“Why?” I demanded. “What good is my presence going to do?”
“She cares about you,” Henry insisted. His grip tightened around the handle of his mug. “I know it may not seem that way. I know she’s been absent for the grand majority of your life, but you don’t live with her. You don’t know her. I do, and I know that she cares about you. If she sees you and your boyfriend, she’s going to realize that whatever the hell she’s doing with Catherine Flynn is damaging to you. She will not compromise your safety. She’ll finally tell me everything she knows.”
“Catherine Flynn killed my father,” I reminded Henry. “She tried to kill my mother. Why the hell would my mother be in contact with Catherine Flynn?”
“That, my dear, is exactly what I would like to find out.”
“And what makes you so sure that seeing me would make her tell you about it?”
“Call it gut instinct,” replied Henry, peering into his half-empty mug. “It’s been pretty reliable for most of my career. This tea is terrible, by the way.”
“Then stop drinking it. Did my aunt know?”
He pushed the mug away. “Did your aunt know what?”
“That my mother was alive.”
“I believe she did.”
I sagged against the countertop. My entire childhood had been one giant, well-crafted lie. “How much did she know? About my mother?”
“Natasha made it clear that she was in danger, and that if you remained with her, you would be in danger as well,” explained Henry. “To my knowledge, your aunt has no idea that the Black Raptor Society exists. I imagine that Natasha kept this information from her in order to safeguard her as well.”
I slid down the cabinet, coming to rest on the kitchen floor, my knees curled up to my chest. “My aunt told me she died of a brain aneurysm.”
Henry nodded in acknowledgement. “Easy to explain. Quick, fatal, and inexplicable.”
“Because a fake death should be as convenient as possible,” I snapped. The way Henry spoke irked me. His tone was always so factual, business-like almost, as if we weren’t discussing the dismantlement of everything I’d known growing up.
The legs of Henry’s chair scraped against the linoleum as he stood up from the kitchen table. He approached me, crouched down, and took my hands in his own rough, calloused ones. “Forgive me. I know that this is hard and that the world has not been kind to you. My only intention here to to make things better, but I need your help to do that.”
I said nothing but made no attempt to distance myself from Henry again. Despite his outwardly gruff appearance, there was a soothing element to him.
“From what I’ve gathered, you’re in a rut anyway,” he went on. “You need a safe place to land. From the looks of it, your boyfriend could use a few days to recuperate. Our house is out in the country, not quite off the grid but close enough to keep you safe. It would be a perfect place to plan your next move against the Raptors, and with my help, we could be done with all of this strife in a matter of days.”
The soft patter of footsteps on the staircase saved me the hassle of having to answer right away. I wiped my face, suddenly aware that my cheeks were wet, and Henry helped me to my feet. Eileen appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, clad in a night robe and fluffy slippers.
“I thought I heard voices,” she began. She caught sight of Henry and drew her robe more tightly around her. “Who are you?”
“It’s okay, Eileen,” I said before Eileen’s thought process could advance into panic at the notion of a strange man in her house. “He’s a friend. I think.”
“A friend indeed,” confirmed Henry in his low rumble. “My name is Henry Danvers, ma’am. I’m Nicole’s stepfather.”
The declaration of his title seemed incorrect. It made it sound as though we were familiar with each other, when in reality, Henry felt more like an apparition than a physical being. Despite my wariness, I waved wearily at Eileen as a voucher of Henry’s innocence.
“I thought your mother had passed away,” said Eileen, eyeing Henry uncertainly.
“Welcome to the club,” I said. “It’s a long story.”
“Mrs. O’Connor, I’m so sorry to barge into your home like this,” Henry cut in, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. “I’m simply trying to help Nicole out of this mess.”
Eileen’s gaze drifted toward me. I simply lifted my shoulders. “We could use all the help we can get.”
“All right, then.” The tension in Eileen’s stance dissipated, and she stepped into the kitchen. “Do you need anything, Mr. Danvers?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am,” said Henry. He looked at me. “Do I need anything, Nicole?”
I understood the underlying meaning of the question. He was asking again if I would meet my mother. I glared at him for a moment longer before conceding.
“He needs to stay here with us tonight,” I said to Eileen. “We can’t leave now. Wes needs to rest. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”
A look of relief spread across Henry’s face, and I realized that some part of him had expected me to refuse his help. “Dawn tomorrow,” he agreed.
As I passed Eileen on my way to the living room, I patted her shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting manner. “Go back to bed, Eileen. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure, dear?” she asked under her breath, her gaze still fixed on Henry. I nodded. “All right, then. Get some sleep.”
Eileen retreated, heading back upstairs. Henry followed me into the living room, watching as I kicked off my shoes and settled into the massive recliner at the foot of Wes’s slumbering figure.
“You get the floor,” I told Henry, pulling the handle to flatten out the recliner. As it lay me down, I pilfered one of the hand-woven blankets
