on one of the couches in the sitting room, her cheek resting on his chest, lulled by the comfort of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of the fire. He dug into his pocket and checked his phone.

“I’m going to take this,” he said gruffly, kissing her on the temple before he stood. Everyone’s gaze seemed to follow him out of the room as he stepped out into the Great Hall to take the call. A strained silence ensued while they waited for him to return, only broken by Anne asking if anyone wanted anything else to drink.

“That was Markov,” Ian said, stating what they all had suspected. “They’ve discovered the identity of the man,” he said, his gaze on Gerard. “His name is Anton Brodsik. He has a record with the Chicago area police that goes back almost thirty years—assault, minor drug convictions, robbery. He’s suspected of having mob connections. He had a passport on him with a fake name.”

“Is there any clue as to his motive?” Gerard asked, sitting forward in his chair.

“Not anything concrete. But for the past ten years or so, Brodsik has been associated in his crimes a lot with a man named Shell Stern. They were both arrested in a high-profile case three years ago—an attempted kidnapping of a sixteen-year-old boy in Winnetka, Illinois.” Ian glanced at Francesca. “The police didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute, though. No one was ever convicted for the crime. The boy was Sheridan Henes’s son.”

“Henes? The oil company heir?” James asked.

Ian nodded. “The FBI couldn’t convincingly link the two to the case, but there was a strong suspicion against Stern and Brodsik. So they have been connected to kidnapping in the past. And they did try to take Francesca,” Ian said, his eyes gleaming in the firelight as he looked at Francesca.

An involuntary shiver went through her. Anne inhaled raggedly.

“What of this other man, Stern?” James asked worriedly.

“They’ve found him. He’s dead, too,” Ian said.

“What?” Elise and Anne exclaimed at once.

Ian nodded. “Actually, the police recovered Stern’s body from a creek several days ago. He’d been shot. His body had gone unclaimed, and they hadn’t been able to identify him until now. Once Markov had Brodsik’s passport, he was able to follow his trail into the country. Stern and he were on the same plane, both using aliases of course. After that, they were able to identify Brodsik’s true name from fingerprints from the international crime files. They were able to identify Stern given Brodsik and Stern’s history together.”

“Who killed Stern?” Gerard asked.

“Markov suspects Brodsik did away with him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s seen partners squabble over plans . . . or become unwilling to share when the ultimate prize grows closer. But they’re still trying to confirm that with their investigation. As to why Brodsik might have murdered his own partner, I have no idea. I imagine they’ll know more once they can determine where the two men were staying and trace their movements since they arrived late on Christmas Eve.”

“They came to England on Christmas Eve?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” Ian said grimly. “The same day as Francesca.”

“And no one else accompanied them?” Gerard asked.

“No. Just Stern and Brodsik,” Ian replied.

“So that’s it, isn’t it?” Francesca asked. She swallowed thickly. Her mouth had gone very dry. “Both men are dead. The threat is done.”

“It would seem so,” James said slowly.

Ian frowned. “I wish I could be so convinced,” he said before he sat and pulled Francesca back into his arms.

* * *

Neither of them attempted to disguise to the others that they were going up to bed together that night, leaving the sitting room hand in hand after saying their good-nights. Francesca was still feeling especially shaky and Ian seemed to sense it, holding her against him when they went to bed, neither of them speaking, just breathing each other’s scent, prizing each other’s presence. She awoke at dawn to the sensation of his lips firm and warm on her throat and breast, his hunger unshielded . . . raw. Their lovemaking was fierce and sweet, both of them desperate to jump into the bright blaze of passion and life, wild to escape the lingering menace of death and the shadows that always seemed to encroach on their happiness.

Francesca’s eyes blinked open heavily as she had the incendiary thought as she lay in Ian’s arms after they made love. Why were her thoughts so morbid and depressing? It took her a moment to understand her dark mood.

And so that really is the reason you came back. The only reason. Because you believed I was in danger.

I came back because I was worried about you, yes.

Fear gripped at her heart and throat. Once Ian was convinced that the threat against her had passed, would he leave again? She wanted to beg him for reassurance that he wouldn’t depart again on his search, but pride stilled her voice. So did helplessness, as she recalled all too well that she didn’t have the power to bring him peace when it came to his past. If he insisted upon putting himself back on that path, he’d have to travel alone.

* * *

They gathered in the hall later that morning to say good-bye to Lucien and Elise, waiting for Peter to come around with the car. Elise and Lucien’s departure only seemed to amplify Ian’s black mood, signifying the culmination of something he didn’t want to end. When he recognized his thoughts, he determinedly asked Lucien for a word before he left. He drew him into the alcove behind the stairs.

“Do you still plan to meet me at Aurore?” Ian asked his brother in a hushed tone.

Lucien’s stoic expression barely stirred. “You still plan to go? Even after everything with Francesca?”

Ian realized Lucien was being delicate. He wasn’t just referring to Brodsik and Stern’s intent to harm or kidnap Francesca. He was talking about the fact that Francesca and he were clearly lovers again.

“Yes. I have to go back. I have to know as much about Trevor Gaines as I can.”

Lucien didn’t reply for a moment. Finally, he exhaled. “Yes. All right. I’m not sure it’s for the best where you’re concerned, but I won’t leave you alone to deal with this. And it’s not as if I’m not curious as well. Just contact me when you’re ready, and I’ll come.”

Lucien started to depart.

“Wait. There’s one other thing. It’s about your mother,” Ian said when Lucien paused. Lucien’s eyes closed