The library was going to be amazing.

In all honesty, it was already more impressive than anything I’d likely ever own, with original, first-edition classics by authors like Lord Byron and Mary Shelley, as well as a complete set of both The Iliad and The Odyssey, translated by Alexander Pope. First editions in near flawless condition. The set alone was worth thousands and thousands of dollars.

Briar and her father had given me a walk-through of the library when I’d arrived a few days earlier. Since then, I’d been cataloging the books and making notes based on what Mr. Downing said he’d like to focus on.

He’d had a decent list, thanks to the care of his butler, of what had been destroyed, either due to smoke or water damage. Looking at the losses made me sick. The books that were now in the library had come from his wife’s personal library, one he’d told me hadn’t been touched since she’d died years earlier. It had been at the back of the house and had miraculously avoided being damaged.

There were also newer classics and contemporary titles that had been purchased and had yet to be shelved or had clearly been placed wherever it was convenient at the time. My fingers itched to put them in some sort of order, but it didn’t make sense to do much of anything until I had a better idea of just where everything would go once I got around to ordering books and taking shipments.

Seamus had presented me with a business card the night before, one that had my name on it, along with Downing Enterprises embossed below. I hadn’t been expecting that, and he must have guessed by the confused look I’d given him. He simply smiled and rubbed my shoulder. “You know the basics of what I want, and I’ve already told you which ones are most important and should be first editions. If you find them and have concerns about cost, talk to Stansfield. He helped me curate my old library so he’s got a good eye as to whether I’ll be willing to invest. Some titles I’ll want regardless, if you can find them. Others, I’ll haggle but might forgo. He’ll help you figure it out.”

He’d given clear instructions on which books he’d considered his regardless list and I’d priced a few already. Just thinking about spending that sort of money made my head spin. But I figured this was good practice.

After all, the money I earned on this job would be the nest-egg for what I’d decided I really did want to do. What would make me happy.

I was going to open a bookstore that specialized in antique and first edition classics. I loved books, period, but there was something about old books, even if it was just a thirty or forty-year-old book of fairy tales for children…or a vintage set of Homer classics worth more than some cars.

I strolled over to the set in question, kept pristine and protected from changes in temperature by the glass case that held them. I stroked my gloved fingertip across the surface of the glass wistfully. I’d let myself look at The Iliad for just a few seconds. Mr. Downing had encouraged me to look at any of the books. “Even that fancy set behind the glass. No point in having them if they can’t be read,” he’d insisted.

But beyond that one look, I wasn’t going to touch them again.

My belly chose that moment to growl. I glanced outside and grimaced when I saw that it had gotten dark. A quick look at the time told me that it was coming up on seven.

“Hell,” I muttered. I had no idea how that had happened. No wonder my belly was growling. I’d had a decent breakfast and had meant to stop for lunch around two, but I’d kept getting distracted. Save for the water I’d been chugging, I hadn’t had anything in my belly since around ten that morning. And my bladder panged insistently, reminding me of all that water.

Blowing out a breath, I looked around.

I’d done enough for the day. I had a partial list of collections that I thought would appeal to Mr. Downing and had even priced a few online. There were two bookstores that I wanted to visit and see what they had in stock, but more than likely, I’d end up buying most of the books online.

My back ached as I stretched. I’d have to remember to take breaks more often and work the kinks out. Otherwise, I’d be walking like an old woman after a few days of this. My posture sucked even at the best of times.

I turned on the lights and started for the kitchen. This time, I made it without getting lost. The first few days, I’d sworn I’d never get through this place without GPS and a ball of string, but I could navigate the important paths now, namely my room to the library to the kitchen and back to my room. That was what counted, right?

The large, open kitchen was empty, which I’d come to expect at this time of day. There was a small household staff, but I’d rarely seen anybody other than the butler and Mary, the woman who’d come in to clean my room the day before. I’d told her I’d handle it. I didn’t know what to make of having somebody cleaning up after me. She’d looked puzzled but had smiled and nodded.

When she’d given me a tour of the kitchen, Briar had pointed out that the kitchen was kept stocked with light snacks and the basic necessities for simple meals like salads and sandwiches, so I set about constructing a massive club. The empty knot in my belly had started to pang angrily at me on the walk here, and once I was done building a monstrous concoction of ham, turkey, cheese, and various toppings, I ducked into the pantry for some chips. I spied a jar of cookies on my way out of the kitchen and paused to grab one. Armed with a tall glass of ice water, a canned soft drink that I’d shoved into the huge double front pocket on my hoodie and the plate, I headed for my room.

