Beth Kery - Because We Belong

Ian.

She watched him in rising amazement as she put the car into park. He stalked toward her, his dark, unfastened overcoat billowing out behind his tall, honed body. He wore a pair of jeans that fit his long legs and lean hips to perfection, brown work boots, a simple white T-shirt, and an unbuttoned overshirt. His jaw was darkened by whiskers. She was poignantly reminded of the lonely, noble savage she’d painted on a desolate Chicago city street years ago. His blue eyes blazed as he pinned her with his stare through the front windshield. He did not look pleased to see her.

He also looked as if he’d been expecting her. How had he known she’d arrive?

He opened her car door.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded without preamble.

She recoiled slightly at his rough question, but her chin went up defiantly. “I came looking for you, of course. How did you know I’d be here?”

“Short,” he muttered, his mouth rigid. A cold breeze howled through the open door. She shivered, but Ian seemed unaffected.

“Arthur Short? James’s employee? But how—”

He reached for her elbow. “Come inside.”

“Let me get my bag,” she said when he drew her out of the car and slammed the door shut.

“Leave it. You’re not going to need it,” he bit out.

“Ian, I’m not leaving,” she said with conviction as he bustled her to the front entrance. He didn’t reply, but his thundercloud expression was answer enough as to what he thought of her plans.

He opened the door and urged her forward. Francesca stumbled across the threshold, pulling up short when she saw Lucien enter the large, cavernous foyer where they all stood. Unlike Ian, he appeared as well-groomed and calm as always. The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump. She glanced back at Ian and then over at Lucien.

“How could James’s business associate have told you I planned to come to France?” Francesca asked.

Lucien just raised his eyebrows in a wry expression and glanced at Ian.

“Because he’s not Grandfather’s business associate. He’s the security guard I hired to watch over you,” Ian said with barely subdued, blistering heat.

“Security guard? But I told you—”

“We said we’d discuss it,” Ian interrupted. “But we never got the chance before I had to leave, so—”

“You just took it upon yourself to do whatever you wanted without bothering to consult me.”

Ian scowled darkly. “It doesn’t matter. You left so abruptly, Short barely had time to follow you. It took him by surprise. He followed you to the airport in London—”

“He followed me?” Francesca asked, spinning around to face Ian, appalled at the idea of being spied upon without her knowledge.

“For as long as he could,” Ian said bitterly.

“He tailed you into the airport and heard where you planned to go when you bought your ticket,” Lucien said from behind her. “He didn’t have his passport with him, though, so he couldn’t follow you. He wasn’t expecting to have to leave the country so quickly, given what Ian had told him,” Lucien explained when Francesca gave him a perplexed glance over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” Ian said succinctly, looking extremely annoyed. He narrowed his stare on her, watching her from beneath a lowered brow. “Who told you I was here?”

“Gerard,” she said.

His jaw stiffened. “Gerard? How did—”

“He said he overheard you two talking.”

His lip curled every so slightly in an expression of . . . what, she couldn’t quite say.

“Ian? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Ian replied through a tight mouth. “Francesca, I don’t want you here.”

She dropped her arms and straightened her spine. “I’m not leaving. Not unless you come with me.”

He looked mad enough to bite through a chain-link fence. She stood her ground, but something in his blue eyes made it difficult to do.

“You’re here now. Come inside. It’s freezing in this foyer,” Lucien added from behind her, and she knew he was trying to give Ian time to cool down and see reason. Ian made a savage, furious sound in his throat and stalked out of the foyer ahead of them without another word.

“I had to come,” she whispered to Lucien desperately. “It’s crazy, him being here of all places. Is it true Ian has bought this place?”

“He owns it, yes,” Lucien said succinctly, his tight mouth telling her he shared in her disquietude. “Are you going to come in? We were just sitting down to eat in the parlor. It’s one of the only livable rooms in the house . . . one of the only warm ones as well,” he added drolly.

“When did you get here?” she asked Lucien as they walked.

“Late last night, at around the same time as Ian.”

She followed him into a firelit, shadowed room filled with heavy, ornate furniture covered in dingy, once-luxurious fabrics. An unpleasant odor of dampness and mold seemed to pervade the entire place. Ian sat on a deep couch facing the gigantic fireplace, eating a plate of food mechanically without acknowledging her arrival in the room.

