“Well, she had to get what she needed from somewhere, and you weren’t giving it to her.”
“Deflecting, are we?”
Alaric drew himself up to full height, which was unfortunately six or seven inches shorter than Charles Black.
“I’m saying your priorities are messed up.”
“That’s rich coming from the man who left Emmy without a word eight years ago.”
“Enough!”
Emmy’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking her annoyance. Alaric and Black both stepped towards her at the same moment, then glared at each other.
She held up a hand. “Can we all agree I feel like shit tonight? Good. Then stop bloody arguing.”
“Sorry,” both men said in unison.
How much of the disagreement had she heard?
“Alaric, I took a calculated risk today, and that was my choice. But I trust Black’s judgement, and I trust him to have my back. We’ve been at this together for almost two decades now. All the training, all the challenges I face, that’s my choice too. Sure, I could retire, but even though I might keep breathing, I’d be dead inside.” She touched Alaric gently on the shoulder, almost a caress. “But I appreciate you caring.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“And I am. You deserve happiness too, Prince. Black’s right—forget the past and look to the future.”
“I’m not giving up on Emerald.”
“You know what I think? I think Emerald will be found when she wants to be found. In the meantime, don’t sacrifice tomorrow for a ghost.” She linked her arm through Black’s. “Get some sleep. I know I need to.”
Alaric hated to admit it, but what Emmy said made sense. Hadn’t he wasted enough of his life chasing after a shadow? With that thought, he took out his phone to message Beth. He’d updated her during the ride to Riverley, but a quick “goodnight” message wouldn’t go amiss. He was feeling weirdly positive about Sirius, about the time to come, about his feelings for a certain English lady who definitely wasn’t Emmy. At least, he was until he glanced at the screen and saw seven missed calls.
CHAPTER 29 - BETHANY
“JUST LEAVE HER alone!” I snapped, sounding disturbingly like my mother. “Have you got no compassion?”
In England, if one of your nearest and dearest had a medical emergency, the hospital staff whisked them away for treatment and then a doctor came out to speak to you. Here in Kentucky, they sent an accountant instead. The cold-hearted dragon didn’t seem too concerned about Irvine Carnes’s survival, more by his ability to pay.
“It’s hospital policy. We have to obtain financial information from all patients. Does he have insurance? What about Medicare?”
I snatched the bloody clipboard. “Leave it with me. I’ll get your sodding forms filled in.”
Perhaps I could ask Stéphane at an appropriate moment? Harriet was in no fit state to answer a hundred questions. I had no idea what Medicare was, but surely the senator must have some sort of health coverage?
The woman gave me a dirty look, then turned on her heel and stomped off to find her next victim. I let out a long breath. This evening had been a horror show, and considering the number of parties I’d been to where I’d had to haul a plastered Piers out to the car while apologising profusely to Surrey’s finest, that was saying something.
Not so long ago, we’d been eating a late supper at Lone Oak Farm, a cosy affair with Harriet, her father, and Stéphane, who seemed to be practically family. Barkley was curled up on the old horse blanket, waiting for scraps. And everything had been going fine. Irvine appeared reasonably lucid, and he’d laughed along with the others at my expression when Stéphane informed me we were having a three-way for dinner. Luckily, that turned out to be three-way Cincinnati chilli—spaghetti with spiced meat sauce and shredded cheddar cheese—rather than an adventurous sexual experience. Although secretly, I’d always been kind of curious about the other type of three-way too, just perhaps not with Harriet and Stéphane plus the senator watching.
Then, as Stéphane was explaining a four-way—a three-way plus chopped onions—and a five-way (add kidney beans), Irvine’s face started drooping on one side. He tried to excuse himself from the table, but when he gripped the edge to stand up, he lost his balance and fell over.
“Oh, shit,” Harriet whispered. “It’s another stroke.”
Stéphane fumbled for his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
I’d never seen anyone have a stroke before, although I had wished it on Piers several times. The worst part was the helplessness. Irvine was still breathing, and every so often he mumbled something unintelligible, but all I could do was support Harriet while she comforted her father. Stéphane went out to the road with a torch to wave down the ambulance.
And now we were at the hospital. Harriet was squashed into the corner, curled against Stéphane’s side, alternately sobbing and staring blankly at the wall. It didn’t look good.
What was in these forms? I could manage the name and address, but I didn’t have a clue about Irvine’s social security number or medical history.
“Hey.”
Oh, thank goodness. I threw myself into Alaric’s arms without thinking, then realised what I’d done and tried to extricate myself. But he held on tight.
“I thought you wouldn’t be back until much later. Weren’t you at Riverley?”
“Nick flew me here in Emmy’s jet. How’s Irvine doing?”
“Nobody’ll tell us. Whenever I ask, the receptionist just says to wait here. Sorry I kept calling—I didn’t know what else to do.”
I was more or less alone in an unfamiliar country with an unfolding crisis on my hands. Stéphane, usually the model of efficiency, seemed shell-shocked too. After the doctors had wheeled Irvine away, he’d whispered that this looked a lot worse than last time.
“You did exactly the right thing.”
“Some pushy woman brought
