Were you involved?
Did you have something to do with it?
Did you know?
Do you have anything to say?
Why is she asking for you?
Landon ignores them until we’re inside the doors. In the lobby, Jed Fray, Landon’s head of security, is waiting for us.
“What happened?” Landon’s voice is an icy bark.
“We are working to get rid of them,” Jed gestures toward the reporters outside the door. I haven’t had much cause to talk to him before, but if I had to describe him, I’d pick unflappable as the most suitable word.
“That is not what I asked,” Landon says tersely, obviously not impressed with Jed’s handling of the situation.
Jed nods. He looks at me, then turns back to Landon. “Ava Sinclair was stabbed this morning in her suite at the Gold Dust in San Francisco.
Landon stiffens, his entire expression and posture changing as Jed continues. “She’s currently in intensive care, and we know the attacker was her brother. She was obviously expecting him. The tapes show that she let him into her suite…” he stops. “She started asking for you as soon as the paramedics got there. That, coupled with the fact that it happened in your hotel, and,” He looks at me again. “Your prior relationship with the victim, the press are trying to make a story out of it.”
I’m looking at Landon, watching that familiar pained expression take over his features. His eyes are on me, but it’s almost as if he’s looking through me. I swallow, willing myself not to wonder why Ava was
staying at the Gold Dust, not to wonder if she’d been there when Landon was in San Francisco. The thought of them together… Spending the night under the same roof… It makes me feel desperate. I close my eyes, willing myself to be concerned for Ava’s safety instead.
“How is she?” I ask Jed, surprised at how firm my voice sounds.
“She’s in intensive care, but from the reports I’m getting, they’re sure she’ll be fine.”
“And Evans?”
“They don’t know where he is.”
“You’ll shut this down?” I ask Jed, pointing to the horde outside the door.”
“Already on it.”
I turn to Landon. “Come on,” I tell him, “Let’s go up, and decide what we’re going to do.”
He follows me to the elevators, silent. I don’t need anyone to tell me that he’s blaming himself for what happened to Ava.
In the apartment, I fix him a drink and he takes it from me, his face drawn. Esmeralda is already in our room unpacking our things and I realize that I probably need to ask her to pack for another trip. I still have one day before I have to go back to work. I’d thought I would spend it with Landon, but now that doesn’t seem likely.
I watch him drink some of the scotch I gave him. “Please don’t blame yourself,” I urge, recognizing the note of pleading in my voice. “There’s already so much you feel responsible for.”
“But I am responsible.” His voice is tight with emotion. “She was meeting him, probably trying to talk him out of his insane vendetta, and he stabbed her, his own sister, because I put her in a position where he saw her as an enemy.”
“Landon, he’s clearly insane. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Can’t I?” he downs the Scotch. “He wasn’t insane before I bought the Gold Dust out from under him. He was happily running it into the ground, but at least he was sane.”
“Landon…”
“Don’t you see how messed up everybody around me is? Evans is crazy. Ava is fighting for her life. Aidan is dealing with severe depression… did you know that?” His eyes are dark with pain. “Sometimes he goes off the rails and disappears for days.” He laughs bitterly. “You already know about my mother and my father… That miserable… We might as well have killed him, you know? Me and Aidan. That’s why Aidan can’t bear to look at himself at times. The last thing he told our father was that we were all better off without his alcoholic, useless presence, and I stood there and said nothing, because I felt the same. Maybe I thought there was some truth in the stories that drove my mother to her death. Maybe I was sick of watching him drink himself to death while ignoring his sons.” He shakes his head, “But I stood there while Aidan shredded him, and the next morning he was dead.”
“Stop this…” I whisper.
“How long before it’s you?” His eyes are desperate, hopeless. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll end up like us?”