THE AL FRESCO DINING EXPERIENCE at Sinatra was one that couldn’t be matched, and I often shared dinner there with Birdie when I was home between jobs.
Nestled between giant white columns designed to make you feel as though you were in Italy, vibrant orange chairs created an intimate and cozy atmosphere on the patio. In front of the crackling fire, warmth bloomed in my stomach, and it wasn’t from the wine.
I’d taken the day to recharge at the spa, and I felt amazing. In the process, I’d even managed to come up with some ideas to incentivize Birdie in her studies. A rewards-based program like those gold stars parents gave their kids on a chart for doing a good job. Except I was dealing with Birdie, so her rewards would be Prada and Gucci. I was excited to tell her about it because I was desperate to see her succeed.
But I was already two glasses deep in rosé, and she hadn’t shown up. Discreetly, I pulled out my iphone and texted her again. She knew better than to make me wait like this. She knew better than to let me think the worst, which was exactly what I was doing.
Fire. Car accident. Hostage situation. These were just a few of the thoughts racing through my mind like a freight train. But what it always came back to was something much worse.
It wasn’t logical, but for years, I had considered the possibility that he had come back to haunt us. Even though I’d washed his blood from my hands. Even though he was declared dead and laid to rest. It always came back to him.
It was an irrational fear, but that didn’t mean I was crazy. Ricky had a lot of friends who, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, felt some sort of loyalty to him. Just because he was dead didn’t mean the threat was.
I glared at my phone for the thousandth time in thirty minutes, ready to call the waiter and ask for my check. This wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I couldn’t just sit here. I needed to find her.
Those plans were at the forefront of my mind when I looked up, hoping to find the server nearby. Instead, my eyes collided with the six foot of lean muscle who had taken up residence in the empty seat across from me when I wasn’t looking.
“Are you lost?” I scowled.
“No.” He moved the napkin aside and set his empty glass on the table. “I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”
A chill moved over me at the deliberate way he said those words. I couldn’t dismiss this as coincidence. It wasn’t a coincidence that he was in New York with me two days ago, and now, he was sitting across from me in Las Vegas. Lucian West and I both had a taste for the finer things in life, but our paths had never crossed until this week.
I made it my business to know the potential vipers in my surroundings, and as soon as I left that dive bar, I started researching him.
What I’d discovered so far was that Lucian was a high-profile criminal attorney with a bankroll that made mine look like peanuts. He was in the public eye and known for being ruthless in the courtroom. It didn’t seem to bother him that the newspapers often labeled him as heartless, cynical, and self-serving. It also didn’t seem to bother him that he had been forever branded as the man without morals.
In the last year alone, I found countless news articles regarding two of his clients. A celebrity and a professional footballer whose common thread were the crimes they were accused of. Murdering their own wives. It rubbed me the wrong way, but my ire was nothing compared to the public outcry when he actually won the cases and his clients walked free. It didn’t matter what the justice system had decided because in the court of public opinion, he was one of the most hated men in America.
Sitting across from him now, I had my own thoughts about him. Something was unmistakably hard about the man. A real prince of darkness whose features matched his lightless soul. He had all the trappings of an aristocrat—broad shoulders and an angular jaw, eyes the color of hot coffee, and jet-black hair with only a hint of silver streaked through the side. In short, he was ridiculously handsome if you were into the devil. But the persisting media evidence was that he was never seen in the company of a woman. It only stirred more questions about what he was doing here with me.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He smirked. “Why don’t you tell me?”
I reached for my Coach bag and moved to stand. “I don’t have time for this or you. I need to go.”
“Sit.”
His voice came out like a whip, soft but deadly. I glared back at him, wondering if he truly was insane.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m sure by now you know who I am,” he answered. “Just as I know who you are, Gypsy Blue.”
I collapsed into the chair with weak knees. Nobody knew that name. Nobody but Birdie. For as long as I could remember I’d been handing out fake names like candy. I could easily be a Kelly, or Brittney, or Sarah. But never Gypsy.
“What do you want?” This time, the question was softer, and I hated that I’d shown him even a hint of vulnerability. But I had a feeling that it didn’t matter. This man was here to get what he wanted, one way or another.
