Stepbrother Thief(37)

That has to be him there, waiting for me outside, ready to apologize for the cruel prank he's pulling.

I stand up and snatch my robe from the bathroom, throwing it on and hurrying to the front door as I belt it closed.

“Gill?” I don't even bother to check and see who's outside, throwing open the door and finding Cliff standing there, his face broken and just as confused as my own.

“Regina,” he says, holding up a letter of his own. I lift up my own hand, realizing suddenly that I'm still holding the damn thing. Cliff nods once and steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Papa?” I ask, not understanding, needing to, falling into a million jagged pieces that I'm afraid I'll never be able to put back together again.

I take a step back, clamping my hand across my mouth to hold back a scream. I'm not sure if it's sadness or rage or both that wants to come crashing out. Cliff takes a step forward and bumps into the shopping bag, knocking it over and spilling a dozen useless items across the floor. He pauses to pick up a stuffed green cat and a tiny yellow and white striped one-piece.

“Oh, Regi,” he breathes, dropping them both to the floor and putting his arms around me. “We're going to be okay, you and me,” he whispers, “I promise.”

I want to believe him. I do. I want to, but I don't.

The love of my life, the beat of my heart, the other half to my soul, he's gone.

Nothing will ever be okay again.



Gill's waiting for me outside my room the next morning, leaning against the door in his usual wear—T-shirt, jeans, gun—his eyes hooded and thoughtful. When he turns to look at me, I feel his gaze scorching through me, burning away the navy jumpsuit I slipped into this morning, his attention lingering on my cleavage, on the curve of my waist, on the cutout detail that exposes my bare back as I turn and close the door softly behind me.

I'd been hoping to get up early enough to catch Aveline before she left this morning, taking last night's shift from Gill so he could finally get some sleep. So far, whoever this Karl guy is, he hasn't sent any more of his people after us. I'm hoping at this point that it was just a random fluke. A fluke that almost ended with me getting a bullet to the head, but hey, if it doesn't happen again, I'm willing to overlook that.

“Bonjour,” I say, smiling tightly as I cross my arms over my midsection and wait for Gill to say something, explain what he's doing here. When he doesn't respond, I decide to ask. “Qu'est ce que tu veux?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, his voice tight and laced with an emotion that I can't quite place. It's not jealousy this time, although I'm still trying to figure out what that was all about. It sounds a little bit like … anger. I reach up and adjust my messy bun, noticing that Gill can't take his eyes off my face, my lips. I guess the haul of MAC makeup that I had Aveline bring over for me is worth its weight in gold.

I went simple but dramatic today—a little bit of liner, a dust of blush, and red, red lips. Pretty sure that's what's really getting Gill's attention.

“Is this about a cell phone?” I tell him, raising my brows. “Because Fia Levine could really use one to call her sister.” Gill waves his hand dismissively, like he doesn't give two shits about my desperate need to talk to Anika or Leilani. I stare at him, at the preoccupied expression that's taken over his strong face. “Not about a cell phone then.”

“I thought you might be open to going to breakfast with me. Aveline'll be here with Dad and Solène.” I purse my lips and tuck my hands into the stylish side pockets on the jumpsuit. On my feet, a pair of nude Jimmy Choo pumps stares up at me.

“Gill, every time you ask me to do something with you—take a walk, have a cup of coffee—things seem to go south pretty quick. What'll be different about today?”

“I want to talk about Solène.”

Ice travels up my spine, curling at the base of my neck and giving me an instant headache.

I stand completely still, refusing to let my body language give anything away. You son of a bitch. For years, years, I wanted Gill to look at our daughter and see us in her face, her eyes, her hair, her intelligence, her bravery. I wanted him to know without my having to tell him. I know it might seem selfish, foolish even, but knowing Gill the way I do, it shouldn't have been hard for him to figure out. He didn't want to see it.

The question is: does he see it now? Does he see her now?

“What do you want to talk about? Did something happen?” I ask, knowing full well that's not what this is about. Gill stands up straight, a veritable badass with muscles and a gun, a cold stare and a ruthless heart. I know it's ruthless because I've seen the edge of that cutting blade hit me right in the neck.