Duty At What Cost?

‘This is for you.’ He held out a silver smartphone. ‘I took the liberty of placing your SIM card into a spare after my men found yours broken in your car.’

‘Oh.’ She looked confused by the gesture. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

He knew he didn’t. He’d wanted to.

He turned it on and passed it to her, before informing Gilles of his plans to hit the road earlier than he’d intended.

While Gilles tried to convince him to reconsider, Ava’s phone beeped a string of incoming messages. They both turned to see her frowning at it.

Wolfe immediately felt his guard go up. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘My father has left ten messages. Excuse me while I retrieve them.’

She dialled a number and pressed the phone to her ear at the same time as Gilles’s butler hurried into the foyer.

Momentarily distracted when he handed Gilles a piece of paper, Wolfe returned his gaze to Ava in time to see the colour leach out of her face.

She turned almost blindly to Gilles, her breathing erratic. ‘Frédéric has been involved in an accident. Gilles...’ Her voice trailed off when Gilles looked at her, and if possible she lost even more colour. ‘Quoi?’

Wolfe didn’t think she’d realised that she had reached out and was gripping his forearm in a talonlike hold.

Gilles shook his head as if in a daze.

Hell.

‘I need to speak with my father. Find out what hospital he is in.’ Ava’s shaky hands fumbled with the phone, and it would have dropped if Wolfe hadn’t swiftly bent to catch it.

‘Ava, he’s not in hospital.’

‘Ne sois pas absurde, Gilles. The accident sounds serious.’ She shook her head, unable to say more.

Wolfe cursed under his breath.

‘Ava—’

‘No.’ She held up her hand and cut him off, backing away from both of them, so disorientated she would have bumped into the wall if Wolfe hadn’t reached out and grabbed her by the elbows.

‘Breathe, Ava,’ he instructed levelly. ‘In. Out. That’s it.’

Her gaze cleared a little and her body went rigid as she pushed his hand away. ‘I’m fine.’

Wolfe’s mouth tightened. ‘Give me the phone,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll call your father.’

She swallowed heavily, her navy eyes bruised. He would have wrapped his arms around her then, pulled her in close, but she was so rigid she might as well have been wearing armour. He’d thought he’d sensed fragility in her—the same as he’d sensed last night—but if he had it was long gone.

Ignoring the voice in his head that told him he should butt out of her affairs and mind his own business, he scrolled through her phone. When he couldn’t find an entry under ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’ he glanced at her. ‘What’s his name?’

‘It’s listed under “The Tyrant”.’

Her chin came up, as if defying him to make a comment; the action told him that the moniker hadn’t been given in jest. But was her father really a tyrant? Or was she just another spoilt little girl who threw tantrums when things didn’t go her way? And why did he even care?

Dumping a lid on the list of questions forming in his mind, he quickly dialled the number and introduced himself when the King answered on the first ring. ‘Your Majesty, this is James Wolfe, head of Wolfe Inc. I have your daughter here. Yes, Gilles is with her. Ava?’

She took the phone with a shaky hand. ‘Sir—’

Her voice trembled and despite trying to keep himself detached the sound of it cut Wolfe to the quick.

‘Of course. Oui. I can get a flight. Yes. Okay.’ She rang off and frowned at the phone as if she didn’t know what it was doing there.

‘Ava?’

She glanced at Gilles as if she didn’t know what he was doing there either.

Shock. She was going into shock. Wolfe recognised the signs.

‘I have to...’ She gave a tiny shake of her head, collected herself. ‘I... Frédéric has died. He... I have to organise a flight home.’

Gilles barely blinked, but Wolfe could see his friend’s utter devastation below the façade of calm. ‘Wolfe, can we borrow your plane?’

‘Of course. But there’s no we, Gilles. I’ll take her.’

‘Frédéric was a good friend. I’ll—’

‘You should be with Anne—’

‘I can organise myself,’ Ava cut in.