“A little tired after the flight,” he admitted. “But you know how peaceful this place is. It’s even quieter at this time of year. I think this will do me the world of good.”
“You should have gone someplace warmer and drier.”
“It’s not damp here, just cold and rainy.”
“Cold and rainy is the definition of damp.”
“The house has central heating,” he muttered, aware of how defensive he sounded. “And it’s not like I’m going to be wandering around in the rain.”
“You sure about that? I know how much you enjoy your long, meandering hikes.”
“I’m here to rest.”
“Make sure that you do.”
Miles couldn’t help but smile at the words. His sister was seven years younger than he was, but she sometimes fussed over him like she was the older one.
“How are Hugh and Mum?”
“If this is your sneaky way of trying to find out if Hugh’s pulling his weight at the company, I’m totally not telling.”
“If I wanted to know that I’d ask Bry—”
“He wouldn’t tell you either.” She sounded so smug.
“Probably not, but he’s more likely to have an actual answer to my question. You wouldn’t know.”
“I know stuff.” Her voice was breezy and unconcerned, and Miles could imagine the careless wave of her hand as she said the words. “I just have more interesting things to obsess over.”
“How is Sullivan doing?”
“We broke up. Your henchman made him nervous.”
Good. Miles knew better than to say the word out loud, but his sister’s last boyfriend was an arsehole who lounged around doing nothing much of anything as far as Miles could tell. Vicki had called him “creative” and “sensitive,” which Miles had translated to “lazy” and “useless.” The guy hadn’t worked in the entire time that Vicki had dated him, always banging on about his muse not speaking to him. Miles still wasn’t sure if the guy was a painter, a writer, or a musician…his “art” had been an amorphous thing that never quite solidified into anything identifiable.
But while Miles had opinions, he never interfered in his siblings’ love lives. Unless they came to him for advice, he trusted them to figure it out. That didn’t mean he hadn’t taken the time to have a long, extremely one-sided, conversation with each of Vicki’s boyfriends, warning them of what would befall them if they hurt her in any way.
He did the same with Hugh’s boyfriends. Nobody was hurting his baby brother and sister. Not on his watch.
If Vicki having a bodyguard meant a break from the endless stream of arty, unemployed hipster types, then Miles was all for it.
“Tell me,” Miles began, as another thought struck him. “How old would you say Mrs. Cole is?”
“I don’t know…” Vicki sounded distracted, and her next words, once again meant for Chambers, confirmed that. “Don’t touch that! Why do you have to fiddle with everything? Aren’t you guys supposed to be strong and silent and stationary or something? Ugh. Miles. This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad and if it keeps you safe, then that’s just the way it’s going to be for now. Now, about Mrs. Cole.”
“What? I don’t know…forty-five? Fifty? She sort of fades into the background, and you don’t notice too many details about her. It’s weird, right? Now that I think about it, she could be in a room with us and we wouldn’t notice her unless she spoke. That’s some serious ninja skills. But I always thought it was just part of her job. To be invisible or something. I don’t think I could even tell you what color her hair is. Gray, right?”
“Black,” Miles supplied without thinking, then winced. Luckily Vicki didn’t seem to notice, she was still musing about Mrs. Cole.
“Or does she wear a cap? I can’t really picture her. The harder I try the fuzzier the image. So weird. It’s like I’ve been huffing ‘shrooms and—”
“What do you know about huffing ‘shrooms?” Miles interrupted, and she coughed delicately.
“Like how I imagine it would be if I’d been huffing ‘shrooms,” she amended, before prudently changing the subject. “Why are you asking about Mrs. Cole? You’re not thinking about firing her or anything, I hope. She’s brilliant.”
“Of course not.”