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It takes a while for our breathing to steady, but when it does, Liam is the first one to speak. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, Vivi.”
I give a breathless laugh. “You’re not the only one.”
“Hope I didn’t disappoint,” he says, reaching over to tangle his fingers with mine.
“Believe me,” I tell him, “you didn’t.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead, his lips curling into a smile against my skin. “Not a bad way to end the night, all things considered,” he murmurs. “Almost enough to forget you’ve got half the underworld after you.”
“Yeah,” I reply, closing my eyes for a moment. “Almost.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Lucas
Lucas rises to his feet behind his office desk so abruptly that the chair he was sitting on skids out behind him, coming to rest against the wall. “I’m sorry?” he asks in a low voice. Sienna opens her mouth to reply, but he holds up a hand. “I could’ve sworn you just said you didn’t know.”
The dark-haired woman presses her lips together. “That is exactly what I said.”
“So, let me get this straight...” He begins to pace the length of the room, his heavy footsteps ringing in the air. “The men you sent to follow up on this cell phone lead—the men you claimed were the best you had-have not only not found my wife, but they’ve disappeared. Is that what you’re saying?”
Tristan’s ex-girlfriend grits her teeth but doesn’t look away, and he has to give her credit for that. “They’ve gone dark, but they may still return.”
“Or,” Lucas replies, “they may be at the bottom of the ocean right now with bricks tied to their feet.”
“Maybe,” Sienna concedes. “Either way, we know where to look next, don’t we?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You really are slow, aren’t you?” she demands, taking a step toward him.
Lucas snarls. “Don’t you fucking—”
“If my men return,” Sienna interrupts, “they’ll be able to tell us where the trail picks up. If they don’t, it’s because Theo’s men got to them first, and that means we’re on the right track.”
“Or it means they wandered too close to any of my brother’s dozen damned safe houses and got themselves blown away, and we’re no closer to knowing which one is the right one.” Lucas flings his hands up. “This is fucking useless. You’re telling me this for what? To make me feel better?”
“No,” she replies, crossing her arms, “but here’s something that will make you feel better: I had some of my men look into Sterling Gallery, and as it turns out, a few of my father’s allies have recently done business there. Nothing earth-shattering—a couple of Picassos, some small sculptures, that sort of thing. Purely investment pieces, of course.”
“Sure they are,” Lucas replies coldly. “Unless one of them had Vivian’s exact location written on the back, I don’t know why you’re—”
Sienna presses on. “The artwork is irrelevant, Emmerico. I managed to get a meeting with the buyers—that’s what’s important. They claimed that your wife was working there when they made their purchases. According to them, she seemed awfully close to one of the other girls there, Callie Burns.”
Lucas snorts. “You’re saying you want to act on this because she was friendly with some other art dealer?”
“Not friendly. Friends.” She digs in her tote bag for a moment before pulling out a large hardbound book, which she slaps down on his desk. “This is the yearbook for Vivian’s graduating class. Page 201.”
Lucas shoots her a skeptical glare but turns slowly to the page in question, only to pause. On the page is a picture of two girls sitting at an outside table, laughing as they collaborate on a homework assignment. The one on the left only looks vaguely familiar, but the one on the right—the one with the full, red lips and chestnut hair—he would know anywhere.
The caption reads, Vivian Dalton and Callie Burns.
“Callie Burns…” Lucas frowns. “She was at our wedding.” His jaw tenses as he glances up at Sienna, who’s watching him with an expectant look on her face. “But what does this prove?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Sienna replies, “but it gives us another lead. We know Vivian hasn’t been in contact with the Dalton family, but we also know they haven’t been seeing eye-to-eye on your brother, have they?”
“No,” Lucas concedes through gritted teeth. “I would imagine not.”
“So who might your poor little lost puppy confide in, if not her own parents? A friend, perhaps? A co-worker? Or a co-worker who also happens to be a friend—and may even know that Sterling does business with London’s crime families?”
