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“Thanks for helping her out,” I said.
“Of course.” Kiki casually walked to a pile of scarves and started re-folding them. “Any news about your father?”
“Nothing yet,” I said. “You know you’ll be one of the first to know when I find something.”
“Only because I’m sleeping with someone on your council,” she teased.
A screeching sound made us both turn. Morgan winced at the sound of the curtain squeaking as she slid it open. She was holding a bundle of clothes in her arms.
“Did you find some things you like, dear?” Kiki moved forward, taking the clothes from Morgan’s arms.
“These were the things I didn’t like,” Morgan said. “I can help you put them away.”
Kiki hung them on a rack near the dressing room. “Nonsense, that’s my job.”
When Morgan emerged again, she had a much smaller bundle in her arms. “I’ll take these.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“I don’t need much,” she said. “And at some point, I’m hoping I get to return home to where my clothes are waiting for me.”
“Of course.” I wasn’t sure why I felt so awkward around her. At first I thought the odd sensation in my chest was guilt, but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was the fact that I’d been stuck here with no new faces for so long. Or that I didn’t trust her for a second. “Kiki, on my tab, please.”
“This way, dear.” Kiki shoved the clothes into a bag and I found my way to the front of the store to wait. I occupied myself by wondering how Scarlett was reacting to the news about the prisoners. I’d find out soon enough, as I was certain she’d be waiting for me when I got home.
Morgan was smiling and chatting with Kiki as she completed the transaction, but as soon as she had her bag and turned toward me, the smile faded. It made something uncomfortable twist in my chest. I ignored it.
“Ready?” I asked.
“For what?” she replied.
“To go back to the house,” I said.
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Back to my prison cell, you mean?”
“You want to walk back?” I snapped.
She frowned, then pushed past me and walked out the door. I followed her toward my waiting truck.
We were silent the whole drive to the house, but as soon as I cut the engine, I could feel her eyes on me. “What?”
“You didn’t have to drug me, you know,” she said.
“No? You’d have come willingly?” I laughed. “I’m so sure.”
“You could have explained it to me,” she said.
“And give your dad time to get to you before we did?” I shook my head. “He turned you over to us, but I couldn’t trust him to deliver. He might have rushed home to kill you himself.”
She tensed. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Why did you let him hand me over?” she asked. “Why did you take the deal instead of just killing him?”
“I needed him alive,” I admitted.
“So you just agreed to keep me as if I’m an object that can be passed around without any thought about me,” she snapped.