“Your sister isn’t coming,” he said casually as he flagged down the waiter and ordered us both another drink.
It hurt to breathe, and I knew I was on the verge of panic, but I tried to stay calm. I had learned the hard way that dramatics got you nowhere.
“Where is she?”
“She’s safe,” Lucian said. “For now.”
“You motherfucker,” I hissed under my breath. “If you even think about hurting her—”
“I have no reason to hurt your sister.” He fixed his gaze on my eyes in a way that made me feel as though he could see into my soul. “However, a few powerful men in this city might feel differently.”
Mentally, the only detail I could grasp onto was that Birdie hadn’t been hurt. I was already making lists and planning our escape. I just needed to shake this guy first and get out of here. I would find her, and we would split. It didn’t matter what she’d done as long as she was safe.
I glanced around the room, suddenly aware that the patio had been cleared and no new guests had been seated. Even the waiters had disappeared after bringing our drinks. It was just the two of us now.
I leaned forward, adopting the position I often used to make men feel like I was gifting a piece of myself to them. “If it’s money you want, I have it. Just tell me where she is.”
Even though my breasts were on display in the tight red dress, Lucian’s eyes never strayed from my face. That was how I knew I was in trouble.
“I know you have money.” He plucked his glass from the table and swirled the amber liquid around the fat chunks of ice. “The money you’ve swindled from men all over this country. It appears that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree as far as your sister is concerned.”
My fingers went numb under the weight of his implication. “Birdie doesn’t do that.”
“How well can you really know a person when you’re never here?” Lucian cocked his head to the side. “You leave her alone while you’re gone. How would you know what she’s doing?”
I gave up the pretense of niceties and leaned back in my chair, shielding my body with my purse. “Because she tells me, and she wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Stop deluding yourself.” He scoffed. “Everyone lies. It’s human nature.”
“You would know,” I snarled. “Considering you defend the worst of humanity.”
His brow arched in surprise. “Isn’t that a little self-righteous coming from you, sweetheart?”
This conversation was going nowhere fast, and time wasn’t on my side. I needed to focus on disarming this bomb so I could get out of here. “Tell me what you think Birdie has done, and I will fix it.”
The darkness in his eyes melted away to a cocoa brown, and his voice betrayed a hint of humanity when he spoke. “You can’t fix everything for her.”
Those words scared me more than anything because they held so much weight. It was as if he knew our history, and I couldn’t accept that it was true. I didn’t want to.
Lucian bent down to retrieve a file from the briefcase beside his chair, and my heart palpitated when he slid it across the table. “It’s all in there.”
With trembling fingers, I opened the folder. I thought I was prepared for anything, but it was worse than I imagined. What he said was true, and this was the proof. Birdie had been stealing from men, but she was an amateur, and it was painfully obvious by these photos.
Shot after shot, she was proven a thief and a liar. Rings, watches, wallets, cash. They were all listed in the damages, and the total was in the hundreds of thousands. But it wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was that there were naked photos of her in this file. Photos of her seducing the men she stole from and doing exactly the thing I had been trying so hard to protect her from this whole time.
It hurt me, but it pissed me off too.
I looked up at Lucian. “Some of these are from casinos. But what about the rest? Are you having her followed?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The proof was right here.
I pushed the file away, unable to look at it a second longer. “I can pay it back. I’ll just need some time.”
He dipped his head, and the hardness returned to his features. “I’m sure you could. But these are just petty thefts compared to some of the things you’ve done. I don’t think a courtroom is going to let you charm your way out of a category A felony.”
My stomach roiled as my eyes darted toward the nearest exit. “And what exactly would that be?”
Lucian leaned forward, prompting every inch of my body into high alert. “How about the murder of Ricky Montoya?”
My heart leaped into my throat, and for the first time in too many years, I forgot how to speak. Terror wrapped its icy claws around me as I tried to figure out a way to deny it. But I couldn’t.
Lucian tapped the table, drawing my attention back to him as he whispered, “It isn’t your money I want, Gypsy Blue. It’s your life.”