At the foot of the west staircase, I paused, looking up at the shuffling, stumbling sound.

Somebody swore.

I jumped at what sounded like somebody falling.

Hurriedly, I put my food and water down on the small accent table near the railing, then rushed up the stairs.

I froze at the sight before me, heat rushing up to stain my cheeks. Oh. Shit.

Sean leaned against the wall, balefully staring down at the wet stain spreading across the deep burgundy carpet. There was no mystery as to what had happened. He had a faint red mark rising on his cheek, and the small table on the landing, which was normally snug against the wall, was out of place. A bottle of alcohol lay on the ground.

He’d most definitely fallen. Or tripped.

He swayed on his feet.

“Sean? Are you okay?”

He blinked blearily then looked up at me. After another owlish blink, he scowled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I…” Quick, think? “I could ask you the same thing. I work here.” Looking at the floor, I changed the subject to him. “It appears you’re here drinking.”

“You don’t work here,” he said belligerently. He swooped down, coming dangerously close to hitting his head on the table as he grabbed the bottle and lifted. “Waste of good bourbon.”

Maybe a third of it remained in the bottle. I was tempted to grab it away from him, but figured if I did, it would just be a fight.

“I do work here. I’m helping Mr. Downing rebuild his library. There was a fire—”

“No. There were bombs,” he said, eyes gleaming despite the alcoholic fog. “Somebody put bombs around the house. Half of the place was destroyed because the bombs caused a fire and there was also smoke damage.”

My heart fluttered a bit. Briar had been hesitant about explaining what had happened. I guess I could see why now. He was clearly waiting for my reaction, though. What did he want? For me to be afraid?

Okay. Bombs were scary, but I wasn’t about to take off running out the door, even if my cautious nature was now a bit more on edge.

I could give any number of reasons for that, and number one on top of the list? I was too damn hungry, and my sandwich wasn’t even twenty feet away.

“Well, that means there was a fire,” I replied, keeping my tone easy and agreeable. He looked like he was in the mood for a fight, and I wasn’t going to give him one. “The bombs were the cause of it, sure, but there was a fire.”

He lifted the bottle and took a long, deep drink, watching me the entire time. “How did you end up getting hired? You work at a sporth….” He scowled and shook his head. “Sports bar. You work at a sports bar. How could you help in the library?”

“I answered a Craigslist ad,” I told him. Briar had placed one the day after I’d accepted the job, then removed it the next morning, although she’d told me she was probably being paranoid.

I didn’t like it, because it felt like the web of lies was spinning a little too deep, but without some sort of way to connect the two of us, how could we expect Sean to believe I’d just somehow wandered upon his father’s library?

“Dad uses Craigslist?” he asked skeptically.

Some of the fog had cleared from his eyes.

My belly rumbled once more as I shifted from one foot to the other. “Mr. Downing…well, I guess that’s your father…he didn’t place the ad. Briar did. She’s your sister?”

“Briar hired you? To work on Dad’s library?” The cynicism in his voice was thick enough to cut.

“Yes.”

He scowled, brows beetling in closer together as he studied me. Finally, he shoved off the wall. When he wobbled, I instinctively reached out to steady him.

My hand touched his arm, bared under the short sleeve of his wrinkled t-shirt. His eyes, that intense purplish-blue, flashed to mine. For a split second, the cynicism disappeared, the anger…everything disappeared, save for an empty, yawning void that seemed to reflect the very bottom of his soul.

He looked lost. He looked empty. He looked alone.

Then he jerked away, stumbling and falling off balance.

I tried once more to steady him, but he evaded me, somehow managing to stay on his feet.

“You’re here to work and buy books, so do that and lemme alone,” he said, his voice sharp as a blade.

He cut around me and started down the stairs, walking with the exaggerated care of somebody who knew he was very, very drunk.

I held my breath until he got to the very bottom. He swayed a little. I watched his shoulders drop, as if he was letting out a deep breath before he looked around.

My jaw dropped as he saw the plate that held my dinner and grabbed it, heading on off down the hall.

The jerk.