Page 70 of Claiming Liberty

It could be. He certainly isn’t asking to ‘catch up.’

But whatever it is, it’s necessary that I deal with it.

“It isn’t. He probably wants me to play peacekeeper with Sawyer.”

Lib glares at me like the lie is written on my face, but when I don’t fess up to it, she looks away and blows out a breath. “You know you’re as stubborn as I am, right?”

“No oneis as stubborn as you.”

She glares at me, but when I smile, her anger cracks. She fights a smile as she slowly stands from the rock.

“Fine,” she huffs out. “But check on Elsie when you get back, please.”

If I get back.

“Of course.”

* * *

“Hands against the wall.”

Chaffer’s cleft-chinned guard gestures to the mirrored wall just inside the entryway. There’s no gun in his hand, but there’s one clearly visible on a holster at his waist. It’s contraband. The manor is technically the only place on the island guns are allowed.

Chaffer usually has a few big guys hanging around for security, but nothing like this. I counted five guys outside just on the walk to the door. The flames aren’t on right now, but I imagine his peculiar but effective ‘fencing’ is primed and ready to go at the first sign of trouble.

If I’d thought it was possible that Chaffer would back down, that thought is long gone.

My eyes dip between the gun and the guard’s face, drawn to the cleft. There’s something to be said about a small chin dimple, but this looks like a full ass.

“Now.”

The challenge in his tone immediately flares up the animal in me, but for once, I suppress it. I don’t know why I’m here, but I know I need to speak to Chaffer.

I plant my hands against the wall and let him pat me down. When he takes a step back, I look at him over my shoulder. “Satisfied?”

He gives a curt nod and motions for the hallway. “Mr. Chaffer is in his office.”

I start that way, and Chaffer’s guy follows, which is annoying. I’m not an assassin. I don’t know what Chaffer expects me to do.

When we make it to the office, Cleft Chin knocks and waits for Chaffer to beckon him in. He swings the door open, revealing Chaffer behind his ridiculously pretentious mahogany desk in a plush chair I bet cost thousands. It reminds me of Doctor Evil’s, and it half surprises me that he doesn’t menacingly turn at our entrance.

“Mr. Ramos is here to see you, sir.”

Chaffer doesn’t look up. He studies a cigar, shifting it from one hand to the other. “Let him in.”

I’m standing right here.

When the guard steps out of my way, I walk into the office. The way Chaffer is studying that cigar… I don’t like it.

The door shuts, and Chaffer nods to the chair in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

“What’s this about, Chaffer?” I ask, my voice calm. “Why are you having me frisked?”

“Sit, Ramos.”

My straight spine only stiffens at hearing the command, and finally, Chaffer meets my eyes. He rolls his and lifts the cigar for me to see.

“You gave me several of these the other night.”