fingers and bring it to my lips, because it’s the only thing that settles the destructive chaos thrumming to life in my veins. I’ve barely managed a single pull when the door cracks open behind me and footsteps enter the room.
“I thought you were quitting.”
The rampant disapproval in my brother’s voice is as familiar to me as breathing, which I do now, sucking the nicotine into my system like the addict I’ve always sworn that I wouldn’t become.
A grim smile touches my lips. “I am.”
“Yeah?” Guy scoffs. “When? Before or after you—”
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture.” Smoke curls in fine wisps as I exhale. Stabbing out the cherry on the ash tray, I glance over my shoulder. “Any updates from Benji?”
“No movement yet.” Guy leans against the massive desk that dwarfs half the room, his arms coming up to fold over his chest. Steely blue eyes zero in on my face. “You really think she’ll leave the flat when she’s as roughed up as she is?”
If I’ve learned anything about Rowena Carrigan in the last eight days, it’s that she’s relentlessly stubborn—and far too cunning for her own good. “She won’t let blindness keep her from making a move.” No, she’ll use it to her advantage. A disability that she’ll play against anyone who might ever make the mistake of underestimating her.
Like you did.
The visceral memory of her tracing the lines of my face settles like burning bricks in my gut. Oh, I’d underestimated her, all right. Had she heard the battered breath caught in my lungs? Seen, without actually seeing, the sudden craving for softness that had infiltrated my bones, down to my marrow?
The burning bricks turn to toxic lead.
Meanwhile, my brother’s astute gaze flicks to the computer before returning sharply. “You’re banking on her making a move, which we don’t know if she will.”
She will.
She was too quick to run out of here, without even a backwards glance at the queen. There’s no doubt in my mind that Rowena’s hidden motives will reveal themselves—it’s just a matter of how and when.
Lucky for me, patience is a virtue that I’ve been spoon-fed since birth.
I reach over the ashtray for the discarded notepad. Tossing it in my brother’s direction, I point to my messy script at the top of the page. “That’s what she said to me the other day. Goodbye for now. She was baiting me.”
Guy studies my hastily written scrawl, his brows knitted. “You’re overthinking things.”
“We’re in the business of overthinking everything,” I counter sardonically. In thirty-one years, I’ve never had the luxury of taking a gesture of goodwill at face-value. Friend or foe, greed is indiscriminatory and everyone wants something—power, love, hope . . . vengeance.
It’s just a matter of knowing where to look to pull back the layers of deceit.
“Here’s what we do know,” I say, clicking through a series of files on the monitor. “Coney was involved in that cult with Jack.” An image of the brown-haired professor loads on the screen, and then I flip to a picture of him standing, arms slung across another bloke’s shoulders, with the other men who Saxon killed at The Octagon. “They’ve all come to The Bell & Hand.”
Dropping his hands to the desk, Guy angles his head closer to the computer. “You’re sure? I don’t recognize them.”
“I’m sure.” With three clicks of the mouse, I bring up another series of images. Unlike the first set, these are all black and white stills captured from the security cameras within The Bell & Hand. “I ran their names and coordinated credit card purchases to within minutes of them entering the pub. Amateur mistake on their end but a boon for us. They were coming in for months, and look”—I point to the next frame—“they always took this seat by the window. God knows how many times you and Saxon saw them there without thinking twice.” A rough laugh itches to fly free. “They disguised themselves well enough, but you can clearly still see—”
“Their features,” Guy murmurs, catching on without me having to elaborate. Reaching out, he taps the screen to zoom in. “They walked right in, just like Ian Coney, and we never suspected a thing.” He cuts a hard look my way. “What does this have to do with Rowena Carrigan?”
Stay away from my daughter.
Those are the words of a man with something to lose.
“I couldn’t find any direct ties linking any of the men with Coney. Even the two uni kids weren’t actually his