Page 40 of Stealing Blinds

Every muscle in my body tenses, and despite her demand, a murderous wrath courses through my veins. “That warrants further explanation. I didn’t peg you as a raving hockey fan. Are you protecting him or her?”

It’s clear in her demeanor that she isn’t protecting him, but inciting her is my best chance at getting details.

She snickers, cool and collected. “I’d have his head up on the shelf with that Mardi Gras mask if it wouldn’t make things worse for her.”

A theory I had a while ago solidifies with that, but I’ll save that interrogation for Sylvie. For now, I simply tip my glass. “Noted.”

Sterling sips her wine, quietly appraising me. “Noires don’t chase people. They expect everyone to come to them. But here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“And this friend bullshit?”

“Her idea.”

“Your reputation for having a different lady every night?”

“Accurate.” I ash my cigarette and meet her eyes. “Until your daughter.”

“Why?”

I don’t respond right away because there’s a lot unknown here, and I want to be honest. So, I take another drag and another swill and settle into an explanation I think Sterling will appreciate. “For my twelfth birthday, my mom took me to see David Copperfield. It was a show called An Intimate Evening of Grand Illusion. I was blown away, like everyone in the audience.”

“I’ve seen him perform as well. He’s wonderful.” Intrigue escorts that, so I’m on the right track.

“It was the most incredible night.” My mind briefly lingers on how special it was because with five siblings, a night alone with my mom was rare, but I brush that away. “It stuck with me, and I realized that the most fascinating things in life were due to what you didn’t see. We’re mesmerized by illusions, but the real craft is offstage.”

“So, you’re fascinated by my daughter’s skills?”

“Yes, but no.” I chuckle, snuff out my cigarette, and wet my mouth with a little more Pappy Van Winkle. “I don’t know what’s happening with Sylvie, partly because she’s slippery. I’ve spent more time chasing her than being with her. I won’t promise you things or say what you want to hear to garner your approval. Or to win her over through you. You already know this is new for me. I need to get to know her. Better. And she needs to want that. I think she will in time … or she already does, but it’s buried under a steel resolve.”

“And David Copperfield?” She flicks her ashes into a tray, both eyes on me, as promised. “Where does he come in?”

“With your daughter, I’m desperate to know what’s behind the scenes, but the art of who she is isn’t hidden or an illusion. It’s in every word and laugh and subtle movement. The magic is her.”

Crickets—literal ones—are the only noise. Not a word for a good minute, until …

“Fucking Christ.” But she’s wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “And she danced with you.”

“She did,” I confirm, despite it not being a question. I drag a hand down my jaw, recalling what a goddess she was in that red dress, how she moved with both grace and authority.

My mother, the whimsical Leslie Noire, thought dancing solved any problem. That was what she told my siblings and me when we were young anyway. It’s so ingrained in who we are. And Sylvie … my mom would’ve been wowed.

Instead of divulging all that, I sum it up simply. “She’s good.”

“Very good, but rusty.” Sterling blows a plume of smoke toward the door, glancing that way, as if she’s envisioning another era. “It’s been a long time since she let herself enjoy even a moment.”

I’m not sure what to do with the weight of that, so I recalibrate. “Your turn to spill. What’s she mixed up in?”

“She won’t tell you that either?”

“No.”

She sighs and smashes her cigarette in her ashtray. “That’s a mistake.”

“Agreed. One that you’ll remedy?” I notice her reluctance, but I’m not leaving this office without at least a crumb of what’s going on. “I’ve asked her a few times, tried to prove that I can be trustworthy, and talked about my family’s resources. She met my brothers. Axel assured her he could help. Maybe she doesn’t grasp the power in that, but you should. There is nothing he can’t solve. And I don’t buy that the only issue earlier was that she twisted her ankle.”

Conflict sparks in her eyes, but its retreat is brisk. “Heath had a friend. One who helped us out after he was arrested. Our assets were frozen for a while. We were being watched. No one believed I was innocent, so he stepped in.”