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“And our objective?”
Bartholomew ignored the question and crossed the room.
I tagged along, unsure if this would end in a civil conversation or gunfire. Either one was just as likely.
With a woman on his arm, Kline spoke to another pretentious man in a tuxedo.
Bartholomew made himself right at home and walked straight up to them both.
The conversation died instantly. Both men stared.
Bartholomew stared down the man on the right, the tension heavy for several feet in every direction.
Without saying a word, the man walked off, getting the message.
Kline released a sigh as he turned to the woman on his arm. “Why don’t you make a bid on the paintings you like? I’ll join you in a moment.”
She was used to being told what to do—because she skirted off without question.
Kline took a drink of his champagne, probably just to wet his throat. “How can I help you?”
There had been several nights when my presence felt unnecessary. I could be home with my daughter, but Bartholomew liked having me around. I’d been out of the game a long time, but the people who remembered me from the good ol’ days respected me, so it probably gave him an edge he didn’t have when I was gone. “You remember Benton?”
I gave him a nod.
“Yes,” Kline said. “It’s been a while. What do you want?”
“No small talk, huh?” Bartholomew asked. “Good, because your yachts and mistresses don’t interest me. I need you to set up one of your snob parties—me and Carlyle as your guests.”
Kline glanced at the people around him from time to time, as if he was embarrassed to be seen talking to people in street clothes. Perhaps that was why Bartholomew bombarded him at that moment instead of having a phone call—it put the pressure on. “That bridge was made of steel, and you still managed to burn it down.”
Bartholomew’s stare was cold and hard, packed with a punch that didn’t require a fist. “It needed a remodel.”
“The answer is no, Bartholomew—”
“Then I’ll host my own dinner party. Your wife and two mistresses. Should be fun.”
Kline’s face instantly blanched.
I gave a subtle shake of my head. “And I thought I was supposed to be the bad guy…”
Bartholomew ignored me, his dark eyes on his opponent. “Text me the details.” His work finished, he walked away.
Kline watched him go before he turned to me. “Son of a bitch…”
Seven
Constance
Benton said I was welcome to his Range Rover to run errands, so I took the two of us shopping. I helped her pick out a couple gifts for her exchange with her friends, helped her pick out something for Benton, and I grabbed a few other things when she looked the other way. We pulled into the garage then walked into the house, my arms full of bags that we then sprawled out on the table.
“Can we wrap everything now?”
“Let’s have lunch first. What do you want?”
“Hot dogs.”
I chuckled and carried one of the bags toward my bedroom. “Try again.”
“Why are you taking that bag away?” A curious child with a million questions, she fired away, inquisitive.
“It’s just my makeup.”
“I don’t remember you buying makeup.”
I should have done this shopping before she was home from school, but I hadn’t planned ahead. Now that was she was home every day, I had to find ways to keep her entertained, and while I liked having her around, it was also nice having her outside the house for a full day. A lot easier to get stuff done. “Never mind. Let’s do the hot dogs.”
Her eyes instantly lit up. “Alright.” She moved into the kitchen to pull them out of the freezer.
I carried the bag in my bedroom and hid it in the closet so Claire wouldn’t discover it by mistake. Once the door was shut, I turned to go, but I spotted something out of place on the nightstand.
It was a statue.
Of an angel.
Not a shiny ceramic one from a department store. This was made of real stone, with pieces of dirt still stuck to the bottom along with bits of moss.
My heart stopped, and then the jolt of sheer terror that followed immediately kicked it back into motion. My eyes darted to the window, which looked the same as I last saw it, and then the doorway, knowing we weren’t alone.
I was instantly thrown back in time, back to the person I used to be, a survivor.
“Benton…” My hand reached for my back pocket and pulled out the phone, but the shakes were so bad that I dropped it on the floor before I could even get the light on.
That was when the front door opened.
There was no time to think. Only time to act.
I grabbed the knife in my nightstand then moved into the hallway. My knife raised with the intention to kill, I swung it before that grotesque smile could make me lose all my nerve. I would stab and stab until all his blood was drained and he was just bones.
