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It’s fair. I nod. “The jewels don’t belong to them.”
“No,” she says, like we’re arguing. In a way, I guess we are, “but in their twisted way, your Jac Miller and Hendrick Agnossio care. And they could fuck it up.”
“They won’t know a thing.”
“Then we’ll do it. You steal and I’ll make the fakes, and then we disappear,” she says.
“With the jewels.”
“Once we find out which ones they are,” she says, picking up the iPad again.
“Once we do that.”
I’m going to betray Hendrick and Jac.
To save them.
To save us all.
That’s when the burner buzzes to life.
I look down and open up the text.
“Oh shit.” I hold out the phone to her.
She takes it. “Oh shit, indeed.”
EIGHT
HENDRICK
“You think you can trust her?”
I pace the ornate study in my mansion, the place I hate. But sometimes, going back to your roots, reminding yourself of what, exactly, you are, keeps you grounded.
That’s my theory, anyway.
I have a bottle of Hibiki in my hand. I’m not drunk, and right now I can’t afford to be, so I’m drinking it slowly.
“No.” I put the bottle down, then I rethink it and pick it up. I know how to mete the booze out, keep on the right side of inebriation. “I don’t. Not at all.”
“We can go in, dismantle Harriet Esterhazy’s store, apartment and basement workshop.” Damon looks down into his rum, as he leans against the back of a chair. “Like your buddy Miller’s doing.”
“Jac’s a total fucking dick,” I say, “but I know him. He won’t do that. But I expect he’ll demand we do it soon.”
Damon’s quiet a very long moment. “We?”
I push out a breath and pour myself a glass of the Hibiki. “We. Because we’re in this together with fucking Cat.”
In more ways than one. Whatever Damon’s guessed about her, me, and Jac is something he’s keeping to himself. I don’t ask. I don’t care. And it’s not his business.
His business is keeping me safe if and when I ask for it, as well as providing back up. And when it comes down to it, we’re not friends. But he’s also not going to cross lines that might lead to him bleeding out.
He mutters something I don’t catch, and I cut my eyes to him. “Be careful, Damon. I like you.”
“You’re going to kill me for expressing concern over how untrustworthy Magdalena is? Go ahead.” He spreads his arms, then drops them and goes and picks up a small statue. “You don’t trust her.”
He’s got a point. “I don’t. Quite. But it’s complicated.”
