a hard rush. “Knowing my father, he probably refused to get his hands dirty. And hey, Marquist is good with a carving knife. You should see what he can do to a roast beef—although those nights in the kitchen are long over now that he’s lord of the manor.”
“Can you do something about this? Maybe Butch can help?”
“It was two decades ago, and all I have are my suspicions. Besides, now I have a conflict of interest because I was disinherited in favor of Marquist. If he committed a murder tied to my mahmen? I think he’s disqualified from getting the assets because she was my father’s shellan, and if she had lived, she would have kept everything—and I would be her sole heir.”
“But if what you think is true, Marquist could be getting away with murder and taking your inheritance.”
Boone thought about it for a time. And then he focused on Helania. “Well, then that former butler can pat himself on the back and enjoy the money and the house. I’m not going backward, only forward.”
As he said the words, he realized . . . he really wanted her to be pregnant.
He wanted to start his life over. With Helania and their young.
And he wanted to do things right, like her parents had done.
As the door to the patient room opened, Syn looked up from where he was sitting on the foot of the hospital bed. When he saw who it was, he cursed and stared down at the floor. Anyone else. He would have preferred anyone else, and no doubt that was exactly why the Brothers had chosen the male.
And what do you know, Xcor, the leader of the Band of Bastards, was not alone. Vishous was behind him, and as the pair of them entered, the Brother closed the door and locked it.
“So they sent you,” Syn muttered. “I should have guessed.” Xcor sat down on one of the chairs that were lined up against the wall, his enormous body filling the piece of furniture. The male had recently gotten a skull trim, and the lack of hair made his neck look even thicker, his shoulders bigger, his chest broader. As was typical of him, his face was unsmiling, that harelip distorting his mouth into what looked like a sneer, but was actually just a misalignment of the upper lip.
Or maybe the guy was pissed.
“As if I would not have come on my own,” Xcor said in a low voice.
That Old World accent, so similar to Syn’s own, was a reminder of how many years they had been together. Fighting, surviving . . . being angry at destiny. But Xcor had changed tracks. He was happily mated now and even had step-young.
Never would have seen that one coming, Syn thought as he looked into the eyes of his mentor, his leader . . . his friend.
The stare that came back at him was so level, so unemotional, it carried a punch to the gut that Syn had to resolutely ignore. As much as he hated to admit it, the two of them were on different sides of the table right now and it bothered him.
Xcor glanced up at Vishous. “Can you leave us?”
The Brother shook his head and lifted his phone. “And I’m recording.”
“Such an official show all this is,” Syn said.
“’Tis official.” Xcor eased back in the chair, his weight making the plastic and metal creak. “A female is dead.”
“Wasn’t it two?”
“Are you saying that to show off?”
“No, just to correct the record given that we’re so serious.” Syn nodded over at the Brother who was looming by the door like a prison guard. “And also to give his phone something to do.”
There was a long silence, and the fact that his leader, and others, were operating under the belief that Syn had done the killing made absolute sense. The present was always judged on the past, and his actions spoke for themselves.
Or maybe it was more like his corpses spoke for themselves.
After a while longer, Xcor said, “It’s not like you to leave the bodies behind. Usually no one finds them, at least for a while. And then they’re hard to identify.”
“You sound disappointed in me.”
“It would have made things easier,” the male muttered dryly.
Syn raised his eyebrows. “But that poor female would still be dead, wouldn’t she. And the other. Boo-hoo.”