Page 117 of Counterfeit Connection

“Who? Who did this?” I ask.

Jason takes a soft breath. “The man who took the photographs is in a remote town in Northern Ireland and will remain there until such time I tell him he can leave, his injuries heal, or is needed for trial. I know which one will come first. That man is not the person Bianca is referring to.”

“What? I don’t understand. This is all just…a lot.”

“Kaitlyn, Griffin’s father is the one who hired this man to photograph you.”

I feel like I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. “What?” I stand because I’m not sure what else to do with my body. “How do you know?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out once we found the photographer,” Jason says, folding his hands on the table. “He sang like the proverbial canary.”

“We?” I ask.

“Griffin was not part of that process,” Gillian says with a hand on my shoulder. “But he does know the truth now, same as you.”

“I don’t understand any of this. Why would he do that to his own son, and to a woman he doesn’t even know?” I begin to pace around the dining room. “And Bianca took over Orion? She said something about a new division… I’m so confused and there’s so much swirling in my head right now.”

Jason caps a hand over my shoulder. The pressure from his touch is grounding. He doesn’t have to say anything. It’s like he has this divine power to drain all the anxiety out of a situation or take it from you.

“There’s nothing for you to do right now. Everything is being handled in one way or another.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Pixie, it means you should finish the coffee in your mug and put an egg and some of that bacon in your belly,” Gillian lightly orders.

A million things are flashing through my brain, but at the core of it all, only one is shining like a beacon in all of the confusion: I want to talk to Griffin. “Fine, but after I do. I need to make a call.”

“After you do,” Jason repeats, “you’re coming with Gillian and I somewhere. It will tie up some loose ends for you. I don’t want you to get further ahead of it than that.”

“You’re so fucking cryptic it pisses me off.” I pull a piece of bacon off the plate in front of me and crunch so hard that tiny pieces fly all over the counter.

“I’ve been called worse. Just for once, since I’ve known you, do what I’m asking you to do.”

“If I salute you, will you be pissed?” I mutter.

“No. That will mean you’ve succumbed to doing what I ask and it’s a sight better than flipping me the bird, which is what I know you want to do.”

I chomp into my next bite and nod. “You’re right about that one.”

He smirks a little, and I try to commit it to memory because that manneversmiles.

I did as I was told, even if all I wanted to do was stomp away from the table, call Griffin, and hear his voice. I want to tell him I’m proud of him and of Bianca for whatever they did to put Lachlan in his place. I want to tell him I miss him.

“Have you gotten enough to eat?” my sister asks.

“I had enough six bites ago, but your husband bullied me into eating more.”

“Good. You’ve barely eaten in days.”

“I’ve heard that already today. Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me now?” I rise from my seat and start to gather my plate.

“Leave that. I’ll clean it up later. Just get your phone and your bag, if you want it,” she replies.

There’s no use in arguing with them. I can see I will lose and lose royally. I march upstairs for my purse, cell phone, and sunglasses. I just don’t understand what the urgency is. The farmer’s market is today. Maybe they just want me to walk andget the sun on my body. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried to get warm. I can process for an hour or so before I call Griffin. It’s probably better that way…or so I try to convince myself.

Ever the gentleman, Jason opens the back door of his SUV for me and I climb in. I watch him place a soft kiss on Gillian’s forehead before she whispers something to him. Gilly climbs into the front passenger seat without a word, and Jason follows. The radio isn’t on, which is weird for how much they both like music.

I keep myself busy on the drive scrolling through the photo gallery on my phone. All the pictures of Griffin I haven’t allowed myself to look at are right here in my hand. One of him holding Marilyn. Another in my father’s sweatshirt holding his beer while watching the game. One of him facing the road as he was driving to his mother’s house in the country. My favorite is one I took of him sleeping on his giant bed in his apartment. He never knew.

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