Chapter Ten
Sadie
D amon’s handsome face isn’t smiling as he sees me.
I narrow my eyes as I look at him across his desk. Of course, I let myself into his office, but usually this has never bothered him.
There was a time that it turned Damon Reed on.
“Sadie.” There’s something in his tone that sets off a warning inside me, like I’ve caught him, hand deep in a cookie jar. “I didn’t expect you.”
It’s the kind of tone that says he’s been doing exactly that, expecting me, and not looking forward to it at all. I smile at my ex.
“It’s been a while, I thought we should catch up.” I lean forward in his chair and motion for him to take a seat opposite. “What are you feeling guilty about?”
“Me?”
I point. “You.”
He has the grace to turn red. “I haven’t cheated on you.”
“It’s a little hard to do when we broke up five years ago. Of course, you did, then.”
“Sadie,” he says, “you want to talk about this now? I spent a year chasing after you. A year apologizing, pleading, arguing. A year trying to tell you what you walked in on wasn’t what you thought.”
He’s probably right about that. Sure, some hot chick was all over him, but clothes were on. And he’s a good-looking man. He might not be in the realm of the dark hotness that’s Kingston Sinclair, but Damon’s blond beauty is very easy on the eye.
“You should have cheated on me,” I say suddenly. “I wasn’t the best girlfriend.”
“You didn’t love me like I loved you, but again, I don’t think you’re here to rehash the past, so why bring it up?”
“Actually,” I say, “you did. I just asked what you were feeling guilty about. It’s all over you.”
I’ve seen Damon use his skills and brains for both good and the slightly evil. I’ve seen him manipulate. I’ve seen him help others. So, I’m not sure why he never quite did it for me. Why I jumped on the concept of him cheating as a way out of the relationship.
I’m not made for long term, and he is, and I know that. But he’s the kind of man a woman wants. I know that, too.
Kingston, on the other hand…
I don’t like his kind. He fascinates me, and I’m not sure why. Kingston somehow gets inside and stays. He’s smart and hard and cynical and he disturbs my equilibrium in a way no one else ever has. It’s something I want to hate the man for.
Instead, I shove Kingston out of my brain, as much as I can. And I push the folder of photos across Damon’s desk.
“What’s that?”
“It’s not a bomb, Damon,” I say. “Let’s call it a blast from your past.”
I lied to Kingston. Damon’s no thief. He’s in security. High end bespoke stuff. I hand jobs to him after evaluating. The good jobs. We’re at the point I can just send him the number and report and he steps in.
But regardless of how it ended, those fences have been patched and I don’t think he loved me as much as he thinks he did. My reputation and the idea was more appealing than the girl. And he’s gone on to really make a name for himself. People know about the Raven. They don’t know about Damon beyond his security company.
Which drags me back to why he seemed so guilty, but I decide to bide my time before circling to that again.
“If you’re asking me to fence something or arrange a meeting, I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
He takes his seat and the folder, but doesn’t open it. “Yeah, I won’t, Sadie. I’ve worked hard to get to this place. I’m legit and there comes a time you get out of shit, and you know that.”
“That’s why I do what I do and get you work.”
His gaze flickers at me, but he’s wise and keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he opens the folder and hisses in a breath.
For the next few minutes, he studies the photos in silence, but there’s a thickening in the air, and the way he sits up straight and focuses like a laser on the pictures tells me everything.
“So it’s true…”
“Are they real?”
He looks at me. “I’d have to see them in person. If they’re not, then they’re brilliant. Mininchi wasn’t the only one in his family who designed and made jewels. But he had a way with them. And these look early, a light touch. Sinclair, aren’t they?”
It’s not really a question. “I don’t have the final piece. It’s missing.”
“I didn’t take it.”
“I’m not saying you did, but interesting you went there.”
He frowns. “You’re the kind of person who thinks everyone’s involved until you can prove they’re not.”
“I don’t usually chase down stolen things.”
“You used to be the one stealing them, that’s why.” But there’s no rancor in his voice.
“Stolen,” I say, “or deliberately missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m here because I wanted a list of who’d be interested. Not the usual suspects, the hardcore collectors with real ties in certain circles. And why you gave my name to Faye Sinclair.”
He nods. “It isn’t a crime.” Damon runs a hand over his face. “How did you know?”
“I know when Damon Reed’s put in security,” I say. “You have a certain way with your work, one I can spot. And don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else can. It’s just…you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Use that flattery wave and tell me everything you know.”
Some might think the Bowery, back when it was full of the homeless and punks or now where it’s full of the rich, is a strange place for someone to have a security firm. But it’s perfect. It’s still a crossroads area, and Damon can keep things on the downlow, which is what a lot of his clientele like.
Not because they’re up to something, although some are, but because it allows those who want to keep their business to themselves to do so. Especially those who want something other than just security.
Like me, Damon knows a lot of people. And that includes, well, people like me.
So, my question is this: did Faye Sinclair go to him to find me specifically, in a way that was below the radar to her peers and children deliberately, or did the missing jewel spark it?
