Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,142

because it’s so unbelievably far-fetched, or maybe it’s simply because what I am currently thinking is way past my comprehension – but all of these things – the violin, the Fabergé egg, the Picasso . . .

They are all presumed lost to history.

Or stolen.

My hands start to shake, the book shaking with it, as I flick through a few more pages, until I find what I knew I would. A file. The one from Becker’s desk that was unfamiliar to me. Because it was blue, and every file at The Haven is red. The file wasn’t destroyed. It was hidden.

I open it up, breathing through my anticipation, and there, bold as the woman herself in the flesh, is Lady Winchester, smiling up at me.

And next to her, as bold as my red hair, is a photograph of the Heart of Hell.

The book starts to vibrate in my hands, and I let it fall to the floor before it can burn me. ‘Oh my God.’ The lump in my throat swells, making my words of shock sound broken and desperate.

‘Hey, princess.’

My head snaps up, finding Becker standing by the door, his jacket off, the top button of his shirt undone, and his bow tie hanging freely. His words were quiet and passive. They were wary.

I gulp down my shock and try to unravel the crazy in my head, my eyes flitting all over the library floor. ‘How did you find me in the dark at Countryscape?’ I ask, the questions steaming forward, needing to be answered. I look up at him, finding him expressionless. ‘How did you land Brent with a tidy crack to the jaw in the pitch black?’

‘I was wearing night-vision glasses,’ Becker says quietly.

‘Oh, Jesus.’ I stagger back and grab the edge of the bookshelf, my mind swimming, my eyes closing, like I can hide from my reality. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at the man I’m hopelessly in love with and try to unravel all the shit polluting my mind. I’ve dealt with a lot. I’ve questioned my morals. I’ve questioned Becker’s, too. But how much is too much? Again, where the fucking hell does it stop?

Crime, in so many forms. Deception, fraud, vandalism, aiding and abetting, conspiracy, theft, actual bodily harm . . .

I’m going to be on the Most Wanted list. I’m going to be thrown into jail for life. My mum is going to wonder where I’ve disappeared to. I could never tell her. I couldn’t divulge the shit that surrounds my life now. But I won’t have a choice, will I? Because it will be headline fucking news. Dad was right. All of this – the beauty, the history, the money – it’s all more hassle than it’s worth.

Yes, it’s all more hassle than it’s worth. But what about Becker? Is he more hassle than he’s worth? He promised no more secrets. And this is a fucking huge one. Oddly and quite crazily, that’s what hurts most.

I look up at him. Even my eyes are trembling, making my vision judder and Becker appear blurry. ‘Where is the ruby?’ I ask.

His face is still impassive, his eyes clear behind his glasses. I get nothing – no words or evidence of his mood. He takes a step forward, and then relaxes in his standing pose, watching me, obviously endeavouring to ascertain my frame of mind, his eyes never faltering as he pulls a hand from his pocket and reaches towards me.

At first, I’m slightly baffled by his actions, wondering what he’s doing. But then my eyes fall to his hand and his palm opens up.

And I’m blinded by shards of bright red light.

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, my palm coming up slowly and covering my mouth. The Heart of Hell stares up at me, and my fucked-up, corrupt world stops spinning.

Just like it did when it was held protected by the glass cabinet, it holds me under a spell, and my mind blanks. The spell is strong, would probably give the one Becker has me under a run for its money. Now the gem is raw, though. There’s nothing keeping it contained, no glass protecting it. Or protecting me. There’s only air between us – me and that priceless stolen ruby. The power of its visual appeal is beyond description. The power of its presence is heart-stopping. It shares many of those qualities with Becker. It’s the precious stone equivalent to my Saint Sinner.

‘How?’ I murmur, ripping my eyes away from it