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“Right,” I say, toying with the handle of my coffee mug. “He’s not my biggest fan, is he?”
Liam sighs. “Tristan’s not a bad guy, Vivi. He really isn’t. He’s gotten me out of my fair share of jams. He’s smart, connected, fast on his feet...”
“So then why does he hate me?”
“It’s not that.” Liam rubs his hand over his face, as if trying to wipe something out of his memory. “It’s just… in the business we’re in, there’s no room for error. Cracks form. People make mistakes. It happens to all of us—we’re not superhuman. And Tristan...” He sighs. “Let’s just say Tristan understands that better than most.”
“That’s awfully cryptic,” I observe.
Liam grins. “I’m a cryptic kind of guy,” he says, his emerald eyes twinkling, and I have to laugh. “But rest assured, I have your back. We all do.”
I duck my head and take a sip of my cappuccino. “Holy shit,” I murmur. “That’s the best damn coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah? You like it?”
I nod. “You didn’t tell me you were an enforcer and a barista.”
“I aim to please,” Liam says in a tone that’s ridiculously playful, and I realize again just how charming he is. I’m getting a little bit lost in his eyes, in the unflappable expression there that seems to come as naturally as breathing… Not only that, but there’s something about him that’s so open and to-the-point, so intense and yet totally laid back at the same time. But there’s no point waxing philosophical about Liam. It’s clear he, just like Tristan, is the kind of man you have to be careful around, unless you want to find yourself in an avalanche of trouble. And I’ve got more than enough trouble as it is.
ChapterTwenty-One
The rest of the day is a whirlwind of activity, and all of it centers around learning the ropes of Theo’s business operations. I’m introduced to an army of accountants, lawyers, and consultants; I’m told the secret codes to access some extremely high-tech computer systems; I’m even granted a brief glimpse inside a vault that houses millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry, fine art, and other priceless valuables. It all runs like a well-oiled machine: protection rackets, agreements with arms dealers, written and unwritten agreements with other criminal networks, in the U.K. and beyond... In short, it’s a criminal empire, and I’m smack in the middle of it.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Theo is out for the day, but I quickly make myself at home, learning the layout of the safe house and getting a who’s-who of all the important players from Liam and Tristan. Liam is a quick and enthusiastic teacher, who gestures wildly as he explains the ins and outs of everything from gambling dens to dodgy real estate investments, his eyes twinkling with amusement whenever I blink in surprise or lean over to ask a question. Tristan, for his part, is his usual cold and reserved self, sitting back and letting Liam do most of the talking, only chiming in every once in a while to correct a detail or give me a little bit of new information.
And yet, as I settle in and get used to the situation, I catch him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, his expression unreadable as he takes in my every move.
I catch Liam looking at me, too. And by the time they’ve covered everything on their agenda, leaving my head spinning in more ways than one, I realize that I may have signed myself up for more than I bargained for.
Theo gets home before dinner, greeting me in the foyer with a kiss that’s hot and possessive, but not the way Lucas kissed me back in London. It’s less like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends, and more like he’s re-establishing the physical connection between us, sending an unspoken signal to the others that I can’t seem to read, no matter how hard I try. I don’t have it in me to decipher it, and when he pulls back to take a phone call, his expression intense, I drift away toward the back garden, where more armed guards stalk around and the setting sun casts shadows over the manicured lawns and hedges. As I stare out into the distance, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on someone else’s planet, like I’ve entered a world that I can’t possibly understand. I felt the same way on my wedding night, I reflect, glancing down at the ring on my finger with a feeling of vague disgust. But that was a feeling of dread. What I’m feeling now, amongst these criminals I barely know, who could kill me in an instant? It’s not a feeling of fear; it’s one of possibility. And that confuses me more than I can explain.
What I need is to talk to someone, and there’s only one person I can think of who can possibly help put me back on planet earth. The only problem? She’s not supposed to know about any of this.
Biting the inside of my lip, I steal a glance back over my shoulder toward the mansion as I settle down on one of the garden benches, near where the hedges fence in the yard from the rest of the estates on the hill. The guards are on high alert, their rifles trained on all the possible routes of attack, but they aren’t looking at me, and why would they be? I’m the one they’re supposed to be protecting.
Squaring my shoulders and acting like the bad bitch I’m supposed to be learning how to be, I dig out my cell phone, the only thing I thought to take with me from the hospital. It’s been switched off since last night. I almost make the dangerous mistake of turning it on to make the call, then think better of it. Frowning, I eject the SIM card and break it in half, pocketing the fragments before fumbling for longer than I care to admit to connect to the internet without cell service. I hesitate a moment longer before starting up a Wi-Fi call, praying I’m not making the blunder of my life.
Tonight’s Callie’s night off, but Craig Sterling, the hot-headed manager of the gallery where we both work, could very well have made her cover for me. A pang of guilt goes through me at that as I wait for her to pick up, but there’s nothing to do about it at this point.
“Vivian?” Callie sounds both panicked and relieved when she answers. “Holy shit, Vivian, are you okay?”
“Uh... yes,” I reply. “I mean, yeah. More or less.”
“Where the hell are you?” she asks, practically beside herself. “What happened? Are you safe? Are you hurt?”
It hits me then that, as far as she’s concerned, I up and vanished from the hospital without a trace last night. “Oh my god, Callie. I’m so sorry—I’m fine, I swear.”
“Where are you? What happened?” Callie asks. “It’s been all over the news. They’re saying you disappeared from the hospital. Is that true? Where did you go?”
Fuck. I should’ve seen this part coming. God, did I really think I could just spill to my best friend without raising questions I can’t answer? I briefly consider hanging up and blaming a bad connection, but I can’t do that to Callie. She’s been nothing but a friend to me all these years, and I’ve kept enough secrets from her as it is.
But...
“I checked myself out,” I lie through gritted teeth. “I, ah, I’m kind of on the lam right now.” Poor choice of words, but it gets the point across.
“What do you mean, on the lam?” Callie asks. “Vivian, where are you?”
