Page 26 of Blindsided
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers against my ribs, “do you guys bury each other often, or is this a special occasion?”
Rory snorts from the driver’s seat. “Kane’s a special case.”
“I’m the black sheep of the family,” Kane explains, looking far too comfortable for someone wearing nothing but sand-crusted boxers and a t-shirt. “Every clan needs one.”
“And every black sheep needs a beach burial?” I counter.
“Only the alcoholic ones,” Rory calls back cheerfully.
I turn to study Kane, who’s busy shaking sand from his long hair. “So, your family’s solution to alcoholism is... attempted murder by sand?”
He grins, and I hate that it’s actually a nice grin—crooked and mischievous. “Technically, it’s more like extreme exfoliation.”
“With a side of psychological torture,” I add.
“You’re catching on quickly, airplane girl.”
The car bumps along the coastal road, and I suddenly remember I’m voluntarily sitting in a vehicle with mobsters. Despite their denial, the MacGallan name is well known. I clutch my metal detector tighter, wondering if it would make an effective weapon.
“So, um, when you said MacGallan family...” I begin carefully.
“We’re in import-export,” Rory says quickly.
“Right. And what exactly do you import and export?” I ask.
Kane leans in, his shoulder pressing against mine. “Hopes and dreams, Kori. Hopes and dreams.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not suspicious at all.”
“Look,” Kane says, suddenly serious, “we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just visiting the family castle to look for... something.”
“Something related to Russians?” I can’t help asking.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who was sobbing on an international flight,” Kane observes.
I feel my cheeks burn. “I wasn’t sobbing. I was...dealing with allergies.”
“To what? Happiness?”
“To cheating husbands, and backstabbing sisters, actually,” I snap before I can stop myself.
The car falls silent. Rory meets my eyes in the rearview mirror with a sympathetic wince. Kane shifts beside me, his sandy leg brushing against my jeans.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “That was a dick move.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble, turning to stare out the window at the passing landscape. Rolling green hills dotted with sheep stretch to the horizon, the perfect backdrop for my emotional breakdown with strangers.
After a moment, Kane clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, he’s an idiot.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. Anyone who’d cheat on you is clearly brain damaged.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you rescued a strange man from a sandy grave instead of running away screaming. That says a lot.”
“It says I have terrible judgment,” I counter.
