Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (89)

“We need to start branching out,” I say when we settle at a workstation. I’m trying to get down to business but my eyes almost instinctively linger on Lark’s mouth. I clear my throat and turn back to the screen. “Let’s think of people you and your family know—even people who you don’t think of as enemies. Could it be someone in your inner circle? Someone trying to cause disarray among your family for their own advantage?”

Lark shrugs and leans forward, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. “Maybe. Most people in that circle have been with our family for years, though, and nothing like this has ever happened.”

“Now that your aunt is so ill, maybe they’re seizing their chance. Who’s closest to her? Is there someone who holds sway with both the Montagues and the Covacis?”

Lark types a name as a little shudder rolls through her arms. “Probably not worth digging too deeply on him, but Stan Tremblay is my aunt’s enforcer, for lack of a better term. He’s the one who always handled our dirty work, for the Montagues, anyway. My stepfather keeps him at arm’s length but respects him, particularly after the way he handled things with the school.”

“Ashborne?”

“Yeah,” she replies as she enters Tremblay’s information into the advanced search. Though I’m sure she can feel the heat of my gaze warm her face, she doesn’t glance my way. “He cleaned everything up when Sloane …”

Lark’s sentence tapers off, and she gives a little shake of her head as she swallows.

“Leander did that for me, like Stan,” I say before she can claw her way through an explanation she’s not ready to give. “He waltzed in just moments after Rowan and I killed my father. My father owed debts everywhere, and eventually, he fucked with the wrong people. Leander’s people. Leander came to collect for some of his extended family while he was visiting Sligo. Guess he did collect a soul, just not the way he thought he would.” When Lark raises her eyes to mine, I give her a warning look. “Leander covered our crime. Got us to America. Set us up. He’s been one of the closest people to me for more than fifteen years. I owe him my freedom, my brother’s freedom. But I don’t feckin’ trust him. So don’t discount anyone from your inner circle, no matter what they’ve done for you. Trust your instincts. Can you see this guy being the one?”

“Maybe. At the very least, he keeps meticulous records about the family business. He might know more than he’s letting on.”

“Then that’s enough to spend time on him. We’ll see what comes up,” I say with a tip of my head toward the screen. Lark nods and enters the last fields of information on Stan Tremblay and then presses enter.

Tremblay’s contact card appears, but it’s surrounded by a red border, with the word WARNING next to his name.

Lark’s head tilts with a question, but I’m already pulling the keyboard and mouse toward me. I click through several options before a transcript appears.

Code 2. Code 4100. Tremblay’s address. A physical description that Lark confirms matches the man she knows.

A new entry appears on the screen, knocking the others down the list. Code 100.

“What is this?” she asks as I lean back in my chair. I see her eyes widen when she looks at me. She must see the faint wisp of fear on my face. “What does this mean?

“Code one hundred is a homicide,” I say. “Stan Tremblay is already dead.”





ENUCLEATE




Lark


Thoughts of Stan Tremblay consume me as Lachlan and I walk up the metal staircase to our apartment in silence that lingers even when we open the door to Bentley’s excited footsteps, his nails clacking against the hardwood. With a pat to his head, Lachlan passes me before he heads toward the kitchen, and I haven’t moved an inch.

I watch as Lachlan focuses on his phone, his thumbs rapidly tapping the screen. I know he’s most likely texting Conor to solidify details of the plan we started with him on the drive home. When he seems satisfied, he pockets the device and then busies himself in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of ice water before he turns to watch me, until the silence must linger too long even for him. There’s a fleeting look of worry in his eyes when he saunters closer.

“You okay there, duchess?” he asks.

I nod. His eyes skim over me as he offers me the water. I take a long sip and pass the glass back.

“I’m scared,” I finally admit.

Lachlan’s shoulders fall, not in disappointment, but in worry. I can see it in the way his brow creases. He takes my wrist and leads me toward the couch, setting the glass down on the gold coffee table as he gently pulls me down next to him.

“Scared of what?” he asks.

“Lots of stuff,” I say with a shrug as I evade his gaze. “I knew Stan better than anyone else who’s been targeted so far. It’s becoming more real, you know? Like … everything.”

When I look up, he watches me as though he knows this is about more than just Stan or the changes in my family that no one can stop. It’s about us, too. And I wonder if it scares him as much as it frightens me. It seems like he’s spent so long trying to ensure he had no one else to care about but his brothers and his business. So how do I fit into that? It’s not like we had much of a choice to be together—we were a product of circumstances. So what happens if those circumstances are taken away?