I have a lot of questions.
My fingers itch to call Kingston to discuss it. My body yearns for that.
My brain says no.
So I head to the source.
Faye herself.
“I’m not sure,” Faye Sinclair says in her home office on the East Side, “that you coming here is a good idea.”
“I saw your security man, Damon Reed, today.”
She rests her chin in her hand. “How is that working on the job at hand?”
“I like to explore all options.”
“I’m not paying you to do that,” she says, sitting back and dropping both hands on her desk.
I come up and sit on the edge of the desk. It’s borderline insolence, but there’s a gleam in her eyes as she takes me in and it reminds me of her son. It tells me she’s also a force and one that shouldn’t be ever taken at face value.
“Yes, but you don’t want the tiara gone. Do you?”
“Of course not. I have my reasons for wanting it dragged out and Kingston hiring you on his own is perfect.”
I don’t move. It’s not that she knows, it’s how she says it, like there’s another plan she’s had, and somehow I’ve stepped into it. I shake off the thought.
“You’ve both told me there’s a lot riding on this.”
“There is. Kingston is…” She sighs and gets up. “I worry about him. He’s so self-contained, so certain his way is right, that there’s nothing more than making money and he classes value in one way.”
“A lot of people do,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “He’s interesting.”
“You and he will clash, which is good.”
“Is it? I’m here to both keep him from finding this jewel too soon and helping him find it. But you know where it is.”
“I don’t think I can state enough how important this is that Kingston gets this done by his birthday. There’s a lot more on the line than he thinks.”
I nod, not quite sure what she’s up to, if anything at all. “Like what?”
“My hands are tied, but he stands to lose everything dear to him.”
“This is a conversation you should be having with him.” I rise and walk along the desk, coming up to the same end she is. Except, of course, I’m on the other side. “Not me.”
“I’m letting you know because he can’t. He needs to work out that out on his own. The tiara needs to be found and he needs…” She shakes her head and smiles, even though it only flirts with her eyes. “He needs to go on a sharp learning curve.”
“You make it sound like he needs a babysitter, not someone who’s an expert in tracking and finding jewels and stolen artifacts.”
It’s one way of putting it, I suppose.
She looks at me. “You’re the right person for the job.”
I don’t care what Faye Sinclair is up to. I don’t. And it’s her son we’re talking about, not someone she’s out to get revenge on. Whatever cards or games she’s playing aren’t any of my business. I need to do the job I’m here to do.
And if I dig deeper, locate the tiara ahead of her schedule, there’s no need to do anything about it, like tell Kingston.
If I want to get it forged, then…I’ll make that decision when I find the damn thing.
One thing I’d like to know is why she sought me out. In particular. I know why Kingston did. But his mother could have chosen one or a dozen people. Because I don’t think notoriety is high on her list of skills.
I’m the best in many ways, yes; but she wants a babysitter, a watchdog. She wants PI with who’s going to yes ma’am her.
I’m not any of that.
And my ex knows all of that, too.
“You know…” I glance about the room. At the over the top security most people, including most thieves, would miss. “This security is interesting.”
“I’m rich. We need to protect our things.”
I nod. “I know how it works. But you…” I gesture in the room. “You have taste and no need to show off with exceptionally showy pieces that are either collector items or easily taken to sell on the underground market. Yet you went to a bespoke security firm. You don’t need it.”
“You really are a match to my son,” she says. The smile stays, and grows. I’m immediately intrigued and suspicious. “I don’t need it, but I want it.”
“Or you went to Damon to get information on me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“The match.”
Her eyes narrow and the smile falls away. “Kingston will trample most people into dust. I needed the right person for the job. Yes. But, he did find you on his own without a push, so maybe there’s hope—”
“For what?” The words come out sharper than I mean.
“That the jewel will be discovered.” There’s real amusement behind the steel of her look. “Now, Sadie, please do your job, the one I hired you for.”
“And Kingston, too.”
“If you’re worried about the morality of the situation, don’t be. Kingston is all grown up.”
I know she’s layered her words with a subtext I don’t get. Or is that subtext one I don’t want to get? Maybe they’re the same things.
“He wants it found.”
“Not,” she says gently, “for the right reasons. And that’s going to be on him in the end. But follow the plan and do the job.”
“Do you know where the tiara is?”
His mother studies me. “Why are you so interested, Sadie? Beyond the obvious.”
“There’s only the obvious.”
“If you say so. Is there anything else?”
Yes, so many things, but I just say, “No.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch if anything changes.”
My Yia-yia—she’s not my grandparent by birth, but she’s the woman who saved me in so many ways, took me in when I stared the down the barrel of a future that would have swallowed me down, and taught me to believe in myself—is tapping her foot in her Harlem home.
Her improbably dyed black hair, stacked heels, and take on mourning dress that would give any fashionista a run for her money is one of the many things I love about Mrs. Athena Diakos.
