Ransom. Terri Reed
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okay. You’ve a lot on your mind.”
“This way.” He gestured for her to follow him.
He unbuttoned his coat as they went, then shrugged out of it and laid it on the back of the couch. The suit he wore looked to be perfectly made for his physique. The navy material draped on his frame in a custom fit that emphasized the width of his shoulders, his trim waist and long muscular legs.
“When did you last eat?”
It took a moment for his words to process. She had to drag her mind away from admiring him. “This morning,” she admitted.
He turned the kitchen light on. She was right. Gleaming, state-of-the-art, appliances and granite countertops. She traced her hand over the cool surface. Her apartment counters were old white tile blocks that needed regrouting.
Blake leaned on the open refrigerator door. “I could make you some eggs or a salad.”
“Eating too much this late at night will give me the gobbly-wobbles.” Not as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t already. She would no doubt have nightmares tonight. That was if she managed to sleep at all.
“Uh?”
She smiled with sadness. “Sorry. That’s something my dad used to say. Add to my nightmares,” she clarified. “Toast will be fine.”
He frowned at her. “You have nightmares?”
“Not on a regular basis but my sister has been kidnapped. What do you think?”
“Oh, right.” He reached inside the refrigerator and brought out two loaves of bread. “We have sourdough or cinnamon raisin.”
Her mouth watered. “One of each.”
“All right,” he said with a dose of approval that shouldn’t have felt so good. “One of each it is. Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink.” He popped two slices of bread in the toaster.
She got herself and him tall glasses of water. When the toast was ready and buttered on a plate, they sat at the dining table while she nibbled on the toast.
Blake leaned back in his chair. The drop-down light over the dining table covered him in a soft glow, gentling the sharp edges of the angles and planes of his face. “Tell me about your family’s business.”
Was he really interested or making small talk? It was hard to tell from the neutral expression on his face. Deciding it didn’t matter either way, she replied, “My dad was a professor of history when he met my mother. She’d worked in a coffee shop near campus. They had a whirlwind romance that lasted two decades. Mom loved antiques so buying the store on Hilton Head Island gave them a common interest.”
“So they ran the store together?”
“They did, until mom’s illness. Lymphoma.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He sounded sincere, and she appreciated his consideration.
“Thank you.” She finished off her toast as a wave of exhaustion took hold. “Dad was never the same after she passed. Ten years later his heart gave out. But I think he died of a broken heart.”
“Leaving you to care for your younger sister,” Blake said.
“Yes. I promised my dad on his deathbed I would take care of Jillian.” From the moment her father had elicited the promise to watch out for Jillian, Liz had been doing so. She’d come home from college to finish out her last two terms via online classes and worked in their father’s shop while Jillian finished up high school.
“You were what, twenty? Surely you had other family who could take some of the burden?”
“Both my mom’s and dad’s parents passed on when we were little. It was just me and Jillian.”
“What is she like?”
“Pretty like our mother. She got Mom’s fine bones and masses of curly blond hair. A free-spirited artist.” But Liz had the more angular features of their father and her dishwater blond hair was stick straight. No matter what type of styling equipment she used, she couldn’t get her fine, thin hair to curl. “I take more after Dad.”
There were other differences, as well. Jillian was also reckless, always chasing after one dream or another, while Liz analyzed and contemplated before making any decision. Over the years Liz had endeavored to curb her sister’s wild ways to no avail.
“Was he reserved and thoughtful, like you?”
She’d been called reserved often. She didn’t mind that moniker. Opening herself up to others didn’t come naturally or easy. But Blake considered her thoughtful? That was nice. He was nice when he wasn’t trying to intimidate her.
“Dad was passionate about the store. So in that respect, yes, I’m like him. I enjoy running the business. Over the years Dad taught me how to manage the inventory and the books so when he passed on it was a given that I’d take over while Jillian finished high school and then dabbled at college.”
Anxious dread weighed down her heart as worry bubbled. Was Jillian all right? Was she resting? Getting food to eat?
“Yet you managed to finish college,” he said sounding impressed.
“I did.” She was proud of the accomplishment. “My degree in marketing has proven effective with the store.”
“So you run the shop and provide for Jillian.” He cocked his head to the side. “Who watches out for you and your needs?”
His question caught her off guard. She had no ready answer. She’d been content to manage the store while Jillian went off to college to study art. Her passion, as Jillian had claimed with dramatic flair when Liz had suggested she major in something a bit more practical.
She didn’t regret the time spent keeping the business going or providing as much guidance as she could for Jillian. It was her choice to honor her father’s promise. And she would continue to do so. Jillian needed her now more than ever.
Deep inside of her, resentment stirred for the promise she’d made, the years of sacrifice. And as quickly, guilt swamped her, flooding her heart and her mind, drowning the resentment. How could she not want to keep her promise to her father? How could she begrudge taking care of her sister?
Still Blake’s question poked at her, forcing her to admit to herself that the last time she’d felt cared for had been before her mother had fallen ill. A heavy sadness pressed on her shoulders. Mom had been so loving and kind, yet she’d been stern when needed. She’d been encouraging and giving. Liz had admired her so much. And had wanted to emulate her in every way. When the sickness had grabbed ahold of her, Liz had stepped up to fill her shoes by taking over the household chores and the cooking and even taking care of young Jillian.
Dad had tried to stay involved in their lives, but he’d been so consumed by his wife’s illness that the day-to-day living had fallen to Liz. She’d picked up the mantle with pride. Still did.
“I’m doing fine. It’s Jillian who we need to be worried about.” She picked up their dirty dishes and carried them to the sink, hoping he’d drop this line of conversation. She could feel his gaze on her but she held her chin up and wouldn’t let him see how his question affected her.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” he said. Apparently he got the hint and let the conversation die. “I’ll walk you back to your room. You really do need to rest.”
He was right, of course. She did need to rest to have the strength for what was to come. At her door she asked, “Where will you be sleeping?”
“I’ll be down the hall,” he said. “The other team members are right next door. You’ll meet Drew and Samantha in the morning.”
She put her hand on the doorknob but paused to ask, “Why are you doing this? I mean I know it’s your job, but...”
“I want Santini.