“Are you hungry, Francesca?” Lucien asked politely. “It’s just chicken, potatoes, and fruit, but we’ve got plenty of it.”

“Yes, please,” Francesca replied, realizing for the first time how hollow her stomach felt. She hadn’t eaten all day. When Ian still refused to speak or look at her after Lucien left the room, she sighed and fell onto the couch next to him. The heat from the fire felt good. A wave of exhaustion hit her.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” she asked tiredly after a moment.

His whiskered jaw hardened. He swallowed and shoved his plate onto the coffee table before him. “How can I possibly ignore you when you’ve shown up here uninvited?” he said, anger simmering in his deep voice. “I don’t want you staying here, Francesca. This place is . . . tainted. Poison. I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I were ever to think a place was haunted, I’d think it was Aurore. It’s not a place where I want you to be.”

“Well it’s not a place where I want you to be, either. Come with me, and we’ll both be happy.” Her flash of indignation faded almost as fast as it came. She peered around the shadowed room, making out the dark, depressing paintings of pale-skinned, hollow-eyed people and the massive, hulking furniture, some of which was covered in stained sheets. She could almost feel the dust and mold accumulating in her lungs as she breathed. “What an awful place.”

Ian’s irritated grunt seemed to say, Didn’t I tell you? He leaned back on the couch, his profile rigid. Francesca wanted to demand that he tell her what specifically he was looking for on Trevor Gaines’s property, but was worried he’d get up and refuse to speak to her further. Knowing him as well as she did, she understood that the majority of his anger at her presence came from helplessness. And perhaps shame at her seeing this dark part of his past.

As she was quickly learning, his shame wasn’t logical. But that didn’t mean he could shake it just because she wanted it.

Eager to change the topic that would sidestep his discomfort and fury, she landed on the disconcerting vision she’d seen as she drove onto the property.

“I can well believe you’d imagine this place is haunted. You won’t believe what I saw just now in the woods,” she said as Lucien walked into the room carrying a plate of food and a glass. “Thank you,” she said gratefully as Lucien placed her dinner in front of her on the table.

“What?” Ian asked, turning toward her slightly, his brows knitted together.

“Half a man disappearing into the ground,” Francesca replied matter-of-factly, picking up her plate and settling it in her lap. She took a bite. The chicken was moist and flavorful. “This is good. Did you get it in town?”

“Forget about the food,” Ian said impatiently, peering at her. “What do you mean, half a man?” Lucien, too, was listening intently from where he sat in an armchair near the couch.

She paused to explain what she’d seen. When she finished, Ian shared a significant look with Lucien.

“It’s him. Kam Reardon,” Ian said to Lucien. “He must have some kind of hideout underground. It’s what I suspected. I’m convinced there’s a tunnel entrance into this house. He gets in, but I can’t figure out how. If he’s underground, that’s why I haven’t been able to find him when I search the grounds.”

“Who’s Kam Reardon?” Francesca asked. She quirked her eyebrows up in an expectant gesture when neither man spoke. “Well?”

“He’s a wild man who lives on the estate,” Ian answered flatly.

“He’s our half brother,” Lucien added.

Francesca froze in the process of chewing some potato. Ian stood abruptly, startling her. He was such a big man, but he moved with fast, razor precision at times. “I’m going to look for the underground entrance. I’m dead set to talk to Reardon. He’s got to know plenty about Gaines, if he lived here his whole life. There’s still a little light left to search,” he told Lucien.

Lucien stood as well. “I’m coming with you. Reardon doesn’t sound like the type to be too thrilled at the idea of anyone poking into his den.”

Francesca set down her plate and got up. “I’m going, too.” She ignored Ian’s fiery, furious glance. “I’m the one who saw where the entrance was,” she said. “It’ll be tomorrow morning if you go looking for it by stomping up and down every square inch of land at the side of the road.”

She headed toward the front door, praying Ian would cooperate for once in his life and follow her.

It took a little doing to find the spot. Darkness was falling, especially under the cover of the trees, even as skeletal as the limbs were with winter upon them. Thankfully, Ian had grabbed a powerful flashlight on the way out. Francesca led them to the general vicinity of where she thought she’d seen the “half man,” recalling a singularly shaped stump of a tree that she’d almost run into in her shock upon seeing the unlikely vision.