immediately, shaking down every criminal and lowlife he’d ever worked with until he’d exhausted all possible avenues.”
Charlotte considered this, but then shook her head. “We had other work, other clients, other scores. We had to move on. There was no time to chase after a ghost. As far as Rudy was concerned, that’s all my father was.”
“But it wasn’t about your father—don’t you see?” Dorian slid closer to her on the bench, their thighs brushing, a familiar heat simmering in the air between them. “It’s ego. Trust me, love. The only way Rudy walks away from that kind of money—and the potential blow to his reputation—is if he knows the money never disappeared in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It sounds to me like Rudy set your father up.”
The longer they talked, the more holes Dorian poked in Charlotte’s old theories. He felt bad being so blunt about it, but she needed to be disabused of the notion that Rudy had any loyalty to her father’s memory, to Charlotte, or to any of the other members of his crew. It was obvious to Dorian that Rudy had sold them out five years ago, just as he’d likely sell them out again after the Ravenswood heist.
Only this time, the demons were involved.
For all Dorian knew, they’d been involved last time too.
Regardless, Charlotte’s and Sasha’s lives were at stake. And Dorian—no matter what had transpired between them, no matter what he’d have to walk away from when all was said and done—would find a way to put that bastard down for good. To finally give Charlotte and Sasha their lives back.
“I made the list you asked for,” Charlotte said. “All the artwork I could remember from the missing cache. Do you think it will help?”
“It will definitely help.”
“What about that Estas guy? Do you think he knows anything?”
Estas. The name echoed through his mind. Dorian had already decided the art dealer was the most logical next step; Charlotte’s story only solidified his determination.
This morning, after he’d updated Cole on the situation with Charlotte and her sister—and Cole had given him the requisite amount of I-told-you-so shit about his obvious feelings for Charlotte—Cole had jumped at the opportunity to help nail Rudy to the wall. He’d been on standby ever since, awaiting word from Dorian on the plan.
Now that Dorian had the list of artwork from the missing cache, that plan was finally solidifying.
“How do you feel about Maui?” he asked suddenly.
Charlotte’s brow furrowed.
“For our romantic getaway,” he said. “I do hope it suits you, because I’ve already chartered a private jet and booked a very expensive, very lush package at a gorgeous seaside resort for the whole family. Sasha too.”
Dorian pulled out his phone, then emailed Charlotte the reservation details. A moment later, her phone beeped with the notification.
Her smile lit up the misty night. “Maui? Really?”
“Forward that to your uncle—proof that you’ve secured the weekend at Ravenswood for him, as ordered. That should at least buy you a bit of breathing room.”
Her smile dimmed. “Oh, right. That’s… Thank you. It’s brilliant.” Charlotte turned away to redo her bun, then forced a laugh Dorian suspected was for his benefit. “I guess you’ve thought of everything, Dorian Redthorne.”
“It’s in my nature, love. Business strategy, tying up loose ends, et cetera.”
“I’ve never been to Hawaii.”
“No?” Dorian’s thoughts drifted to the islands, conjuring up images of the two of them swimming at the resort’s private nude beach at dawn, chartering boats and dining on extravagant seafood dinners, cruising the coastline beneath the stars…
He rose from the bench, dropping the pointless fantasy. The jet, the expensive package—it was all a sham. Reservations booked and paid for, but never to be used, all to make Rudy believe he’d gotten the upper hand.
With any luck, the bastard would be dead before the yacht even left the harbor.
“When this is over,” Dorian said, “perhaps you can take your sister. I’m sure you’d have a lovely time.”
A wounded look flickered in her eyes, a pain that threatened to knock down the last of Dorian’s walls. He had the urge to bend down and scoop her into his arms, carry her up to his bedroom, and peel away every last layer of clothing, every last scrap of fear and doubt. He ached at the memory of her soft skin, her silky kiss, her tight, hot flesh…
But that kind of fantasizing could only end in heartache.
“I’d like you and Sasha to stay the duration,” he said coolly, using the tone he normally