herself, even though her cheeks were warm and flushed. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been. That was the problem. And he’d never come right out and denied he’d been her intruder. That, more than anything, solidified her suspicion.
He was her enemy. The compliments, the hot, yet, sweet kiss, were probably designed to gain her trust so she’d spill any and all secrets. The heat drained away, leaving her with a heavy lump in the pit of her stomach.
Did she want it to be real? To mean anything?
“I’m fine.” She rubbed her hand over her sister’s flaming locks. She’d worry about Ky later. Right now, there were two little girls who needed and deserved her full attention.
It was rare for them to be down in the bar. Their mother had insulated them as much as possible from their Hell’s Gate and their father, but they were smart, for all their young ages.
Keeping them in the dark wouldn’t do them any favors, especially if she wasn’t around to protect them. Her stomach roiled, but she ignored it and forced a smile.
There was still plenty of time before opening. The only people around were staff, and the girls were in the kitchen with her.
Maggs was perched on a stool, a data pad and stylus in her tiny hands, creating another amazing drawing. She was only six, but her detailed sketches had already sold under a pseudonym for large sums of money—something their mother had done without Helldrick’s knowledge.
So young, but they were already adept at keeping secrets.
The money was sitting in a secret account that only the girls had access to. Etta planned to keep adding to it when she could, to help secure her sisters’ futures.
Sera glanced at her sister. “Something is wrong. Is it Father or Balthazar?” The acceptance in her voice hurt Etta’s heart.
“No, sweetheart. I’ve got a lot on my mind, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.” Yeah, right. Her mother had given her that line as a child, and she’d never believed it.
Looking skeptical and years older than she should, Sera nodded and went back to mixing dough for cookies. The sweet scent of ginger and cloves perfumed the air. The promise of a treat was what had drawn them here. It bothered Etta that neither girl ever asked to leave the rooms above. It wasn’t natural for them to be cooped up inside all day.
She should know. Her childhood had been far too similar.
It was her mission in life to bring them some joy. She wanted to see them smile, hear them laugh.
“That looks good,” she praised.
Sera stuck her finger in the bowl, swiped up some of the dough, and licked. “Tastes good.”
“Hmm. I can’t take your word for that.” Quick as a wink, she dipped into the bowl and stuck her finger in her mouth. “You’re right.”
“Me, too.” Maggs set her data pad aside and bounced on the stool, her red ponytail swinging from side to side.
Etta reached across the counter and dragged the girl into her arms. She was small and slight with a huge heart. “Here you go, baby.” She lowered her so she could poke her finger into the bowl. “What do you think?”
“Good.” With a decisive nod, she wiggled in Etta’s arms. Knowing what she wanted, Etta placed her back on the stool. Maggs never had much to say. It worried her that the girl spent so much time on her art, but it made her happy.
It didn’t take long to roll and cut the dough into various shapes and bake it. Since Sera wanted to do it on her own, Etta allowed her but hovered close, keeping a watchful eye. Cooking gave a person a sense of accomplishment and pride. There was an immediate reward for the work done.
When the first batch came out of the oven, Maggs turned off her data pad, her eyes wide as Sera placed a circle and a triangle cookie on her plate. Why her sister had chosen geometric shapes, she had no idea.
Maggs’s eyes widened. “They’re perfect.”
Sera started to smile, but then her head snapped toward the door. “He’s coming.”
Etta snatched up the data pad and shoved it to the bottom of the crate of vegetables waiting to be processed. Better not to tempt fate.
“All my girls in one spot.” Helldrick filled the doorway as his booming voice filled the room. What should have been a friendly greeting carried a note of suspicion layered with threats. Gray strands streaked through his