Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(73)
Author: Beth Kery

“Lucien? The car is here.” Her gaze narrowed on Ian. She took a step toward him. “Ian? Are you all right? What is it?”

He didn’t reply. Too much emotion had erupted in him too quickly. He walked ahead of both of them to the Great Hall and started up the stairs, taking two at a time. He’d already said his good-byes to Elise, and he couldn’t force himself to take part in small talk at the moment. He did his best to ignore the sensation of Francesca’s dubious, worried stare at his back.

* * *

It was technically too cold to ride a motorcycle, but Ian dressed for it, and the winter day was sunny and unseasonably mild, the temperature inching up to the high thirties. When he saw more than a half dozen press vans outside the main entrance security gate, he cursed bitterly under his breath and thought of turning around. His grandfather had told him that several news stations had called his secretary this morning about the shooting at Belford Hall yesterday, asking for interviews and a statement. James had denied requests for interviews, but he and Ian had come up with a basic statement, saying that all the visitors at the press conference and the family were safe, and deferring to the Stratham police for official news of the crime. The break-in and shooting had been made all that much more sensationalistic because it involved an earl, his heir to the title, and Ian himself, who had been making a reappearance on the business scene. In addition, the crime had happened during a well-publicized and well-attended press conference, the gunshot itself being picked up by press cameras. According to Anne, the press conference and chilling gunshot interruption were being replayed continually on national and local stations.

Screw it, Ian thought, waving a hand at Cromwell at the security gate, and turning onto the road a moment later. The press didn’t know who was behind the black helmet with the face visor. Although certainly many of the people who lived locally knew that the earl’s grandson was fond of motorcycles, he noticed that the majority of the vans were from London stations. If they chose to chase him, let them. He was edgy and restless enough to crave a challenge. Besides, he’d blow them away on the sleek MV Agusta he straddled.

He ripped past the vans parked on the side of the road at a lightning-fast pace, actually half hoping one or several would follow. He saw only a couple surprised, pale faces peer at him from the vehicle windows, none of them alight with the thrill of a chase, however.

The chill air rushing past him as he roared down the country roads was sufficient for clearing his head, though, seeming to blow out some of his anger and crystalize his thoughts.

He craved some numbing off.

By the time he returned to Belford, he felt frozen to the bone, but calmer, and more resolved. He used a back entrance to the grounds. Although relatively few people knew about the gravel road through the trees, Ian was gratified to see one of the security guards his grandfather had hired manning it. He returned the motorcycle he and Gerard had once mechanically enhanced to the chauffeur and mechanic, Peter. While he and Peter were talking about the Agusta’s performance, he received a phone call. Seeing it was Detective Markov calling, he walked away to take it.

Twenty minutes later, he found James alone looking over some ledgers in the sitting room.

“I’m working in here instead of my office for the time being,” James explained after they’d greeted one another. “Anne wants to send off the carpet in my office to have it cleaned . . .” He faded off reluctantly, and Ian knew he meant cleaned of Anton Brodsik’s blood. “But I spoke to Detective Markov about it, and he said to hold off making any major changes or using the room until they’ve finalized their investigation.”

“I just got off the phone with Markov.”

“Did you?” James asked, immediately interested. “Any news?”

“Yes. Considerable,” Ian said, sitting down in an upholstered chair near the desk where James worked. “They’ve done ballistics reports, and it seems that the gun Brodsik pulled on Gerard yesterday was definitely the same weapon that killed Shell Stern.”

“So . . .” James said slowly. “Brodsik decided he didn’t want to share any of the pie with his partner.”

“Either that or they had a falling out over something else,” Ian said.

“Does Markov have any indication whatsoever that another person was involved?”

“No. None.”

James’s astute gaze narrowed on his grandson. “But you don’t believe him?”

Ian paused, thinking. “Given the pair’s history of petty crimes, I just find it hard to believe that they’d engineer this whole thing themselves. I suppose it’s possible, though.”

“I’d hardly call the attempted kidnapping of the Henes heir a petty crime.”

“Exactly my point,” Ian murmured. “I doubt they were the main instigators of that one, either. Although considering the whole thing was botched, who knows?”

“Well, they’re dead, so I suppose we’ll never know the full truth. Ian?”

Ian blinked. He realized he’d been scowling, lost in thought at his grandfather’s words.

“Are you still worried about Francesca’s safety?” James asked, his forehead furrowed.

“Always,” Ian admitted before exhaling. “But at least I’ve taken back control of the company, and hopefully she’s been moved out of the limelight.”

James nodded. “She’s a very beautiful woman. Match her eye-catching looks with the thought of millions of dollars of ransom money, and there’s bound to be some sickos out there who scheme up havoc like this. Brodsik and Stern must have seen that photo of her in the papers and conjured up the idea.”

“That’s what Markov and the police in Chicago are thinking,” Ian said distractedly.

“Well I’m just glad to have it in the past. It’s good news, what Markov told you. We should share it as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll take everyone out for dinner tonight in town.”

“I don’t think the furor has died down sufficiently yet,” Ian said dryly. “The entry road is swamped with media vans.”

“I know, Cromwell has informed me,” James said, referring to the security guard at the front entrance with a weary wave of his hand. “They’ll give up and go home soon after they get bored enough.”

“I plan to address the press again. Not about the investigation, per se,” Ian added when he saw James’s dubious expression. “That’s the police’s arena. I need to make a general statement, though, assuring that everything is steady with Noble Enterprises and that the threat is well contained. I’ll do it in London. I was waiting for the results of Markov’s investigation, but now that I have that, I can’t put it off any longer,” he said, feeling a bizarre mixture of determination and ambivalence. It was like his rational brain was telling him he needed to get on with his duty to his company and his mission in regard to Trevor Gaines, but his body was protesting, wanting to stay, longing to remain at Francesca’s side. He inhaled when he noticed James’s slanted brows, steadying himself . . . hardening his resolve. “Lin is insisting I need to move on another press conference, but I’d already realized the necessity. Here I was hoping to show my face to the public, quell any doubts about Noble’s leadership and show the steadiness of the ship, and all hell breaks loose while I’m doing so.”