She nodded, her eyes portraying her anxiety. “How did they know to send the suitcase here?”
“They called the hotel and the front desk gave them this address.”
She frowned but continued into the great room, where the comfortable couches and chairs faced one another. Stefano, Giovanni and Vittorio sat on one of the long sofas. Elie and Brielle took the love seat facing the two couches and fireplace while Dario and Valentino and Emmanuelle sat on the other couch. The various protection details remained by the doors both inside and outside the house.
“It seems we have a problem, Brielle,” Stefano said. “That bomb was directed specifically at you, not Elie.”
Brielle reacted with a swift intake of breath, trying to pull her hand from Elie’s, but he had anticipated her withdrawal and refused to let her go. He tightened his fingers around hers and pressed his thigh closer. She had married him. They were a couple and they would face any problems head-on together.
“I had you thoroughly investigated the moment I learned your name. I have two teams of investigators and I’m comfortable saying both are extremely good. They found nothing to indicate trouble. Most certainly not the sort of trouble that would result in a bomb delivered to your door.”
Valentino chimed in. “Stefano requested that Bernado Macaluso also look into the woman Elie was to marry and turn the report over to him. I, of course, cooperated.”
Emmanuelle and Dario both looked at him. It was clear they hadn’t known.
“There was nothing in Bernado’s report, either, to raise a red flag, Brielle, yet someone definitely is trying to kill you,” Stefano persisted. “You must have some idea why.”
The room was silent while the Ferraros and Valentino and Dario paid close attention to Brielle. Elie knew they were watching her body, her every expression. All of them were adept at reading the least little hint of untruth or evasion. She began to rub her index finger along her thigh, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Enemies who might want to kill me?” She repeated it aloud, her accent twisting the words together. She sounded thoughtful. “I took my share of rotations but every one of them was clean. Nothing could be traced back to the family or to me personally. I wore gloves as well as additional fake fingerprints. I braid my hair tight and wear a skull cap to keep any hair from possibly shedding.”
She sounded as though she was musing out loud, going through possibilities, so no one interrupted her train of thought. “Before I left Spain, I was independently tracking several freighters bound for Lake Michigan that I suspected carried women and children kidnapped from various locations. I turned over the information I had to the Ignazio investigators before coming here because I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow up. What they did with it, I don’t know.”
Valentino hitched forward. “You were following the trail of human traffickers from where?”
“I was in Barcelona. I kept coming across the disappearance of very young women, and children, I should say young boys and girls and women. It bothered me. No one seemed to be really looking for them. Or they had no idea where to start. I began to look for a common denominator, a place most were taken. I followed various leads but most were dead ends. Then I got lucky when a couple of kids talked to me.”
“They saw you?” Dario asked.
“No, I was much more careful than that. I was always behind my computer screen. It’s hard to get to me when I’m on my computer. Even if someone set a trap, I’d know.”
To Elie, she sounded very certain of herself. She definitely had confidence when it came to her computer skills. He glanced at Valentino and Dario, who shared a look and then one with Emmanuelle.
“You’re positive, Brielle,” Stefano asked. “If someone knew you were onto them by tracking you on your computer . . .”
“I would put my skills up against your investigators’， Stefano, or Mr. Saldi’s. There is no way I was discovered through my computer. As for what happened after I turned over my work to the Ignazio investigators, I have no idea, but they would have taken my name off the report I gave them. It was extremely detailed. I’m a rider and all riders are protected.”
That was so but . . . Elie didn’t necessarily believe in leaving anything to chance. He knew there were corrupt people in every occupation. He was an Archambault whether he wanted to admit it or not, and Archambaults policed the entire shadow rider community for a reason. They were needed. Even shadow riders were human.
His gaze flicked to Emmanuelle. Only a handful of people—Stefano, Val, Dario and the Archambaults—knew Emme’s mother had taken out a contract on her daughter’s life. She’d tried to have her killed and intended to continue until it was done. Only the Archambaults could bring justice to a shadow rider and they did so. Elie hadn’t been the one to carry out the execution, but even so, he didn’t want Emmanuelle ever to find out. Stefano had requested that the sentence be carried out under the radar and Eloisa Ferraro’s death be attributed to a brain aneurysm. That cause of death was believable and no one, least of all Emmanuelle, had questioned it.