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Why not be just glad? Relieved? Better him than me, right? What, was I jealous, or some twisted shit like that? I got all huffy because who the hell did he think he was, having problems that were bigger, more important and more dangerous than mine? I had my tragic backstory, and that was all I had. I should be able to win that pissing contest with my hands tied, right? Every time. Jeez, was I really that petty?
But speaking practically, if those bad guys were there for him, that also sucked for me. I’d been hiding under a rock for fourteen years, and that represented a lot of sacrifice. If Ethan Masters had real trouble, no matter who his antagonist was, and I got myself associated with it, then my profile would shoot up, the spotlights would flip on, and the Petruzzi clan would take notice. Their army of goons would come at me like a runaway train, to punish me for getting Tony Jr. put in jail. He was up for parole now, and still pissed. Looking to slice me open, from my chin down to my lady-bits.
Tony would want to do it himself. He was just that kind of guy. Real personal.
For God’s sake, the problems I already had were more than enough to keep me occupied. I did not need anyone to pile on with more bad shit, no matter how handsome or rich or charismatic or intriguing Ethan was. No, thank you.
Tricky to get up on a high horse and hold that position while outnumbered by a mercenary army. I was ridiculously under-armed, too. I always was when I did office temp jobs. Many of the skyscrapers now had metal detectors. Rumors that I packed heat to my temporary jobs would get me blackballed at every employment agency in the city.
These were deals I made with the devil. Going to my temp jobs unarmed, so I could make the money I needed to keep my classes at the school going. And to repair that water damage. And to get Charlotte those glasses.
But it only worked if I stayed out of sight, at least until I managed to kill every last decision-making member of the Petruzzi family. Tony had gotten a reduced sentence because his lawyer had painted my murdered sister as a traitorous femme fatale, rather than the victim of vicious domestic abuse that she had been. And as for Gabri’s death, and the bullet in my shoulder—they’d spun that as a tragic accident. Tony didn’t mean to hurt us, the poor emotional guy. It was a crime of passion. Hah.
The helicopter banked, showing me a huge complex below with enormous terraces, and lots of glass, cantilevered out from the cliff, like some bad guy’s lair in a superhero movie. The helipad was at the top of a luxury mountain fortress. In one swift glance, I took in the gardens, the pool, the hot tubs. Solar panels were everywhere, too. This place probably wasn’t even on the grid.
I was on a mountaintop. Cripes. How the hell was I supposed to get away? I had things to do, bills to pay, promises to keep. Rent on the school was due in three days, and I had classes to teach, and an appointment scheduled to have Charlotte’s eyes checked. It drove me nuts, that a kid as sweet and bright as she was flunking out of school because of a stupid mechanical problem. Plus, Charlotte reminded me of Gabri.
Aw, hell. They all reminded me of Gabri. Raffi, too. That was why I’d started the school for them in the first place. That was why I got out of bed in the morning at all. I was fortunate to have something to do that made this much emotional sense to me.
Otherwise, I might as well just lie down in front of traffic.
Masters helped me out of the helicopter. The wind from the blades whipped wildly at my blouse, blowing it almost off my body, so many buttons were gone.
He led me down a wide stone staircase and onto a terrace paved with big, granite paving stones. We descended into an area that was sheltered from the wind, with a breezeway between two buildings. I glimpsed outdoor furniture, a firepit, a huge barbecue, a wood-burning oven. My backyard consisted of a single lawn chair, a chain-link fence with a big hole in it, and an assortment of turds continually provided and replenished by the neighborhood dogs. Who were all my good buddies, even so.
Money. This place was huge, huge money. Which meant one of two things.
One, Ethan was the pampered heir to an obscenely large fortune, and fate had seen fit to shower him with looks and charm on top of it, and he got into trouble because he was restless and bored. For the entertainment value. In which case, fuck that guy.
Conversely, he was a career criminal. An insanely successful one. In which case, fuck that guy sideways, frontways, backward, and upside down. I’d already had my life destroyed by heartless, soulless dickheads like that. No more.
I pulled my arm from his grasp, and he let go without protest. Which surprised me. In my experience, those types always had something to prove, when it came to maintaining their grip.
I would have run if there had been anyplace to go to. As it was, I just followed him, feeling scared and hating the feeling. The corridor was as deluxe as the terrace. Towering ceilings, huge wooden beams, beautiful wood paneling. He gestured at a big carved door. “This is my library, if you should need it,” he said. “Feel free.”
Library?Library didn’t really say career criminal to me. Those guys weren’t big on cultural acquisition, as a general rule. Which tilted the scale back toward the pampered-heir scenario. “What is this place, anyway?” I asked.
“My house,” Ethan said. “Or one of them.”
“One of them,” I repeated, incredulous.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How many do you have?” I demanded.
“Let me think about it for a second.”
I laughed at him. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. I have townhouse in Seattle, a loft in Portland, a condo in San Francisco, a penthouse in New York, a beach place in Miami, a ski lodge in Montana, an apartment in London. I think that’s it.”
“Are you showing off?”
“I have nothing to prove. But as far as houses go, this one is my favorite. It’s the one where I feel the safest. Safe being a relative term.”
“Because it is so remote, you mean?”
“Yes, and fortified, and heavily guarded by a robust security staff.”
