He was. Rhys’s role didn’t require him to get involved in individual assignments beyond the initial approach and ensuring his staff were keeping to schedule. And since the tech security part of the Cobalt & Dane business was growing quickly, he really didn’t have time to dive deep into the details. Senior security consultants—like Owen—were the ones managing such things.
It occurred to him that maybe Owen thought he was overstepping.
Rhys cleared his throat. “This is the first assignment that Quinn is leading and I want to make sure she’s fully supported.”
The lie was sour in his mouth. This wasn’t like him at all; normally he was Mr. By The Book. Now he was keeping things from his team and had possibly crossed a line with Wren.
He’d speak to her tonight, get them both on the same page. He couldn’t break any more rules now that there was a chance she was involved.
WREN NARROWED HER eyes at the half-done canvas in front of her. It had started out a mess but the vision was finally beginning to come through. Her deadline to deliver a painting to Sean was drawing near and she finally felt confident that she’d have something to hand in.
Wren softened Debbie’s blond hair with a fan brush. She stroked the painting as if combing the hair, merging some of the brassier tones into the pale, light-reflecting sections until the color looked seamless and natural.
She lost herself in the image until her phone buzzed. Kylie’s face flashed up on the screen like a ghost arriving to haunt her. It was the third time she’d called today.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Aimee asked as she turned away from her canvas. “Or are you avoiding someone?”
“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Wren replied. “I’m simply trying to find the right moment to talk.”
It wasn’t untrue. Wren had to keep up the ruse with her friend that she was on an art retreat that restricted mobile phone usage. That meant she would call Kylie back at the time they’d agreed on over email.
Why would she be calling early? Maybe the security company called her again.
“I hate cell phones,” Aimee said. “People just expect you to drop everything to take a call and if you don’t message back quick enough…watch out.”
She was still wearing longer sleeves but she appeared to have forgiven Sean, if the goo-goo eyes she’d given him that morning were anything to go on.
“How’s the arm?” Wren asked as she continued working on Debbie’s hair.
“Oh fine, it’s nothing too bad. I, uh… I overreacted the other day.” Her voice sounded cheerful on the surface, but there was something hollow beneath it. A false confidence that Wren knew all too well.
Her voice had been the same when she’d covered up for Christian with Debbie or her other friends. It was the sound of backpedaling.
“You didn’t overreact.” Wren looked up.
“It was an accident.”
“Bruises like that aren’t an accident.”
Aimee refocused on her painting. “I don’t want you to get involved.”
“Then why did you tell me about it? If he’s hurting you—”
“He’s not.” She swiped her hands through her long gold hair. “I don’t know. I was having a rough day… It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
At that moment footsteps cut through the quiet of the gallery and Sean walked in, a small canvas tucked under one arm. “What’s going on?”
“Just working,” Wren replied, keeping her face as neutral as possible. Her body seemed to tense whenever he was around.
Aimee’s eyes had dropped to floor. Something about the way she avoided his gaze didn’t feel right to Wren. Aimee’s bottom lip was drawn tight between her teeth. Sean whispered something in her ear and she nodded, her expression blank.
“Enough talking,” Sean said to them both. “If you’re in need of more work, the kitchen could use a clean.”
As he walked away Wren caught a glimpse of the canvas he was carrying. The bold streaks of orange and teal seemed familiar, but her mind couldn’t place where she’d seen it. Before she could get a closer look, he was gone.
“Please don’t ask me about it again,” Aimee said with a heavy sigh. “Okay? It’s none of your business.”
She walked out of the room, leaving Wren alone with her thoughts. When her phone started buzzing, Kylie’s smiling face flashing up again, she answered it.
“Hey. Sorry I couldn’t answer before, I—”
“Don’t you dare tell me that you’re at an art retreat, Wren. Just don’t.” Kylie’s anger radiated through the phone line. “I know you’re at Ainslie Ave.”
Shit. “I can explain—”
“What the hell were you thinking? I got out of there for a reason. Now you’re on some secret vigilante mission and you refuse to take my calls.” She sighed. “I had to find out from some damn security company who called me to check on Sean, and then when you wouldn’t answer your phone…”
It’s official, you’re the worst friend in the world.
Standing up as quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the front of the gallery and slipped outside. “I’m sorry, I never wanted you to worry.”
“How could I not? You don’t know what an evil piece of shit Sean Ainslie is.” Her voice wavered. “He’s a monster, Wren. You need to come home. Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? What on earth do you think you’re going to do?”
“I’m trying to figure out what he did to you, since you won’t tell me. Then I’m going to get proof of it so we can go to the police.”
“The police? Oh, Wren.” Kylie let out a bitter laugh. “There is no proof. Ever wondered why there are no security cameras in that place and yet he keeps a giant room all locked up? That’s because he doesn’t want to leave any evidence.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Apart from shattering an eye socket and fracturing my wrist?” The sound suddenly became muffled and Wren thought she could hear a faint sob.
“Just tell me. We can fix this.”
“There is no ‘we.’ You’re there, being stupid and acting without thinking—as usual—and I’m here. Broken and worrying about my best friend.”
Wren winced at the sting of her friend’s words. “What happened to you?”
“Please don’t make me talk about it.”
“Why? If he’s done something so bad, shouldn’t he be punished?”
“It’s not worth it.” Her words were strained, and Wren felt awful for putting her through this. But if she didn’t push, Sean would keep hurting people. Like Aimee.
Kylie likely wasn’t the first victim, and she sure as hell wasn’t the last. Wren owed it to them both to put a stop to Ainslie’s behavior.
She opened her mouth to argue, but the sight of a tall figure walking toward the gallery halted her