Page 111 of Brutal Truths

“I think it’s time, Alma.” I run a hand over my face, wishing we’d had this conversation before. “Time to stop before we get in too deep.”

The truth presses in harder than I’d like. We should’ve stopped years ago. Before Sofia ever became a part of it. If Alma had shared she was grooming our daughter to be the next best art thief, I could’ve put an end to it. Pushed her toward the legitimate side of her art brokering business—the one that paid well, just not well enough.

Because that’s the truth. Crime pays. And once you’ve had a taste of that forbidden fruit, it’s tough not to go back for more. It draws you in, bit by bit, until greed takes hold and refuses to let go.

“Hogwash.” She waves me off without a second thought. “You worry too much.”

My fist slams against the desk, my anger getting the best of me. “I worry because I know what this adventure will cost us.”

“Can you magically see the future?” She struggles to her feet and shakes her head. “Stop being silly. Nothing is going to happen.”

I catch her wrist before she can step away. “You’re wrong. More happens than you realize. It costs us everything—our sanity, our peace. It leaves us trapped in a space we can’t escape. Lies upon lies, until there’s nothing left of us but what we’ve become. I would undo it all if I could. Every day, I think about it.”

Rolling her eyes again, Alma smiles. “You’ve had too much scotch.” Her fingers brush my cheek, gentle despite the dismissal. “It’s messing with your head. Now hurry so we can go to bed. I’m tired.”

Leaning forward, she kisses my forehead, light and familiar. “Everything will be fine, Rico. Trust me. I think I’ll sit in the gallery for a bit. Clear my head. Come find me when you’re finished.”

I let her go. Know as soon as she walks out of this office, she won’t remember a thing we talked about. She’ll return to the woman who can’t remember her children are dead and that we played a horrible part in their deaths. We may not have killed them, but our actions led them to the people who did. It’s a guilt I’ve had to live with for so damn long.

The door closes behind her, and I get back to work. I need to make sure everything is in order before I can even think about calling it a night. By the time I finish filing the last of the paperwork, my mobile phone rings. I pick it up, noting the time—over two hours since Alma left—and frown at the caller ID.

Why is he calling me this late?

I barely get the phone to my ear before he speaks. “I hear you had a visitor earlier.”

“I handled it,” I say, already on my feet. “Like I always do.”

I move through the office as I talk, going through my checklist out of habit. Desk locked. Safe secured. Nothing left where it shouldn’t be.

“Tell your boss there’s nothing to worry about. I convinced them it would take a few days for things to clear. That the painting will be back with Mr. Doyle in time for them to do whatever it is they plan on doing. All I want is for everyone to leave me out of this. I’ve done everything that was asked of me. Now I’d appreciate it if you left me out of it.”

“That’s not how it works.” His voice carries that same eerie steadiness. “What do you think Alma will do when she realizes what you’ve done?”

“She can’t remember what happened yesterday, so it doesn’t really matter.” I switch off my office light as I step into the hall. “If anyone will react, it’ll be my granddaughter. She’ll probably disown me.”

“You don’t need to worry about her.” There’s something in his tone that sets me on edge. “She’ll be well taken care of.”

I stop walking, not liking what he’s insinuating. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying you shouldn’t worry.” His voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “By tomorrow, all your worries will disappear.”

The line goes dead.

I’m tempted to call Trent and give him a piece of my mind, but I don’t feel like dealing with him again tonight. Once a week is more than enough. I’ll deal with him in the morning. When I’ve had time to clear my head.

Before turning in, I stop by the gallery. It’s locked up tight. I don’t bother going inside. If Alma is in there, she’ll be fine. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s fallen asleep among her paintings.

These days I suspect she prefers it there. At least in there she’ll be safe. No one can get inside without a key. It’s the safest place to be—her favorite as well. She can sit there for hours, lost in her thoughts. I think it’s the one place where, no matter how far her mind drifts, time no longer matters.

The men who stopped by early this evening… I don’t trust them. I wouldn’t put it past them to return and do something reckless. They weren’t invited. It’s a good thing I was prepared. I expected Mr. Cygan to see how far he could push me. Not far. I didn’t budge. His threats were nothing more than words. I refuse to be bullied by a man who won’t even show his face. That tells me all I need to know about the man.

His men were less convincing. They didn’t like being sent away shortly after Mr. Theiss left. Why Mr. Cygan changed his mind about making an appearance, I couldn’t say—frankly, I don’t care. I was simply relieved to have them gone before Alma and Isabel returned from their night out. It gave me some peace of mind to know those men were gone and held no threat to the two most important women in my life.

For now I believe that to be enough. Until I step into my bedroom and close the door, and realize I’m not alone.

I don’t see anyone, but I sense them. “Don’t be a coward. Show yourself.”

He steps out and I know then this night will not end well.