I’m the first to the street, with Adriel stepping directly into my path, waiting on us. Kayden joins me, and the three of us move in unison toward the Mercedes, where Kayden and I climb into the backseat and Adriel into the front.
The instant the doors are shut, I turn to Kayden. “I’m trying to be comforted by the fact that it sounds like Chris Merit is safe for Sara, but I can’t be. Not with Alessandro and Niccolo watching her. Not when they can use her to convince me to give them . . .” It’s all I can do to stop myself from saying “the necklace,” since Adriel has no clue it’s connected to me in any way. “I tried to play Sara off as unimportant to me, but clearly that isn’t going to work.”
“I’ll get our people protecting them by nightfall,” he says, glancing toward Adriel. “Why aren’t we moving?”
“Niccolo has us blocked in,” he says. “Am I clear in the rear? Because if I sit here another minute, someone is going to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Kayden gives a look over his shoulder that I mimic and says, “We’re clear in the rear, and we’ll talk at the castle when we know we’re one hundred percent secure and uninterrupted.”
Adriel doesn’t argue, pulling us onto the road, and I don’t even want to think about how furious he’s going to be when he finds out everything we’ve kept from him. Or about why I have a knot in my belly at the idea of him being brought into the circle of trust. As Adriel drives, all eyes go to the windows, the energy between and around us jagged and weaving, with sharp edges that promise more trouble. But seconds tick by, then minutes, and that trouble doesn’t seem to plan to follow.
I know the moment Kayden decides the same thing; his hand settles on my knee and he pulls me to him, a silent reminder that he is my partner in this. But he also is The Hawk, and Adriel is his hunter, his friend—his family. He can’t keep this from Adriel much longer. I’m not sure he will agree to keep it from him any longer at all. I have a sense of being cornered, an awareness that we can’t just shut Adriel down. We damn sure can’t just shut Niccolo down, and unbidden, and seemingly without a trigger besides Niccolo’s name, my declaration to him replays in my mind: My past has nothing to do with that necklace. I said those words because I was right. My past isn’t a part of this. This started with David giving me the necklace as a gift. It’s unrelated to anything else. But if that is true, why did I have that funny feeling in my belly when I’d declared the separation of past and present to Niccolo? Why am I hyper-focused on the past here and now? What am I missing?
As if in answer, my mind jerks to the past, to a memory of me pulling into the driveway of my old family home in North Carolina, after my parents were gone. I exit my Ford Focus as a black sedan pulls up and stops. I stand by the car door, watching as two men get out, both in dark suits, one blond and in his thirties and the other dark-haired and in his fifties. I don’t know who they are, but I know what they are. And I have a bad feeling about why they’re here.
Which is what? I ask myself.
The answer is unexpected, my mind thrusting me back into the moment in time when David died. I’m leaning over him on a cold Paris street, his body lifeless, hearing his warning about not giving the necklace to “him,” whoever he is. Then the memory fades into what feels like reality. I’m there . . .
David’s hand falls away from mine, his body now lifeless. Survival instincts kick in and I don’t give myself time to process the blood or his death. I stand up, the darker-than-dark night offering me the fa?ade of shelter, my hand closing around the necklace in the pocket of my coat, which I have only because Garner Neuville paid for my hotel room for two weeks. That, after my credit cards were oddly cancelled and I started putting together the bigger picture, of something nefarious going on. It was then, the moment after I’d called credit card company number four, that I set aside the fa?ade of the schoolteacher, which I’d adopted to get the wrong people to stop looking at me, and became the woman beneath that fa?ade. Then I tracked down David to this location, looking for answers. Right now, though, I need to make decisions, and quickly.
First and foremost, David is dead and I don’t want to end up that way. And since I have the necklace, and I’m 99.999 percent sure that’s what got him killed, I’m now a target. If I call the police, whoever is looking for it and me will find me.
I start walking, cutting left into a quiet neighborhood only blocks from the craziness of the busy Champs-élysées Boulevard, where I don’t plan to return. My mind begins ticking through options. There are people I could call right now, but I’ve burned bridges and I don’t know who I can trust. Hell. For all I know, those burned bridges have something to do with why I’m involved in this. Knowing I need answers and shelter until I can get them, I cut into a chocolate shop, pull my phone out of my pocket, and punch in the only number in Paris I have. Garner Neuville’s.