Denys Simmons. Standing at the entrance like a storm about to break.
His expression was thunderous. The moment he saw me, he closed the distance in three strides, blocking my path.
"Five years ago." His voice was low, dangerous. "You're going to explain everything. Now."
I met his gaze without flinching. "If Mr. Simmons has time to spare, perhaps spend it on your fiancée. I'm here to give her blood."
I had no intention of entertaining him. He'd made his contempt clear; I had no desire to be tangled up in his world any longer than necessary.
Before he could respond, a honeyed voice floated from inside.
"Denys, darling, don't be so hard on her." Maureen appeared in the doorway, all wounded innocence. "She's being so kind, coming all this way to help me."
The implication dripped from every syllable—as if I were some desperate creature, groveling for her approval.
I didn't bother correcting her.
I walked past them both and extended my wrist to the family physician. "Make it quick. I have a child to get back to."
The doctor had just raised the needle when Maureen suddenly lurched to her feet.
"Oh!" She let out a theatrical gasp, stumbling—no, lunging—straight toward me.