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Without complaint, Genevieve kicks off her heels and takes a seat at the table. Booker sets another beer in front of her, and she takes it with a grateful smile.
“Did we get what we needed?” Genevieve takes a sip of the beer and gestures towards the bags.
Archer nods. “The computer files will be sent anonymously to the cops. There was plenty to incriminate him.”
“And there were plenty of jewels in the safe that’ll fetch a nice sum,” Booker adds. “I’ll never understand why they buy jewels and hide them away.”
“They are investments for most.” Genevieve shrugs. “I have some in a safety deposit box.”
“None of that matters,” I rumble, interrupting their conversation. Everyone looks at me with my harsh words. Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. “He recognised you.”
“We talked our way out of it,” Eric argues.
“But he recognised her anyway,” I snarl. “Despite the disguise and the voice, he was still suspicious. Who’s to say her identity won’t dawn on him a few days later when he’s watching the local news?”
Archer remains silent in his seat, his face pinched in contemplation.
Genevieve studies me, her eyes bright. “It was a close call. You’re right,” she agrees. “But I think we’ll be okay this time.”
“And the next time?” I ask, focusing on her. “What happens when someone calls you by name? What happens when that rumour spreads and then you’re linked to the thefts?”
She doesn’t answer, her eyes on my face and the obvious worry she sees there. Everyone is silent, reality sitting heavily in the air. Like me, they realised we’ve been playing a little game, a silly dream. Genevieve isn’t like the other elite, but she’s still one of them in their eyes. She’s publicly known, so taking her on hits was a foolish plan, and we’d all been too excited to notice.
Finally, after several long minutes of silence, what needs to be done appears in my mind. It’s simple, so simple, but…
“You have to go back,” I say. The look on her face has me backpedalling, desperate to make her understand. “Not because we want to get rid of you. Fuck. Don’t take it like that.”
“How else am I supposed to take it?” she queries, but there’s a note in her voice that shows me all the hurt my words caused.
“I don’t mean you have to leave us,” I snarl, annoyed with myself. “I just mean that you’re a public figure. The country is looking for you. You should go back and claim your assets, say you don’t remember what happened and…”
“And what?” she prompts, lifting her chin. “Sneak away in the middle of the night like a teenager?”
Eric scowls. “She can stay with us. She doesn’t have to—”
“Gage is right,” Archer interrupts, “but he’s doing a shit job of explaining it.” He directs a glare at me that has me running a hand through my hair in annoyance. Fuck, I never said I was a good speaker, and the way Genevieve won’t look at me has me rubbing my aching chest.
“The news is reporting that you could possibly be dead,” Archer continues. “Chaz is all over it, supposedly mourning while being sighted with different heiresses. I think it’s time for your biggest act yet.” His eyes focus on Genevieve. “Coming back from the dead.”
“But what will that mean for…this?” Genevieve gestures around the table, and I understand what she’s asking. What will happen to our family?
“It’ll stay.” Archer shrugs. “We’ll be more careful, and you’ll be the perfect intel gatherer while in the limelight.” He pauses and glances at me, and I see the question. When I nod my head, he sighs. “I think it’s time we tell you exactly how we came to be in your home, Genevieve.”
She straightens. “I was just another hit. I get it. You didn’t know me then.”
Archer shakes his head. “No, we were sent there. You were chosen. Not by us, but by our inside man when he gave us shitty intel.”
Genevieve shifts, sensing where this is going. “And who sent you?” Genevieve inquires, but she already knows. I can see it in her eyes.
“His family is going bankrupt,” Booker murmurs. “That’s why he made a deal with us at first. He was willing to throw his colleagues and acquaintances under the bus for a cut of the money after each hit.”
“He was always a fucking twat,” Eric comments. “We just didn’t realise how much until we met you.”
“He gave us your name,” I add, watching her carefully, “when he nearly botched a hit and gave us the wrong information. He told us you had plenty of money to replace whatever we took, that you were so wealthy, he’d happily give up some of your wealth before he married you.”
Genevieve blinks. “And you’ve waited until now to tell me this?”
“We weren’t sure if we should tell you just how much of an asshole he is,” Eric says softly. “You already knew some of it.”
