This woman is extremely rude and uncultured. She doesn't even speak English correctly, let alone French.
“Listen up, Princess,” the redhead says, shoving a cigarette between her full lips, “I have no fucking clue what you just said, and I don't give two shits about it. I'm here for Gill's benefit, not yours.”
I glance over at my stepdad, but he simply shrugs in response, his dark hair, once so like Gill's is thinning and gray, making him look much older than he is, especially in this light. I hope the stress of all this doesn't royally screw up his retirement. With a growing sense of horror, I clutch my sister to my chest and grit my teeth.
His partner in crime, huh? That son of a bitch.
The redhead standing across the room from me lights up, cracking the balcony door like that'll make all the difference in the smell. I guess a two hundred dollar cleaning fee isn't a big deal anymore. Besides, all this is going on Gill's tab anyway. Still …
“Essentially,” Solène says before I get a chance to speak up, “I said that you're an idiot.”
“Solène,” I warn, trying to figure out why there's some curvy babe in ripped jeans and a loose black T-shirt standing in my hotel room. I know it sounds a little sexist, but I was kind of expecting Gill's partner to be a guy. Or hell, maybe it was just wishful thinking. Should've known.
“Écoute, il faut appeler un chat un chat,” Solène sniffs. Listen, I'm just calling a spade, a spade.
“Sorry,” I say to the woman, squinching up my face a little, “she's only nine, but she thinks she's thirty, talks like it, too. I blame Cliff.” I point at my stepdad and a smile slips across my face unbidden. Ever since Mom passed away, Cliff's been my support system, my parent, my confidante. I'm beyond glad to have him here. “Anyway, I'm Regi. And you?”
Badass Redhead Thief Chick clears her throat and moves forward, holding out a hand for me to shake. Her palms are as calloused as Gill's, her arms corded with muscle, but still feminine, like all of that strength and power in her body is cloaked with a soft layer of padding. Tough as nails, but all woman, all curves and perfect lips and gleaming red hair. I'm not self-conscious or anything—I'm a pretty good looking chick—but wow.
“Aveline,” she says, nodding her chin at me as we shake hands. “Thanks for your help in all this,” she begins and my throat tightens. I feel something more beyond her words, something more motivating than diamonds and greed. I knew it; this isn't about the fucking jewelry at all, is it? Rather than explain any further, Aveline waves her hand around dismissively and steps back. “Anyway, Gill's all booked up at the moment, but I'll be in the hotel tonight if you need anything. Think of me like a bodyguard on call or something.” She smiles at me, but her face is tight, hiding that same secret that Gill's carrying around. I wish I could dig beneath the surface and find out what it is. “I've got the room next door.” She hooks her thumb at the wall to her right. “Your Dad and sister are on the other side. If something happens, don't try to be PC about it. Scream bloody freaking murder.”
“What kind of something?” I ask, getting a little chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning that's inexplicably blasting cool air into the room. It's raining cats and dogs and it's like fifty four degrees outside. “Are we expecting company?” I glance over at Solène, hoping to hell that I didn't get my family into a hole we can't climb out of.
“No, no, not at all,” Aveline says, taking another drag on her cigarette, “I just like to present what-if scenarios. Just ask Gill.” She winks at me, but I'm not sure how to interpret the motion, watching as she moves to the door and grabs the handle. “Sleep tight.”
Her red-lipped grin haunts me well into my dreams that night.
When I wake up the next morning, I find Gilleon asleep in a chair by the window. He's sitting up still, but his face is resting on his fist, his eyes closed tight against the world. The very fact that he got in here without my knowing is terrifying.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and making damn sure the robe is covering up my breasts.
Gill opens his eyes, but he doesn't startle, smiling at me in that infuriating way of his, like his expression means nothing and everything all at once.
“Why the hell are you in my room?”
“Needed a place to sleep for a few,” he says, and I know without asking that he means minutes and not hours. I don't know how the man functions on so little sleep. Gill's wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday, but it doesn't look any worse for wear. I try to take that as a good sign, like maybe we're in the clear, no trouble on the horizon.