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The man was handsome, and sincere, I had to give him that. But I still wasn’t about to let him in.
“I appreciate that, Greg. I do. But I know what I’m doing. There are…circumstances,” I whispered.
Greg watched me for a long moment and then held up his hands, indicating he’d back off.
He took a small handful of packaged pills out of his lab coat. “I’ve given him two. He’ll need another two in six hours.”
He dumped the samples in my hands, his fingers brushing mine.
Feel something, I willed my nerve endings, come on, just a little zing.
But there was nothing.
Of course, because I was an idiot, Tyler O’Neill and his broken-down face and heartless grin popped into my mind, and just the thought of him electrified me, put the hair on my arms on end.
That’s what you want? I asked myself ruthlessly. The answer, of course, was no, the by-product of all that fire had been third-degree burns, a life-altering pain.
“Come on, Miguel,” I murmured, giving the boy’s shoulder a shake. Miguel flinched, then came to, clearly disoriented and drowsy, and I helped him to his feet.
Fifteen minutes later, I stopped in front of The Manor, stared through my window at the red door and took a few deep breaths.
“Hey, Ty,” I whispered, practicing my cheerful approach. “You’ll never guess, it’s funny really, but your car almost got stolen last night.”
I pressed my fist to my forehead. “Okay—” I tried straightforward “—look, Ty, we’ve got a situation. Your car is fine and I need you to work with me. I need you—”
I need you.
My stomach rolled and my skull pounded. Ten years later and I needed him. Frankly, I’d rather take out my gun and blow off my left toe than face Tyler, but Miguel needed me.
I glanced in the rearview mirror to where Miguel slept, his head pressed to the backseat window, his black hair flat against the glass.
“Please, you son of a bitch,” I whispered, “please be reasonable.”
TYLER
Fire ants were eating my brain and it was making me acutely, painfully unreasonable.
Or maybe it was just my father.
“I’m telling you,” Dad said, scrambling eggs without his shirt on. Sunlight coming in through the kitchen window hit his chest hair and put a halo around him.
Ironic. So. Ironic.
“I was staying in Malibu and I grew this beard and everyone thought I was George Clooney. I didn’t pay for a meal for three whole weeks.”
I listened with half an ear, distracted by the fire ants.
“You listening to me, Tyler?”
“Can’t you put on a shirt?” I asked, concerned about those eggs and my father’s copious chest hair.
Richard dropped the spatula. “What is with you? Ty? You didn’t say two words to me last night.”
“I let you in, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and then you slammed the door to your room like a teenager. What happened to your face?”
“It got punched.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Fine, then you don’t pretend that arriving here, of all places, is just business as usual.”
Richard crossed his arms over his big chest. Pushing sixty and he still looked good. He could pass for Clooney.
One more scam to add to his repertoire.
“That’s what’s bothering you?”
“I haven’t seen you in eight months! One minute you’re living on my couch the next you’re gone without a word. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, Dad.”
“I told you I was going to L.A.—”
“No, you didn’t. You said, ‘I miss the ocean.’” I held out my arms in exasperation. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Okay.” Richard nodded, like some kind of grief counselor or something. “I get that you are upset.”
Oh, it was hard not to laugh. Dad got that I was upset. Hilarious.
“But,” Richard continued, “we have things to talk about, son. Things—”
“Gems?” I asked, cutting through the half hour of bullshit my father was ready to shovel out before getting to the point.
Richard gaped, for just a moment, which was akin to anyone else in the world falling down in a dead faint.
“You know about them?” Richard asked, slowly turning the flame off under the eggs.
“I had a little conversation with local law enforcement last night. Apparently, Mom was snooping around here last month looking for some stolen gems. The cop said there’d been some suspicious activity around the house lately. Windowsills damaged, bushes trampled.”
Richard pursed his lips. “I’ve lost my touch.”
“Apparently. Why don’t you tell me what you know about these gems?” I asked.
“Seven years ago I was hired to steal the Pacific Diamond, Ruby and Emerald from the Ancient Treasures collection at the Bellagio.”
I whistled through my teeth and Dad smiled, cock of the walk.
“Right, not easy. Luckily, I had a friend who knew the Bellagio like the back of his hand. He’d been sleeping with one of the pit bosses. Joel Woods—”
“Woods? Why do I know that name?”
“Your sister is traveling the world with Joel’s son, Matthew.”
