Stepbrother Thief (49 page)

A quick glance back at Gill shows him with brows furrowed and expression dark.
Shit.
I run a hand over my face.

“So, where exactly are we going?” I try to make myself smile, but my lips refuse to budge, images of Aveline's bloody body and the mess in the stairwell stroking goose bumps up on my arms. “I mean, where do big time crime lords like to host their get togethers?”

At least I get Gill's mouth to twitch. But he doesn't smile. Guess that's out of the question for either of us right now.

“Medina,” he says, looking over at me for a split second. “Evergreen Point Road.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Ritzy.”

“It's one of Max's safe houses,” Gill says with a shrug. And then he really does smile. “She has
much
nicer places elsewhere.” I roll my eyes and make myself smile back. This is better. This is good. I feel a bit of the stress melting away. I'm sure it'll all come rushing back when we get to wherever we're going, but at least this is better than mind wrecking silence.

“Uh, of course. You forget where I'm from.” I reach up and pretend to fluff my already perfect hair. “I'm from
Paris,
” I say, emphasizing the French pronunciation. “While I'm sure the place is nice, it's still in Seattle. How much is this one worth? A mere three million USD?”

“Close—two point eight.” I snap my fingers.

“Damn. So close. Well, it's awfully nice of the boss to meet us in such a shit hole.”

Gill's smile gets a little wider but then fades just as quick when his phone buzzes. A glance down at the screen and then his eyes flick to the windshield with an intensity that'd be frightening to me if I wasn't in his good graces.

“Karl's just arrived,” Gill says, taking a deep breath. He slides his phone back in his pocket, that strange, tense silence falling like snow around us. “And we're eighteen minutes out.
Fuck.
” I glance over and watch as Gill runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Regina,” he begins, but I cut him off.

“No. I'm doing this, Gill.” I drop my hands to my lap, unconsciously fishing in the fabric until I feel the gun beneath all of that striped organza. My hands tremble as I take another breath.

“All I was going to say was … no matter what happens, I'll keep you safe.”

I nod my head, but I don't like the tone in his voice. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I see two things in that darkened expression of his:
you'll make it out of this okay
and …
I don't think that I will.

Max
ine
's safe house is really a fancy ass McMansion with a circle drive, perfectly manicured bushes, and a set of double glass entry doors that glow with the false promise of hospitality. In the driveway, there are two black SUVs similar to the one we're driving, an unremarkable silver sedan, and a big, shiny red pickup truck. I wonder if that one belongs to Max? Like mother like daughter, maybe?

Gilleon pulls all the way around the driveway, angling to put us at the exit. Unfortunately, there's a man standing there, leaning casually against a tree. He doesn't even bother to look our way, but I have feeling that if we tried to leave right now, he'd shoot us. At least, he'd try to.

“Wait for me to come around and open your door,” Gill says, his voice strained and angry. Honestly, I'm surprised I even made it this far. I half-expected him to drop me off at Leilani's on the way, handcuff me to her fence or something. But then he'd have to know that I'd never forgive him. Getting over him leaving, that's going to take time. I can't take a single lie or betrayal right now.

Gilleon climbs out, a sight to see in his dark wash jeans, suit jacket and white button-down. He's washed the dried blood off his temple, but I can see a bruise forming next to his right eye. We're both lucky those are the only injuries he suffered tonight.
Eight people.
Jesus, my stepbrother really is a fucking badass.

As instructed, I wait for Gill to walk over—as slow and casual as could be—and let me out. He takes my hand and closes the door behind me, fingers tight around mine.

“Karl knows that starting shit with Max tonight is a really bad idea, so if you do what he says, you'll be alright.
Don't
try to be a hero.” I open my mouth to protest, but Gill squeezes my hand harder. “Don't say a word, not even to answer a question. Not to anyone.” Gill pulls me forward, linking our arms as a woman with short dark hair and a shy smile opens the door for us. Her eyes flick to where Gill's guns are hanging beneath his suit jacket, like she can tell they're there without even seeing them. Surprisingly, she doesn't say anything. I wonder if she's a part of all this or some innocent bystander? Somebody's got to take care of all Max's houses when she's not around, right?

“Gilly!” A voice calls as soon as we step inside. There's a sitting room to our right, filled with austere white and silver furniture, a terrible complement to the polished concrete floors beneath us. I try to follow Gill's lead and smile, but … this is all too weird for words. Aren't we supposed to have some tight-laced confrontation in an abandoned warehouse? This place—as ugly as the décor is—looks like somebody's home. There are white pillar candles burning on the mantle, a fire blazing behind the ornate silver and glass screen, and soft music trickling from some hidden speakers. Is that … Alizée playing in the background? Did not expect to hear French pop music when I walked inside. “How are you?” Maxine asks, standing up from the couch with a smile curving her red lips. “Champagne? Karl and I are already on our second glasses.”

I study the woman in her wide leg pants, the color of newly bloomed poppies. She's got to be around Cliff's age, at least, based on the graying color of her copper hair, but she carries herself with a timeless grace that's magnetic. I can practically feel her gravity pulling me into orbit. I blink back the urge and focus instead on the strapless beaded top she's wearing, exposing a line of perfectly flat belly beneath it. Over her shoulders, she's got on a shawl-collar vest that hangs nearly to the floor.
Chic et moderne, non?

When I try to look past her clothes, searching for some resemblance to Aveline, all I get is the red hair and the green eyes. The man on the opposite couch on the other hand …

“Gilleon,” Karl Rousseau says, rising to his feet with a smile to match his ex-wife's. You'd think we were at a dinner party or something. I prop my right hand on my hip, trying to mimic casual the way I've seen Gilleon do. I probably look ridiculous, but at least now I get why he does it. Gives him something to do with his hands in a tense situation. “How nice of you to join us.”