I flicker a gaze at her from where I’m sitting on her too comfortable red sofa. “Sorry?”
“Does he have a name?”
“Who?” My cheeks burn.
She pops a fist on her left hip. “The man distracting you.”
“Not a man.” And Kingston really needs to get out of my head on my time off. “It’s a job.”
“Right, and I’m twenty-five, not forty.”
She’s seventy if she’s a day, but I don’t say a word.
“This job that doesn’t involve the man you’re not thinking about, it’s above board?”
I frown. Thing is, I want to tell her about the deep layers of unease inside, but I don’t know what they’re from. I want to tell her all the ways Kingston infiltrates my blood, but I don’t know how. And yeah, a part of me wants to whisper to her that I kissed him and want to do it all over again.
I don’t do any of that. Instead, I meet her gaze. “Of course. I don’t do any of that anymore.” Even though, I admit to myself, I’m tempted. “It’s been years.”
And it has. Rumors have had a way of building me into something way more dangerous, way more criminal than I was. Not that I didn’t take from the rich. I should rob Kingston blind. I’m not going to. He’d come down hard, bring his own brand of retribution and…I don’t fear it.
A small thrill threads like sparks through my veins.
No. I don’t fear it. I want it.
Shit. What’s wrong with me?
“Does it have to do with the whispers I’ve heard?” My Yia-yia asks.
My head snaps up. “What whispers?”
“Sadie, I’ve heard things.” She folds her worn hands with the vixen red nails in front of her, face a sudden study in worry. “And with you, I usually don’t. Not unless it’s all the boring above board gossip.”
“That’s all it is.” Unease snakes through me, even though it’s true, even though I want my hands on a Sinclair jewel. Want and thought isn’t the same and carrying through. “This is just more above board boring gossip.”
“Sadie…”
“I’m locating a missing item. Doing my thing.”
She doesn’t speak for a few moments. “Let’s just say I’ve heard you’re looking for a certain tiara with a certain billionaire.”
“I don’t like Kingston Sinclair.” The words are out before I can stop them.
“And I’m the grand Queen of Sheba.” She sits next to me and takes my hand. “Because I didn’t ask that.”
I draw in a breath, scrabbling to save face. “You don’t have to. I know you.”
“And I know you, dear.” She looks down at her hands and then at me. “You’re about to tell me you’re fine on your own. Don’t be alone.”
“I’m not.”
She goes to say something, but doesn’t.
Out of everyone, she knows me the best. She worries, I know she does, but I’m fine. I like my life. And I especially like it man-free.
“There’s something else,” I say, “isn’t there?”
“If I’ve heard, so has he.”
We don’t say my father’s name. “I haven’t been under his influence since you took me in.”
“Honey.” She squeezes my hand. “He might have lost out on molding you into his partner in crime, and you would have been a better con artist than him, if you chose that path, but he’s not above blackmail, and if he hears you’ve an in with a billionaire.”
“I’ve been working for the rich for a long time now, Yia-yia,” I say. “This is no different.”
“We’re talking Sinclairs. We’re talking the tiara, Sadie. And he’s a greedy, manipulative man.”
“One who’s in prison.”
“One whose parole comes up in a few months.”
“And I’ll be finished with the job. It’s short term.”
“Short term has a way of getting away from you, Sadie.”
I switch the subject to the latest man she’s had her sights on. Though she knows what I’m doing, she lets the other conversation go. For now.
Athena is one of the strongest women I know. She got out of a terrible marriage, she got out of a worse relationship. She did things she won’t talk about, and things she will. She’s saved so many young people in terrible lives because she wanted to. She wasn’t ever rich, but you knew her place was a safe place.
And I owe her.
Everything.
I give her what I can in a way that’s never insulting. She does well, but I know every bit I give, everything I can do, goes to help her help others. And, out of everyone in this world, I love her.
It shames me in the time I was with Damon I never introduced them because she meant more to me than him. Because I didn’t want to share her.
But there’s only so long you can eat her delicious homemade cakes and drink tea or ouzo if she breaks that out and I set out to work, making my goodbyes.
As I take the subway downtown, I’m caught up in my thoughts, so caught up I almost miss the transfer at Forty-Second Street to the F. But soon enough I emerge at the Second Avenue stop, and as I cross the streets, down to Avenue A and my home, I admit I hate the idea of my father being free.
Yia-Yia is right. He’ll turn up. I should have kept up with it, and I now will. Forewarned is good.
I’m staring down at the pavement as I walk, turning to my building and I run into him before I can stop myself.
Strong hands that heat my skin and flesh grab me and I look up into that darkly, devastatingly handsome face. His evocative scent wrapping about me.
“You never answer your fucking phone,” Kingston says.
I don’t want him to let me go. “No one makes calls. You’re behind the times.”
“Smart ass.”
“Stalker.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile and he releases me. Then he steps back, and pulls a photo from his inner coat pocket and holds it up.
“We need to talk.”
Fuck.
It’s a picture of twelve-year-old me.
And my father.