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Rafael laid his hand over mine, bringing me out of my musing. “The letter,” he said. “What does it say?”
My jaw clenched. Removing Saylor’s parting gift from my pocket, I read the swirly name written on the embossed envelope: Luna Sinclair.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I haven’t opened it yet. Maybe it’s my transfer papers—prefilled.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Why not? What’s it matter now?
Sliding my finger under, I broke the seal and pulled out the note. I frowned, reading it once, twice, three times.
“Luna Sinclair,” I read, “you are cordially invited to the home of Saylor Burkhardt on the night of Saturday, September Twenty-Ninth at eight thirty p.m. This invitation grants you admittance, present it to the guard at the gate. Yours, Saylor Burkhardt.”
I flipped it over, looking for the “gotcha!” written on the back. “What the hell is this? She gets me jumped, punches me in the face, and then cordially invites me to her place for tea? Is this a trick? A trap?”
“Traps don’t usually come with an invitation.” Rafael’s attention broke from the road. He stared at the invite with the same expression. “But yeah, that’s weird as hell. Why would she ask you there? No one gets an invite to Burkhardt Manor.”
“They don’t?”
“If you’re Alvar, Starling, or the other one,” Rafael said, waving off Saylor’s gorgeous friends who hit on him every chance they got. “Sure, they’re on the guest list. Otherwise, that’s not the place you stop by when you’re in the neighborhood. Every party they host is in the country club. Business meetings in the office.
“My dad’s done five jobs for the senator and he’s never been inside— Correction, my father’s never been invited inside. As it is, Dad hasn’t visited the place in daylight.”
My brain latched on to his last comment. “Senator Burkhardt hired your father five times? Your father the supposed hit man?”
“You can drop the supposed. And yes.”
“Why?” I sat up straighter and cringed, instantly regretting jostling my wrist. “Are you telling me our elected representative of this United States has paid for five people to be murdered?”
“I’m not saying that, even though it’s likely, because my dad honors client confidentiality. He carries out many jobs for people and not all of them require killing. For a senator, it works as well to destroy an opponent’s reputation. The risk of a life sentence isn’t necessary. But again, I can’t say for sure,” he admitted. “I don’t know the details of those five jobs.”
“Who am I to talk?” I asked, pushing down my unease. “There are five men I plan to murder too.”
“Is it still five, Luna? After today?”
I gazed down at my bad arm, emotions swelling. Hurting Iris, Eva, Saylor, and the rest of them was the single thing I could want as much as seeing Owen, Levi, Giovanni, and the others ruined beyond saving. But—
“It’s still five. Those five took a life. Saylor and the Bitch Crew didn’t. I’m not that far gone yet, Rafael. Why?” I heard myself ask. “What would you do if you were me?”
Rafael turned off the paved road, shutting off the headlights. “I’ll show you.”
Moonlight lit our path, leading us down a single stretch of road. I recognized where we were without asking.
The Bluffs.
Small, rising cliffs lined a private stretch of beach on the north side. Part-time summer Regalians built their beach homes overlooking the bluffs, walking out on their balconies to watch sea-foam sprinkle the shore as they sipped imported coffee and cheered their lives. The night before I crashed the yacht and bought myself a one-way ticket to France, my friends and I partied in one of these beach houses.
I looked back on that night almost every day, wondering what would’ve changed if I hadn’t been so drunk, stupid, and determined to impress my new rich friends. Maybe I wouldn’t have been sent away. Maybe I would’ve been here for Winter.
Rafael reached the end of the road and kept driving, rumbling up the hill and cutting the engine right before the cliff gave way.
“Wait here,” he said.
“Why?”
He climbed out, leaving me twisting in my seat, tracking him. Rafael popped the trunk and disappeared behind it. My confusion grew as he thumped and shuffled around back there.
After ten minutes, I popped open my door, sticking my head out. “Rafael? Is everything okay?”
“Fantastic, Cloud Girl. You can come out.”
I did so—inching around to the back of the car. “Oh my goodness,” I breathed. “What’s all this?”
“Part one of cheering you up.”
Two foldable chairs planted in the grass. A blanket took up one. Rafael draped it over my shoulders, using it to tug me forward and onto my seat. Between the chairs sat a small table carrying drinks—one of them a can of peach soda.
“Part two.” Rafael opened the cooler tucked inside the trunk and lifted out two covered plates. My stomach growled just smelling the scents wafting under the tinfoil. “Empanadas, fried plantains, cilantro lime rice, chips and salsa.”
