“Nora, that’s not true.” It can’t be.
“I’ll go to the council—the newspapers. You see if I don’t! I’ll tell them about the man who gave me fifty grand for God knows what, and I’ll tell them thatyoubrought him ’ere.”
I know she’s scared, but this is really too much.
“That is unfair, Nora. I’ve only ever helped you. Oliver isn’t behind this.” He can’t be.Can he? Not after everything we’ve been through.
“I knew she wouldn’t believe me.” Nora’s words turn distant, like she’s moved her mouth from the phone to speak to someone else.
“Is Duggan there with you?”
“He is,” she retorts pointedly.
I take a deep, calming breath and push away her angry vibe. “Let me speak to him.”
“No, I won’t. But he says he’ll send you a screen thingy with the proof.”
“Okay, whatever.” This is ridiculous. I’m tired, and I don’t want to believe this, yet there’s a tiny part of me that says I’ve been in this place before. Like the flicker of a flame, I know it’s there. That I should heed it. But I know it might hurt.
“Then you’ll see,” Nora states with satisfaction.
“Yeah, I guess I will.”
As an autumnal breeze picks up, I shiver and rub my arms. The sensible thing would be to move indoors, but I refuse to take this ...whateverinside the house. I need to know what she’s talking about before I see Oliver, because I don’t have what you might call a workable poker face. I do a pretty good line inDrop deadand an excellentGo fuck yourselfwhen I’m feeling it. But what I’m feeling right now is uneasiness.
I stare at my phone again, swiping my thumb across the screen. If Nora’s little juvie pal has been lying to her, I will, in her words, do for him—I’ll throw him to the macaques and let them teach him some fucking manners!
His text doesn’t arrive after five minutes, so I make the decision to take my gooseflesh inside and call her back, when the weight of a jacket suddenly drops onto my shoulders.
I’m far from thrilled.
“Give me a break,” I mutter, recognizing the scent of infidelity.It could easily be the name of his cologne.
“I remember the first time I slid my jacket onto your shoulders,” Mitchell says. “Remember? We were coming back from—”
“What do you want, Mitchell?” Memory lane isn’t a place I’m visiting with him.
“You weren’t always so prickly.” His words are softer than his expression.
“Wish I could say the same for you,” I mutter, yanking at the fabric and thrusting his jacket back at him. “Wait. Sorry. I just confusedpricklywithprick.”
“Evie.” He shakes his head slowly, as though I’ve said something funny. His smile used to make me feel noticed. Now it makes me feel nauseous.
“Go away, Mitchell. I have nothing nice to say to you.” Understatement of the year. I’d rather wrestle a tiger with catnip tied to my nipples than have any kind of discourse with him.
He catches my arm as I make to brush past him. I flinch, hating that tiny tell.
“Evie, please.”
“Let go of me,” I grate out, relieved when his hand retracts.
“I’m sorry about last time, at the palace. I’d been drinking, and I was just so angry. I’m not proud of what I said or did.”
I blink, momentarily stunned. This isn’t the direction I was expecting him to take, not that I accept his apology. He can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.
“I should’ve told you about the business, about the building being mine.”
I huff an unhappy laugh at where he chooses to start.