Karl looks right at me, his face the perfect match to Aveline's—sharp, smart, tinged with mischief. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was an alright guy. He certainly looks the part. His hair is dark, no sign of gray anywhere to be seen, but his face is lined and worn, and his suit probably costs more than my apartment in Paris.

This … is the guy we have to kill?

My head is spinning.

I'd so much rather be at Leilani's house watching
Supernatural
and eating organic soybean paste. Ugh.

“It's good to see you both,” Gill begins, looking between them and smiling as if it was the most natural expression in the world for him. “And so nice to see you in the same room.” Before I can protest, Gill's pulling his guns from the holsters at his side and tossing them onto the coffee table. His knives go next—one from the small of his back, one inside his boot, one on the
underside
of the other boot. He turns to me next and holds out a hand. Without even having to ask, I know what he wants.
Holy crap.
What was the point of getting all dressed up like this if he wants me to hand it all over?

I do it anyway, trusting that Gill knows best. I start with the knife, reluctant to lift up my dress and pull the revolver out in front of these people.

“So beautiful, this Regina,” Maxine says, coming over to me and taking my knife from Gill's hand. She hefts the weight in her fingers and then smiles, turning and setting it down on the table along with her champagne flute. “I've heard so much about you, I feel like we know each other.” When Maxine turns back around, she steps closer to me and puts her hands on my waist. I open my mouth to protest, but the look on Gill's face tells me to be quiet.

I'm forced to stand there as Maxine pats me down like a TSA employee with OCD, touching the insides of my thighs and putting her hands places I'd only really like Gilleon to touch. I grit my teeth, glaring at Gill as I stand there, arms up and out, as Max checks me for weapons and then steps back with a smile. I know she felt the revolver because her hands went right over it, but she didn't take it from me. I'm confused as hell, but since neither Gill nor Maxine is mentioning it, I decide not to say anything. That's what Gill asked of me, isn't it? I'll stay quiet and observe then.

“Come, sit,” she says, as if she didn't just have her hands all over my body. I follow her instructions, sitting in the chair across from where Gill still stands, waiting as Karl moves over to him and the two take a whole moment staring into one another's eyes. In the back of my mind, I get that this guy, this seemingly charismatic gentleman, is the reason my mother is dead, that I was attacked in my home tonight, that Gilleon left me, but it's hard for me to put it all together. In spite of the weapon check, this evening is just too normal.

I sit down and accept a fresh glass of champagne, keeping my lips sealed and my eyes open. As Karl pats down my lover, I glance around and blink in surprise when the woman with the shy smile comes into the room and scoops our weapons into a wooden box, taking it away with the click of a lid.

The alcohol fizzles and bubbles between my tight fingers, but I don't take a drink, not unless Gill wants me to. We meet eyes across the coffee table as he takes a seat in the matching chair opposite me, a contraption made of steel pipes and covered with a thin beige cushion that does almost nothing to protect my ass from the metal underneath it. I can't read his expression, so I sit stone-still and let my eyes wander around the room.

“I'm so glad we could come together this evening,” Karl says, his voice as smooth as silk, distinguished, trustworthy.
Jesus.
“Let's call a toast.” He lifts his drink and gestures his chin in Gilleon's direction. Without a second of hesitation, Gill leans forward and takes his own glass, standing up and lifting it out to clink against Karl's. “To a peaceful negotiation.”

“I'll second that,” Max says with a velvety laugh. I follow along and stand with them all, lifting my own glass to theirs. When it hits Karl's, a chill travels down my spine and I feel my stomach twisting into knots. “Now, should we wait for appetizers or get down to business? I asked Kayla to make up something French.” She tosses a wink in my direction. “An
hors d'oeuvre,
they call it over there, am I right?”

It takes a considerable amount of effort not to bare my teeth. I can feel
mon visage laid
moving to take over my expression. I try not to sneer at her, at Karl, at the whole mess they've made of my life, Gill's life,
our
life.

“We're not here to eat,” Gill says, breaking the false niceties for the first time since we walked in the door.

“Oh, don't be like that, Gilly,” Max says, leaning back into the cushions, her arched brows raised nearly to her hairline.

“I'm sorry, but I've still got the taste of blood on my lips from earlier.”

Surprisingly enough, Karl laughs at that, like this is all some big practical joke, like
eight
fucking people didn't die tonight. I wonder briefly where Max's people go with the bodies but decide that's still not a subject I want on my mind, especially not now.

“Gilleon, don't exaggerate,” Karl says, sipping his drink, his eyes moving over to me, taking me in like a slide under a microscope. This guy is good, smart, prepared. How Gill thinks we're going to get the jump on him is beyond me. Right now, I feel trapped. When I look to Gill for reassurance, his face is shuttered and empty. “You were well aware that the actions you took would have consequences.” Karl pauses and sets his glass down, sitting back and folding his hands over his bent knee.
Consequences.
Like eight dead people at my house.

I suck in a breath.

Big mistake.

Everyone—including Gilleon—turns to look at me.

“What do you think, Regina? Food first? Or business?” Karl looks right at me, his expression innocent and untroubled, like it's not his fault my life took a completely different track than I'd planned.
But that doesn't matter now. None of it does. Gill and me, we're back together again. That's all that matters.
When I don't respond, Karl's mouth turns down in a gentle frown, like a grandfather catching his grandkid drawing on the walls. Disapproving, but not angry. “What's the matter, Mademoiselle Corbair?”

I curl the fingers of my free hand in the blue striped organza of my gown, biting back a hundred retorts that Karl absolutely deserves but that'll probably get me shot.
Fuck you, you creep.
I turn my lips up in a smile.