Page 35 of Stealing Blinds

“Oh my goodness.” A ring of laughter pours from me. I swipe my key fob to enter my building and gape at the beaming Noire staring back at me. “Is your brother okay? What the hell was that?”

“That, my radiant friend, was the Underground, La Lune Noire’s employee haven. And all parties involved survived with minimal battle scars.”

“It looks like chaos.” I step into the elevator and press my floor. “Forget the collision. Are there always farm animals there?”

“At least once a month,” he quips, but I think he’s serious.

No wonder he was so easygoing at Peter’s party despite knowing I was on a job. They deal in darkness, but treat life like a celebration.

I can’t stop laughing. “Who the hell is in charge?”

“Maddox and me. Of course.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” I’m still trying to tamp down my amusement when the elevator spits me out. The ease of it all is a welcome surprise until I tromp down the hall, bumbling and twisting my ankle when I notice a letter sticking out of my door. “Shit.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I just … stepped wrong and hurt my ankle.” I examine the envelope and glance around the empty corridor. I should hang up to see what I’m dealing with and whether the pit in my stomach is warranted, but in a strange turn of events, I feel safer with Cash on the phone. “It’s fine. Just give me a second.”

“Are you home? Go inside and put some ice on it …” He keeps talking, but I tune him out as I unlock the door and shut myself inside.

After I set my phone on my countertop, I tear open the envelope and pull out a small piece of paper.

You didn’t cover your tracks as well as you think you did. Get rid of him.

“Fuck.”

I flip the paper and the envelope over, but there’s nothing else. I’m going to be sick.

“Sylvie.” Cash’s voice finally garners my attention, and he sounds desperate. “Fucking talk to me, baby.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, realizing he can see part of my face. “I guess I hurt it more than I thought. It’ll be fine, but I’d better go so I can prop it up.”

“You’re pale. You must be in a lot of pain. I’ll come out there.”

He’ll come out here? Because I sprained my ankle?

“No, no, don’t do that. It’s nothing really. And … I’m going to Florida.” I don’t know why I shared that. I will probably be going now, but I certainly shouldn’t be telling anyone.

“Florida? For what?” Every syllable is rife with suspicion. He’s too perceptive. He senses that something more than my ankle is off.

“Cash, I gotta go. I’ll text you later.” I end the call—more abruptly than he likely appreciates, but I can’t worry about that—and I dial my mom. “Tell me Flora isn’t visiting you this week.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best opener, but my mind is a cyclone of dreadful theories, and I don’t think I can handle my sister right now.

“No, she’s back home.” She resists the sigh she undoubtedly wants to expel, but she’s as perceptive as Cash, so she doesn’t miss the urgency in my tone. “Why?”

“I got a weird note.”

“Got it where? Read it to me,” she demands in that motherly authority that somehow blends rage and compassion.

“It was stuck in my door.” My stomach jumps to my throat as I read her the note.

She mumbles a string of curses before finally gathering her thoughts. “Think it’s Danny?”

“Maybe.”

Other possibilities flit through my mind—Peter Fairfax, E, or any number of assholes I’ve clashed with. The fact that I have too many names to list of people who’d want to threaten me speaks volumes, but I don’t drag her into that unfortunate web. For all I know, this could be a courteous warning.