Page 43 of Enthrall Shadows
“He didn’t mention it.”
“Hired before my time,” he said. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
“What have you found out?
“Staff Sergeant Tomlinson died at the beginning of the war.”
I rested a hand on Shay’s shoulder. “Let me keep him as my driver for now. I’ll get him to talk.”
“I’ve ascertained he’s a risk.”
“Give me a week.”
He gave a reluctant nod, understanding why we should take care of Griffin. We took care of our own—even the sons and daughters of the fallen.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’m meeting with Cameron. We need to secure every aspect of the business, including the Cole Foundation.”
“What else can I do?”
“Don’t accept any gifts. Have them dropped off at security so we can assess them first. They put listening devices in credit cards these days.” He read my expression. “You’ve not been given anything have you?”
“Nothing significant.”
Other than that envelope Lilly handed me on Friday. The one I still needed to open.
I’d not considered it might be pernicious.
I’d have to deal with it soon—deal with the ghosts from my past, lying in wait to ruin my soul all over again.
My priority was my friend here. We’d been busy, with him at Enthrall and me in New York. We had so much to catch up on.
“How are sessions with Cameron?” I asked.
“Good.”
It had been hard going for him for a while there. Shay had blocked a memory so severe it had impeded his life. I recalled the terrible day he took out a young enemy soldier. The boy had been pointing his weapon at me. Shay saved my life that day. But in doing so, he had scarred his own.
Before his breakthrough, Cameron had warned me that Shay’s mind had fractured from the incident, preventing him from remembering the truth in order to protect him. I was told not to bring up the subject.
Now Shay could talk about his past. His life had done a 180 since then. He was in love and building a home in Malibu—and working for us with a generous package.
He’d been given a second chance.
Our war, the one we’d fought together, had changed us both.
“Your brother’s a remarkable therapist,” said Shay. “Have you considered talking with him about your PTSD?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Like you told me, we should live life to the fullest, Henry. That’s the best way to honor the lives lost.”
“I agree.”
He nodded. “Okay, I’ll dig around and discover everything I can about Dandelion Diva.”
I turned to stare once more at the billboard. “Soon as you can, please.”
Later that Monday evening, I directed my driver, Griffin, to park the town car outside Lotte’s home on Oak Lane Drive, a cozy corner of Encino.
