“If I were the danger, Birdie,” he says softly, “you would already know it.”
My breath catches.
There it is again.
Birdie.
I thought having him call me that would be safer, but it’s not.
He straightens before I can answer.
“I’ve changed my mind. We’re leaving this evening. Be ready by five.”
Then he turns and heads for the door.
I stare after him. “Why Chicago?”
His hand rests on the knob. He doesn’t look back when he answers.
“Because here,” he says, “someone got close enough to poison you.”
He opens the door.
“In Chicago,” he finishes, voice like a promise dragged through hell, “they’ll have to come through me first.”
22
Lorenzo
It’s ten minutes past five, and Elizabeth still hasn’t come downstairs. I’m just about to go get her when I hear the bedroom door open overhead. Then she appears at the top of the stairs wearing one of those fucking sundresses.
For one raw second, all I can do is look.
The dress is soft and pale pink and made for sunlight, not for a house filled with armed guards. It skims over her body in a way that feels deliberately cruel, reminding me of the boutique.
I have to resist the urge to adjust myself.
So.
That’s how she wants to play this.
Well, two can play that game.
She starts down the stairs slowly, one hand wrapped around the railing, careful with each step. The sight reaches into me and twists something I don’t like having touched. She’s still pale and weaker than she wants me to notice. The dress might be a provocation, but the hand on the railing is not. Neither is the way she pauses on the landing to steady herself.
My mouth hardens.
Whatever sharp remark I was preparing dies before it reaches my tongue.
By the time she reaches the last step, I’ve rebuilt my expression into something cool enough to hide the damage.
“Late,” I say.
Her gaze flickers to me.
“Good evening to you too,Dave.”
My eyes drift over her once, slowly, because if she’s going to bait me, I’m going to make sure she feels me noticing. Her chin lifts by half an inch. Good. Let her know I noticed the dress.
