Page 8 of Cyn
Cyn didn’t like the sound of that. Not that having Joe around would be a hardship—at least aesthetically, intellectually she was still withholding judgment—but why would Franklin think she needed him? That was the question and not one she was prepared to ask. She’d sound insecure, and he wouldn’t tell her the truth anyway.
“Are we done here? I have a bath and a glass of wine waiting for me.”
“Promise me you’ll consider trusting him.”
“I promise I’ll consider it.” No one said that deliberation had to be a very long one.
“Call me tomorrow when you’ve reviewed the footage?”
“If I find anything, I will call you.”
“Be safe, Hyacinth. You are my favorite niece.”
And that was why it was hard to stay mad at Uncle Franklin. It wasn’t easy to stay mad at people who trulycaredabout her. His actions might prick at her, but there was no question he cared.
“Daisy will be crushed,” she said with a smile.
“She’s your Aunt Gerty’s favorite and she probably pulled the ace card with that.”
Cyn laughed. It was true. Aunt Gerty spoiled Daisy rotten, but since Daisy was the only one who could be around the woman, and her incessant need to gossip, for more than an hour, Daisy was welcome to her.
“Good night, Franklin. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Hyacinth.”
He ended the call before she could correct him. He’d never call her anything than her given name, but she felt the need to try every time. If for no other reason than to annoy him.
She poured a little more of the lilac-scented salts into the tub, then turned the water off. As she stripped out of her travel-weary clothes, she mulled over Franklin’s request regarding the new chief. Was it possible Joe was like her? An embedded agent with a life that, on the surface, looked like a regular life? Or was he just a good guy Franklin thought would be good to have on her side?
The heated floor was comforting on the soles of her feet and after dumping her clothes in the laundry basket, she topped off her wine, then stepped into the tub. Sinking into the deep hot water, the heat and lilac scent began working on her body, pulling the tension out.
She sighed contentedly. Whatever reason Franklin had, she’d suss it out tomorrow. For now, it was her, the tub, her wine, and food.
Unfortunately, Cyn’s night didn’t unfold like she’d hoped. Shedidhave a lovely soak and a couple of glasses of wine to go with her food, but once she climbed into bed, the mind-gremlins started working overtime. She’d been up most of the night watching the camera footage and doing research.
The dull winter sunlight was now filling her room, and Cyn rolled over in bed and pulled a pillow over her head. It was well into the afternoon in England, so half her body thought it should be up and about, but the other half wanted to stay firmly sunk into the nest of her bed.
“Ahem.” A throat—not her own—cleared. In fact, it wassonot her own that it was male.
Cyn tossed her pillow and bolted upright. Only to find Joe—New Joe—standing in her doorway, leaning against the frame. His arms were crossed, as were his ankles, and he was in uniform.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“We need to talk.”
There was only one way he could have gotten in and that was if Dan, her house manager, or Michaela, her groundswoman, had let him in. And there was only one reason they would have done so without her express permission.
She was going to kill her uncle.
“I need to sleep,” she corrected.
“It’s eleven o’clock. Isn’t that like four in the afternoon in England?”
“A lady needs her sleep.”
His brows shot up.
“I was also up until sunrise,” she added, though she didn’t know why. She didn’t owe him an explanation.
