Victor seemed interested by this. “Where’s the money?”
I couldn’t see how I would tell Victor about the money without bringing Cameron into the
picture. I had to improvise. “I don’t really know. I haven’t seen any.” This was technically
the truth—numbers on a pendant were all I had seen.
Victor looked a little disappointed but continued, “What about the people you were with?”
“They had nothing to do with us being here.” I said this too quickly. Victor caught scent that
something was not right.
He raised an eyebrow. “How involved were you with these people, Emily?”
The way he was blankly staring at me made me feel like I was in his interrogation room back at
the police station. I could feel the bead of sweat building on my brow again.
“Barely knew them,” I lied.
From the look on Victor’s face, he didn’t buy it. “Were they involved in drugs?”
“I don’t know. We never talked about that,” I lied again.
Uncle Victor was getting angry. “Come on! You can do better than that!” He wasn’t whispering
anymore. He was the interrogator. I was the criminal.
“Uncle Victor, I don’t know what you’re asking me. You would know more than I would from
talking with the DEA.” I could feel the tears surging.
His face went pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Yes, you’re right. I do know
what they’re capable of. I was just afraid of what they might have put you through. That’s
all.”
“They’re not bad people, Uncle Victor.”
This made him angry. “How can you say that? They’re lowlifes. Thugs. Mere children.” His
voice was harsh and loud. I was taken aback.
He then recomposed and smiled. “These people have no class, Emily. Not like you and me. We’re
from a different world.” He reached over and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You look so
much like Isabelle.”
It was the way that, unlike me, his head did not have one hair out of place and his clothes
looked freshly ironed. And it was how he looked right through me, as though he saw someone else,
that made something flicker at the bottom of my gut.
“How was my mother when you saw her?”
He smiled dreamily. “She was very worried about you. She cried when she found out that those
thugs had taken you.”
This was my first hint. My mother wasn’t the crying type. It ruined her makeup. “How did you
know I was missing?”
“Your mother called me after she had been to your place. All your stuff was gone, and you weren
’t there.”
Second hint: my mom would never go to my place unless she was dragged kicking and screaming, and
she would definitely have no idea where my stuff was, or what my belongings would even look
like. “How long have you been looking for me?”
“A few months now.”
Nope, she was still in France then—and barely thinking about me. My dear Uncle Victor was lying
through his yellowing teeth.
Cameron had told me that Shield could not be killed because of his connections, because someone
like him could not turn up dead or go missing without too many questions being asked—as would
be the case with a police officer. I then understood that Shield was just a nickname for the
police badge that he used to shield his crimes.
I glared back at my uncle Victor, who had abused our family ties to lure me away from Cameron,
and who I now understood was also called Shield.
Tears were building up in my eyes. I cleared my throat in an effort to keep them at bay and not
arouse his suspicion that the game was up.
“How are we going to get out of here?” My croaking voice betrayed me.
Shield’s eyes twinkled. His hand had moved to the top of my head and he was petting my hair,
lovingly.
“Did you know that I saw Isabelle first? Before Burt even knew that she existed?”
I was shaking. He smiled.
“We were all at the same party. One of those work parties that your father used to drag my
sister to. Isabelle came through the door, and all eyes were on her. She was a stunning woman.
Still is. But, out of all those people, she smiled at me first.” His face then turned grim.
“Back then, your father had a lot more money than me. I was just a beat cop. I couldn’t
compete. But things are different now.”
He snapped out of his daydream and winked at me. A chill went down my spine. I yanked his hand
away. The tears were rolling down my cheeks but my glare was unyielding.
“You’re still a cop,” I reminded him spitefully.
“Yes,” he said, like his treachery had been a major feat. “And you’ll make me rich again.”