A faint smile shadowed Brendan’s lips. “Thank you.”

He meant it.

Madame Brighthall said nothing. She left.

But the controversy did not end there. Mr. Jensen’s speech had kicked up a storm. As Brendan shut his laptop, Sam remarked, “I have a feeling Mr. Jensen planned all of this down to the little speech he gave. He even had pictures of Miss McKinnon living in the villa so he could strike at the affair’s angle.”

“It’s that coward’s only way to stay alive after the grave he dug,” Brendan growled frigidly. The pain seemed to be drilling into his temple, emboldened by the sheer torrent of imbroglios that were all rebelling against Brendan’s control.

“And Deirdre?”

“Miss McKinnon should be released today, but… I think she’s still in there.”

“I see. I’ll be going to see her then. She must be so scared.”

-

It was the afternoon. A young woman caressed the clothes she had been folding and waited for the police. The door opened, and she heard her name. “McKinnon?”

She rose, taking