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Dad was going to blow a gasket, no doubt about it, but I didn’t see a way around this.
“The porch,” I said, grinning at the kid’s crestfallen expression. “I do believe we’ll start with the porch.”
“What are you talking about?” the kid asked, following me through the red door into the shadowed foyer. “I’m here to learn how to play cards.”
“Yeah, but I liked my idea better.”
“I’m not going to fix up your house,” Miguel said, stopping and crossing his arms in the hallway. I turned.
“Then maybe I should call Juliette and tell her it’s off? You can wash cars at the station.”
“No way, man, a deal is a deal.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Richard demanded, stepping into the hallway from the dark library.
“Dad, don’t freak out—”
“Don’t freak out? There’s a kid in this house, and from what it sounds like, he’s going to be here a while.”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Miguel asked, suddenly a little gangster.
“No one,” I said, “ignore him.”
“He’s not staying,” Richard insisted.
I looked steadily at my father, balancing all my impulses to strangle him. “I don’t have a choice,” I bit out, “You called the cops.”
“Maybe I should just tell the chief that your dad don’t want me here,” Miguel said.
I rubbed my eyes, my face, ran my fingers through my hair, wishing I were back at the Bellagio with nothing more stressful than a massage to schedule.
“Miguel,” I sighed, putting my cards on the table, “you can’t tell Juliette about my dad. This whole thing will blow up if you do.”
“Then maybe you should teach me some cards—”
“Oh,” Richard said, brightening at the idea of an enthusiastic young pupil. “If this is about poker—”
“It’s not,” I said to my father. “We’re not teaching him the game. Ever.”
“Fine,” Richard said, heading into the kitchen, “but you better keep him out of the house and out of our way.”
Miguel’s face was all but glowing, the prospect of blackmail no doubt warming the little cockles of his devious heart.
“Let me stop you before you even get started.” I chuckled and put my hand on Miguel’s stiff shoulder. “You don’t want to be at that station. Even if I’m not teaching you cards, you’d rather be here. You tipped your hand, kid. I’ve seen every card you’ve got.”
I watched the kid digest it, the wheels turning behind those bright eyes.
“Now,” I said, my throat suddenly dry, my hands wet. Bluffing was nothing—I did it in my sleep, ordering breakfast, every single conversation with every other person in my life was mostly a bluff—but with Juliette in the mix, I wasn’t on my game. I couldn’t keep a clear head.
But Juliette could not know about my father.
“We can call Juliette and we can both of us tell her what’s happening. I’ll tell her you just want to learn to gamble and you can tell her about my dad. But she already expects the worst of me. She’s driving away right now pretty sure I’m lying to her. But if I’m forced to tell her that you’re making all this up—it’ll hurt her.”
The boy swallowed, swore under his breath and I could see that the idea of hurting Juliette bothered him.
So young, that kid, still so many people to disappoint and hurt. Years of doling out pain to people who might trust him, or God forbid love him, stretched out ahead of Miguel.
But it was obvious Miguel wasn’t going to start today, and he wasn’t going to start with Juliette.
Points to Miguel. He was way up on me.
There was a stab of pain in my chest, a wish that I could go back and feel that way again. Clean. Redeemable. I could barely remember what doing the right thing felt like.
“So, what?” Miguel asked. “I’m just gonna clean up your porch?”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “And maybe my windowsills.”
I led the boy through the old house, listening to him whistle under his breath as we stepped under the giant chandelier.
“What is this place?” Miguel asked.
“A relic,” I answered. I led the boy through the inner courtyard, manicured and pristine as a golf course.
“Whoa,” the kid breathed and I smiled. Shabby on the outside, but the old girl still had it where it counted. “This is like a mansion or something?”
“It was,” I answered. We stepped through the second set of doors, into the back part of the house, and I rested my hand on the brass doorknob leading to the back courtyard. “This place used to be a brothel,” I said and the kid snorted. “I’m not kidding. My great-great-great-grandfather built it. It’s been in my family for hundreds of years.”
Miguel nodded. “That’s cool.”
“It is. It is very cool, so you can imagine how I’d feel if anything happened to this place—”
“What are you saying?” Miguel asked, hot and bothered.
