The Last Thing He Told Me

“I don’t make it a habit of talking about the workmanship of my home, but I thought you’d appreciate a little history…” he says.

This stops me. Is Nicholas trying to suggest he knows what I do for a living? Could he know? Could there be a leak already? Or maybe I’m the leak. Maybe I said something to Charlie without realizing it. Something that has given us all away.

Either way, Nicholas is in charge now. Ten hours ago, that might not have been the case. But I changed all of that when I arrived in Austin. And now it’s Nicholas’s world. Austin is Nicholas’s world, and I’ve walked us back into it. As if cementing the point, two bodyguards walk outside—Ned and another guy. Both of them are large and unsmiling. Both of them stand right behind Nicholas.

Nicholas doesn’t acknowledge them. Instead he reaches out his hands to take mine. Like we are old friends. What choice do I have? I put my hand out, let him wrap his palms around mine.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…” he says.

“Hannah,” I say. “You can call me Hannah.”

“Hannah,” he says.

He smiles—genuine and generous. And suddenly I’m more disturbed by that than I am by the idea of him presenting as the opposite. At what point was Owen standing in front of him thinking, Nicholas has to be good? How could he have a smile like that if he wasn’t? How could he have raised the woman who Owen loved?

It’s hard to look at him so I look down, toward the ground, toward the dogs.

Nicholas follows my eyes. Then he bends down, pets his dogs on the back of their heads.

“This is Casper and this is Leon,” he says.

“They’re gorgeous dogs.”

“They certainly are. Thank you. I brought them here from Germany. We are in the middle of their Schutzhund training.”

“Meaning what?” I say.

“The official translation is ‘protection dog.’ They’re supposed to keep their owners safe. I just think they’re good company.” He pauses. “Did you want to pet them?”

I don’t think it’s a threat, but it also doesn’t feel like an invitation, at least not one I’m interested in accepting.

I look over at Charlie, who is still lying down on his chaise lounge, his elbow covering his eyes. His casual pose seems forced, almost like he is as uncomfortable being at his father’s as I am. But then Nicholas reaches out, puts his hand on his son’s shoulder. And Charlie holds his father’s hand there.

“Hey, Pop.”

“Long night, kid?” Nicholas says.

“You could say that.”

“Let’s get you a drink then,” he says. “You want a scotch?”

“That sounds great,” he says. “That sounds perfect.”

Charlie looks up at his father, sincere and open. And I understand that I misread his anxiety. Whatever he’s feeling badly about, it doesn’t seem to be about his father, whose hand he still holds.

Grady was apparently correct about that much—whoever Nicholas might have been in his professional life, however ugly or dangerous, he’s also the man that puts his hand on his grown son’s shoulder and offers him a nightcap after a hard night at work. That’s who Charlie sees.

It makes me wonder if Grady is right about the rest. Or, I should say, how right Grady is about the rest. That to stay safe—to keep Bailey safe—I should be anywhere but here.

Nicholas nods toward Ned, who walks over to me. I flinch and move backward, putting my hands up.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“He’s just going to make sure you’re not wearing a wire,” Nicholas says.

“You can take my word for it,” I say. “What would I have to gain by wearing a wire?”

Nicholas smiles. “Those are the type of questions I don’t get involved in anymore,” he says. “But if you wouldn’t mind…”