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“No.” I shake my head adamantly, then stop. Pause. Frown. “Yes. I don’t know.”
And I don’t know. I want to believe the best of my parents—what kid doesn’t?—but they died so long ago. How many of my memories have been warped by the rose-tinted glasses most children wear when they’re around their parents? I remember baking brownies with Mom, dancing around the living room with Dad, and singing karaoke in front of both parents while Fischer watched on.
Yet…
I also remember my parents arguing about business a lot.
I remember them having late-night meetings that sometimes saw them away for days on end.
I remember my mom crying in her bedroom.
I remember my dad praying to a god I wasn’t sure he even believed in.
I remember Fischer kneeling beside me and whispering that everything will be all right, that he will take care of me. Almost like…he knew.
But that’s impossible, isn’t it?
My gaze darts to the murder board and my brother’s picture taped to the middle of it. Despite my insistence that my brother isn’t involved with POP, Dominic has remained stubborn.
“How else could The Divine One get past Fischer’s security system?”
“Why would they target Reece Whipers days before his bill was scheduled to hit the floor? The bill that would prohibit international shipping—which was Fischer’s main source of income?”
“Why would The Divine One have such an obsession with Ellie, unless he knew her?”
An uneasy feeling twists in my gut.
“I see that beautiful mind of yours churning, sweetheart.” Beckett takes my uninjured hand in his and runs the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. The soft, teasing touch sends shockwaves through my body. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…” I swallow and have to try again. “I’m thinking that I need to talk to Fischer.”
All four of my men tense. A strange combination of hostility and fear wafts through the air.
“Not alone,” Landon barks, his steel eyes intense.
“Not alone,” I agree instantly.
God, does it make me a horrible person and sister that I’m afraid to be alone with Fischer? That I don’t necessarily trust him, despite having never been given a reason not to? That my pulse skitters in trepidation at just the thought of him?
Zane claps his hands together and leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. A manic, all-too-familiar glint manifests in his dark eyes. “What’s the plan? Kidnapping? Torture? All of the above?”
I wince.
“Jesus, man!” Landon snipes. “That’s Ellie’s brother, for fuck’s sake.”
Zane immediately whirls toward me, and whatever he sees on my face has his own paling. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He scratches at the stubble dusting his sharp jawline. “I would never hurt Fischer if he’s truly…” His words taper off, and the hand on his jaw moves to his face, sliding down his cheek.
If he’s truly innocent.
“I know, Zane.” I try for a smile, but I’m afraid I fail miserably. I probably look constipated instead of sincere.
“I mean it, princesa.” He begins to pepper kisses across my cheek, my hairline, my forehead. “I would never hurt him if he’s innocent.”
My gaze snaps to the other three, trying to gauge their reactions to Zane’s casual kissing, but they don’t appear to even notice us, continuing their conversation as Zane and I have a private one of our own.
“We can confront Fischer when he’s home from the capital,” Dominic is saying to Landon. “Do you know when that is?”
“Next weekend,” Landon says instantly. I’m not even surprised that he has my brother’s schedule memorized. He probably knows exactly who’s in my house at all times.
