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“Of course.”
She nodded, and clicked the door shut.
I slipped into the dress, finding it slightly difficult to zip up on my own, but I wasn’t about to call Rada or Theo back in for help. There weren’t any shoes provided, and I realized, with a deep, despairing sigh, I’d have to wear my bear traps again. After folding up my old clothes and hanging my damp towel, I made my way back downstairs in bare feet, idly wondering why, in a mansion with so many rooms, we were returning to the drawing room. I would’ve been keen to see the rest of this place, but perhaps Rada had her own secrets to keep.
The room was directly to the left of the staircase, so I had no trouble re-finding it. Theo was already there, in his surprisingly unrumpled suit, his short brown hair still damp from the—our—shower together. He was turned away, his profile a lemon-soaked outline from the setting sun out of the tall windows.
At the sound of my approach, he faced me, and his carefully constructed mask of indifference slipped. In that remarkable way he could, he took in every part of me, so much so that even my pores were exposed to his scrutiny, before he landed on my hair.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Theo never met Cassie, but I felt as if he were staring like there were two of me, one beside the other, and it was with rare endearment that his lips lifted as his brows came down. My hand unclenched, as if I could hold Cassie’s through the air.
I opened my mouth to say thank you, to hopefully extend this unique, stupefying moment that was between Theo, me and Cassie, but it was broken.
“Are you hungry?”
Rada appeared on my left, and at her suggestion, my stomach rumbled my answer.
“Good,” she said. “I’m having a few small things made, so we can pick while we talk.”
I suppressed a sigh. Playing often caused a lot of hor d’euvres to be passed under my nose, as it was easier to eat small bites in order to play big games, but I sorely missed big steak dinners and the buttery mound of mashed potatoes that usually went beside it.
“Shall we lay out the ground rules?” Rada asked, perching on the same sofa-chair she’d chosen previously. It was the perfect position to take in the entire room, and everybody in it. A hidden throne. It resembled every other gray decoration, but so thoughtfully placed that one wouldn’t miss a thing—from the archway into the foyer to the hidden door carved out of the wainscoted wall leading to what I supposed was a hallway to the kitchen. Rada’s staff came and went only through that entrance.
On cue, a staff member unobtrusively pushed through the door carrying a tray of finger sandwiches.
My stomach frowned.
Theo thanked the woman as she set down the tray in the middle of us but seemed to sense my disappointment because he cut a warning my way before reaching for cucumber-stuffed bread that was maybe a third of the size of his palm print.
“I’ve spoken to my source,” Rada said, with no acknowledgement of her staffer between us. “And he’s confirmed Trace’s presence, of a sort, at the game tonight.”
“Any chance you want to name that source?” Theo asked.
“Of course not,” Rada said.
“Then how can we know he’s credible?”
“If you consider me to be trustworthy, or,” she allowed, “trustworthyenough, then you may also consider him to be so.”
Theo tensed, but I cut in. “This is what we have, Sax. We might as well go with it.”
“Considering Trace isn’t even keeping his own family in the loop, I would say you should,” Rada added. “Why is he keeping away, anyway? I thought he and your father were close.”
“They are,” Theo said. “But my father tends to … punish. After the bust involving Scarlet, Trace didn’t want to return. I assume he wanted to make an independent name for himself, make our father proud.”
“Yes, and how’s that going?” Rada asked.
“He’s making money,” was all Theo said.
“And piling up bodies, from what I hear.” She slid a glance over at me. “Female ones.”
“Trace is out of control, which is why my father wants him back.”
“Assuming you can catch him,” Rada said. “Do you really think you’re the only one who’s looking for this man? The eldest Saxon brother is making enemies as much as he’s collecting bodies. The FBI has him on their Most Wanted list, don’t they? Which makes me wonder…” Rada leaned forward as I stiffened, “what price is all this to you, Sax? What terrible situation have you gotten yourself into? And bringing her in, no less.”
To give myself something to do other than slap the sneer off Rada’s carefully lipsticked face, I reached for a stupid mini-sandwich.
