A Laird to Hold Angeline Fortin (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖

There was no telling what level of deceit Jameson would descend to or what underhanded tactics he would use to get to them. To hunt them.

On her side were four men who, regardless of Laird’s ominous threat, were more apt to meet their foe face-to-face in an honorable duel. Like gentlemen.

They’d never dream of shooting a man in the back, or in the dark, like Jameson. It could be their downfall.

“Well, unlike them, my moral compass can sway from the north when the situation demands it,” she said. “It’s my superpower.”

“I always would’ve guessed you wrote the book on straitlaced virtue,” Tyrone jested. “What? Did you recently fall in a vat of toxic waste or get bit by a spider or something?”

“No, I got shot at. But same difference.” Scarlett grimaced. “My morality’s extremely flexible these days.”

“Should I address you as Elasti-Girl now then?”

He laughed at his own joke. Sadly, Scarlett’s sense of humor was pretty dried up today.

“How many men do you have here at the hospital?”

“Four of them are down here. I also have a man at each door,” he informed her. “It might be easier to catch this guy if we knew what he looked like beyond your not-so-specific description.”

Claire had been searching the Internet for a picture of Jameson but hadn’t come up with anything yet. At least Jameson wasn’t here in the lobby. Claire or Hugh would have spotted him.

“I know. Just have them check all IDs.”

“If they can get away with it, yes.” Tyrone nodded. “We have no legal authority to do so, but the hospital is cooperating so far.”

They stopped near the lift to wait for the others. Tyrone’s gaze drifted down the hall before coming back to her. “Listen, Scarlett, forget what I just said. I have to ask. You get that this is all crazy, don’t you? I get you’re worried, maybe even have reason to be, but I’ve had a dozen guys here for weeks without even knowing why.”

“We can afford it, Tyrone.”

He smoothed his fingers over his short goatee. “It’s not about the mon—okay, maybe it’s a little about the money, but this is just nuts. First you disappear for a month, then a month after that you disappear again without a word. Next thing I know, you’re having a baby I had no clue about. I don’t get it, Scar.”

A touch of sympathy softened Scarlett’s heart. “I know you don’t. I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he countered. “You know I care about you, Scar. I always have. I’d do just about anything for you.”

Surprise widened Scarlett’s eyes and it was as though she were seeing Tyrone for the first time. Was he saying what she thought he was? His pledge was weak in comparison to Laird’s vow to lay down his life for her, but a claim as vague as Tyrone’s was a major concession from one of Hollywood’s finest.

Uncomfortable under her incredulous stare, Tyrone shifted from one foot to the other. “I mean, I thought we were friends.”

Such a statement was as good as him saying she was more than a paycheck to him. The revelation touched Scarlett. “We are, but believe me, there are some things you really don’t want to know.”

“How could I not want to know how you apparently bamboozled me for years?” He looked pointedly down at Hermione. “You’re a good actress, Scar, but not that good. Not to mention…” He gestured over her shoulder.

Scarlett turned to find Laird behind her. Arms crossed, he towered over them with a don’t-fuck-with-me scowl on his handsome face. Yes, Tyrone had a point. Even if she’d hidden two pregnancies from her agent’s watchful eye over the years, there was no overlooking her husband’s powerful presence.

She shrugged. “Would you believe I was taken away in a time machine to the past where I’ve spent the last five years living humbly in an ancient castle?”

Laird gaped at her but Tyrone laughed, as she expected he would. “No, not really. Fine, keep your secrets, Scar. I’m here for you anyway.”

For the paycheck or something more, Scarlett wondered. Possibly she wasn’t the only one who’d kept a secret or two over the years.

When Claire and Emmy returned with their coffee, Scarlett pushed the up button on the elevator.

“Rhys,” Laird called for his brother to join them. “Escort the ladies up, will ye? The rest of us will make sure nae one follows before we join ye.”

“Aye, Laird.”

Rhys

“Tyrone, this is my brother-in-law Rhys Hepburn,” Scarlett introduced him to her once former, but once again current agent and bodyguard as the elevator doors slid closed.

Rhys extended his hand to the shorter man, who clasped it with an impressive grip. “A pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Tyrone replied. “Though now I’m even more curious. One I might have missed, but two of them?”

“He’s been away for some time,” Scarlett improvised, then scowled at Rhys, Claire, and Emmy, too, when they were unable to completely hide their grins.

‘Twas a wonder to him how Scarlett had ever succeeded on the stage, Rhys thought. But then, an actor had lines to memorize. Only her improvisational skills were lacking.

“Aye,” he elaborated on the lie. “Of late, I’ve been employed as a private detective in London working on cases with Scotland Yard.”

The other ladies snickered at this but Scarlett rolled her eyes, recognizing the loosely interpreted plot line of Sherlock.

“Is that so?” Tyrone asked.

“Aye.” Rhys nodded with commendable gravitas. “Prior to that I traveled throughout Asia and Egypt in search of ancient religious artifacts.”

Scarlett nearly choked on his fallacious tale. No doubt she’d take her revenge by refusing to share any more tales of the incredible Indiana Jones