spoke, her world spinning off its axis.
He shook his head, condescension in the emphatic movement. “I gave you what you needed. I’ve always given you what you needed.”
The long con. The longest she’d ever known. Make yourself inculpable, Lucien would say. Give them what they need. Fill the emotional void they crave and they’ll never suspect you.
Clementine had needed affection, security, food, shelter. A father. Love.
His other lessons flipped through her mind, each making her queasier.
Be nice, but not too nice.
Show some vulnerability.
Make your mark think it’s his idea to meet up again.
He’d brushed her off plenty in those early days, claiming he had a police record, that if she called the cops he’d be in trouble. You didn’t get more vulnerable than that. She had begged Lucien to keep her. She’d followed him, thinking he’d been clueless. Their first contact may have been luck, her follow-up phone call not a guarantee, but Lucien had orchestrated every subsequent note.
Na?ve didn’t begin to describe her.
She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her body into the wall. “Why tell me now? Why have Yevgen follow me and show his face and entice me here? He could have done the heist on his own, been in and out of the estate without me ever knowing.”
She wished she didn’t know this truth. She wished she hadn’t hesitated with her knife and gutted Yevgen when she’d had the chance. Ached to do it now. He was still in the sound room, behind the closed door. Still wrapping up their prize.
“I couldn’t resist.” Arrogance radiated from Lucien’s cocked head and squared shoulders. “You’re my greatest triumph.”
Betrayal clouded her vision at his admission, along with self-disgust. She’d been duped and deceived, hadn’t suspected him for a beat, and he wanted to revel in his mastery. Her entire life had been a lie.
Everything but Jack.
He had been real—his love for her, and hers for him. For the first time in her life she’d felt whole, and she’d ruined that as spectacularly as Lucien had ruined her. All she had left was the work she’d done, the kids she’d helped. But the second she opened her mouth to ask about the orphanages, she snapped it shut. Nausea rocked her. “You kept the money.”
A villainous smile contorted his face. “I did.”
“You encouraged me to keep emailing my father. Why? So you could hack into my email? Keep tabs on my state of mind?”
“Yes and yes.”
The extent of his deceit unfurled in its horrific glory. She’d never had emotional privacy. Little Nisha’s picture on Lucien’s mantle was a lie, somehow forged or purchased. She had probably been sold into child labor after their visit, to panhandle on the streets or worse. “You took me to India, gave me something to work toward, then let those kids suffer.”
“Finally catching on.”
“There was no extortion to shut them down. The… the orphanage doesn’t even exist.” Her mind spun with his audacity. “Why spend that kind of money on a long con when the whole thing might go bust?”
“I saw your potential.”
The scope and dedication of his con was astounding. If she hadn’t been the victim, she could almost appreciate his commitment, but Clementine had spent her entire adult life funding a madman who’d had her stabbed.
She stared at the stranger before her, feeling detached. Like an observer trying to puzzle out these past weeks. “I still don’t get why Yevgen was here from the onset.”
“Insurance. I clued into the record while you were driving down and didn’t want to add that to your job just yet. I knew you were delaying, having second thoughts, and you work best when heists go as planned. Yevgen was here to tail you and step in if needed, and I wasn’t ready to give up on you.”
Not on her. On his investment. One no longer bringing in returns. “Are you going to kill me?”
“If it makes you feel better, it won’t be easy for me.”
Only because he’d be killing his greatest success, not for any sentimental reasons. His ego was visible now, practically glowing through his smugness, and her haze began to clear.
Part of her welcomed the prospect of a shot to the chest, rather than exist with the knowledge that she’d lived a lie and had hurt the only man who’d ever mattered. Jack’s shattered expression would haunt her forever, but Lucien had taught her too well. A ferocious desire to live flared. She may not have Jack or Nisha or Lucien, but she’d sampled freedom these