ElevenLani heard the front door click shut as she entered the sitting room with a vase containing the flowers she’d picked to brighten things up.
“Oh. Has Mr. Laurent gone?” Her insides contracted, as if the room were depleted of oxygen.
She glanced at Cyrus. He was flopped like a deflated balloon in the corner of the leather settee.
“Are you feeling okay, Cyrus? You don’t look well.”
His complexion was like putty. His sagging cheeks reminded her of a hound dog.
He stirred, straightening up.
“I’m fine, Leilani. Just tired. I will have that coffee now, if you don’t mind. Might help me keep awake.”
He winked, a hint of the old Uncle Cy in the gesture.
“I’ll get it straight away.” She hesitated. “Everything go all right with the Frenchman?”
She knew she was fishing, but she couldn’t
