“Juliette?”
With a sharp intake of air, Juliette blinked out of the memory and focused on the man standing so close his heat was a toasty blanket against the sharp sting of cold nipping at her cheeks and the end of her nose.
“Sorry?”
“I said, I will let you know when I’m done,” Killian repeated slowly.
They had reached the SUV with a sullen faced Jake standing next to the driver’s door. He deliberately kept his face pointed straight, but she knew he was upset that she’d taken off on him. She made a mental note to apologize.
Meanwhile, she turned to Killian. She touched the center of his chest with an ungloved hand and raised her face to his, hoping for a kiss, but not sure he’d appreciate it in front of his men.
“Be safe and hurry back, okay?”
His features softened. “Always.”
With a final glance, she let Jake help her into the back of the SUV. The door was shut between them and they set off almost immediate. The last thing she saw before the vehicle passed the gates was Killian’s dark figure watching her drive away.
The house was quiet when she made it through the front door. Most of the lights were kept off, except the one in the kitchen, but the dining room was lit, which surprised her; Javier and Laurence weren’t keen on too much activity that might suggest people actually lived in the house. It was a security issue, apparently. They kept the front of the house dark. But Javier, a short, bald man with a perpetual scowl, sat hunched over the plastic table tucked beneath the sitting room window. Several empty mugs sat in a cluster around a legal pad full of scribbles. Juliette wasn’t sure what kind of notes the two kept taking, but they watched the front of the house as though certain they would be attacked at any moment.
He glanced up when Juliette stalked into the foyer, kicking off snow from her boots and undoing the zipper of her coat. Laurence poked his head out of the kitchen almost a split second later, a fresh mug in his hand.
Where Javier was short and round, Laurence was tall and thin and reminded Juliette of someone who spent a great deal of time reading. All he needed was a knitted sweater vest and cargo pants.
“Hello!” she called out as Jake and Melton stomped in after her.
“In here!” came a voice from the dining room.
Shrugging out of her coat, Juliette followed the voice and found Vi and Phil bent over a glass chess set. None of the pieces had been moved, but both were staring so intently at it, she half expected them to move on their own.
“What’s going on here?” Juliette asked, dumping her purse and coat on a nearby chair.
“I’m learning the fine art of chess,” Vi declared, never taking her eyes off the set. “I’m winning.”
Juliette peered at the board, at the neat row of glass figures in their perfect formation. She was no expert at the game, but she was almost certain someone needed to move.
“You are not winning,” Phil mumbled in that gruff, smoker voice.
“Sure I am, by refusing to partake in a senseless massacre.”
Phil sighed as though this was an argument they’d had way too many times already.
“Don’t you huff at me!” Vi warned, narrowing her eyes at the man. “My little pawns don’t want to fight the queen’s war. If the two feel so strongly about it, they should do what normal people do and get a reality TV show where they make bad choices and fight like real women.”
Juliette mashed her lips together to keep from laughing.
“I think that makes me the bigger person here,” Vi finished with a definite nod.
“Then why did you want to learn chess if you didn’t want to play?” Phil muttered, his tone barely controlled.
“That was before you brought these little guys out.” She picked up a pawn and held it up for Juliette to see. “Look how adorable they are! How can I ever send them into war? This is Mike. He’s married to Gina and they’re expecting their first baby. Do you really want the father of her unborn child to get killed?”
Juliette could have sworn a muscle ticked just beneath Phil’s left eye.
“You … named them?”
Vi blinked. “You didn’t?”
Phil rose. “Okay, I think we’re done.”
Vi watched with just the right amount of blank innocence to make Juliette suspect her sister was playing the poor man. Phil gathered up the pieces and gingerly set them back in their velvet box. He shut the lid and walked away with them tucked under his arm.
Vi snickered. “He’s so fun to mess with.”
“You’re horrible.”
Vi’s cackles only grew. “I know.” She turned brown eyes to Juliette. “How was your trip to the Big House?”
Juliette shrugged. “It was … crazy.”
In less time than it took to actually experience the whole thing, she rehashed the whole day’s event to the girl, leaving nothing out—except the part about Killian’s promise to hurry back so they could finish what he’d started. She didn’t think Vi would want to hear that part.
“Wow, the sister is a grade A twat canoe.”
“Viola!”
Vi, unfazed, gave a delicate shrug. “You were thinking it.”
She couldn’t deny that. She had been thinking it, not so much in those words, but close.
Casting her sister a disapproving frown anyway, she started for the door. “Any ideas on supper?”
“God, anything but chicken casserole,” Vi groaned. “I swear, I will run away from home.”
While Juliette didn’t say as much, she had to agree. It was kind of Mrs. Tompkins to take the time to prepare them supper every night for the last three years, but that was three years of chicken casseroles. She was fairly certain it wasn’t healthy to eat that much chicken. Occasionally, it was tuna or pasta, but if Mrs. Tompkins could get her hands on chicken, it was made into chicken casserole. But, in all fairness, Mrs. Tompkins was the only one who knew how to cook. It was part of their agreement since Juliette didn’t charge her for rent and she would only be cooking for Vi the majority of the time. But even she had gotten tired of the dish.
Mrs. Tompkins was in the kitchen when Juliette walked in. All her usual items were laid out across the counter and she was humming softly as she got ready to start.
“Hello Mrs. Tompkins.” Juliette offered her a smile.
“Hello dear, how was your day?”
Juliette nodded. “It was fine. Thank you.” She watched as the woman began reaching for the knife. “Mrs. Tompkins, why don’t you let me handle supper tonight?”
That got her the expected response—confusion.
“You, dear?”
The bemuse pulling all the folds on the woman’s face together was insulting.
“Well…” Juliette had no response.
She was saved when Vi skipped into the room, followed almost immediately by Phil; the man certainly took his job seriously, Juliette thought. Even Jake and Melton didn’t follow her around that religiously.
“What’s for supper?” Vi asked.
Juliette turned to her. “I was just telling Mrs. Tompkins to take the night off while I cooked something.”
Vi’s expression did the exact same wrinkle of confusion that was further insult to injury when she cocked her head to the side and regarded Juliette like she’d inexplicably begun singing in German.
“All right then, Miss Smarty-Pants, what do you suggest?”
“Grilled cheese,” she decided. “I’ll handle the actual cooking, but you can butter the bread.”
Mrs. Tompkins, who’d been watching the scene unfold, stepped aside as Vi marched to the cupboard and freed three loaves of bread. Juliette grabbed the butter and cheese from the cupboard and everything was dumped on the already cluttered island. As one, as though reading the other’s mind, they cleaned away Mrs. Tompkins’ss near attempt at chicken casserole.