The Romeo Arrangement

“Have I ever let you down, Ridge?” he asks cautiously.

We both know what he’s referring to. I can still see the horror in his eyes when he told me the truth and sent me on the warpath that ended my career.

Just like I can see him pleading, begging me not to go, to control my need for revenge before something horrible happened.

Newsflash: something horrible did happen.

I should count myself lucky I never had to pay the price for what I did to Linus Hammond. Even if the sick, conniving fuck deserved every last bit of it.

“Never,” I grind out. “Quit playing coy. If you’re worried about another situation—”

“No. This isn’t like that,” he says sharply. “I simply have one request.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m forever at your service, Ridge. You know that. And you’d make this peculiar situation easier to manage if you’d keep me appraised of the latest developments,” he says, his eyes mellow green pinpricks of light and shadow behind his glasses. “I’ve earned that much, haven’t I?”

“You have,” I say, giving a firm nod. “Of course, Tobin.”

“Then since I’ve seemingly failed at arguing the wisdom of sharing your home with two complete strangers in questionable legal territory…I’d deeply appreciate not having to guess at the details.”

Biting my tongue, I motion to the chair across from my desk.

“Sit your ass down, then,” I say. “Please. I’m sorry I didn’t keep you posted, there’s been a new development this morning. Hell, several developments. I know you’re not fond of this, but you’ve always had my back. Let me clue you in on everything.”

We talk for almost an hour.

It’s a relief to get some of this shit off my chest with a guy I can trust, even if he makes me want to rip my hair out sometimes.

By the time we’re finished, I grab my phone off the desk and leave the office with Tobin several paces ahead of me.

Back in the kitchen, I pluck my coat off the hook we installed for the times when I can’t be bothered to head for the mudroom. I fling the back door open.

It’s been a few hours since we got home, plenty of time for her to tell Nelson about everything.

If she hasn’t, I will.

Talking with Tobin made me realize that keeping the latest run-in from the old man isn’t in anybody’s interest.

The sooner he gets that he’s safer here with me—the sooner both of them do—the better.

Maybe then he’ll open up. Tell me what the hell’s really going on with his past and why these vampires want blood.

Grace opens the cabin door on my second knock. I instantly notice she’s wearing different clothes, and her hair looks freshly washed, pretty spun gold tucked behind her ears.

“You’re looking a lot better,” I tell her. “Can I come in?”

With a nod, she offers a meek smile and waves a hand for me to enter.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask, studying her expression.

“Fine for now,” she answers quietly, glancing at the sofa where Nelson slumps against several pillows, but very awake.

I catch the tension in the air instantly, which tells me she’s filled him in.

Unzipping my coat, I walk to the sofa.

“How about you, Nelson? Any of that stuff from the drugstore helping?”

“I’m better than I was yesterday,” he says, trying to hold in a cough, but it has to come out.

“I’m hoping the stuff that’s supposed to break up the mucus works,” she says as she walks around the sofa and leans against the back of the matching armchair.

An array of over-the-counter meds sit on the coffee table, along with a half drunk mug of coffee, a bottle of water, and a barely touched orange juice. I’d loaded up a cart full of soups, juices, and anything else I could think of for a sick person.

She’s working her sweet little ass off for him, and that affects me, deeply.

A kid loves their folks, even when those kids grow up. Then it’s the child’s turn to protect dear old mom and dad from the shit this world flings.

I know.

I tried.

I couldn’t.

Sitting down in the rocking chair that makes up the U-shaped furniture around the coffee table in front of the fireplace, I push my feet gently against the floor, letting the chair bob as my thoughts race around like it’s in Daytona instead of Dallas.

“I talked to the police,” I tell them, my hands gripping the wooden armrests.

Nelson’s face tightens as he shoots a look at Grace. An unhappy one.

Her shoulders stiffen as she closes her eyes for a moment.

“And? What did they say?” she finally asks.

“The plate number I gave them was reported stolen off a vehicle in Michigan over a year ago. The owner’s deceased.”

“Oh, God.” She turns white, the hope draining from her eyes. “Recently deceased?”

I shake my head.

Her relief shows as she leans against the back of the chair.