Chapter Twenty-One
Kingston
T he last person I expected to see when I knocked was an old lady with improbable hair, neon blue nails, and an attitude that could rival Sadie’s.
“I won’t ask who you are,” she says, not moving out of the way or extending an invitation.
Oh yeah, she’s definitely linked to Sadie.
“So you’re who she came to see.” I don’t move. I’m going in, and if I have to stand here all day, I will.
I’m not being an asshole, but I would like to know where my money is going. And why the fuck Sadie bolted from me.
This is, she might have gotten a cab, but so did I. There were two of them, and it was easy enough to flag the second down. I’ve even been known to use the subway before.
Her heavily lined and mascaraed eyes dip as she looks me over. “An actual billionaire on my humble doorstep.”
“They’ll be lining up soon.”
She gives a bark of laughter. “If you want information, you’ll have to ask your Raven.”
“She’s not my anything,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets, even though the hall of her building is warm. “But money is money.”
The old lady sighs. “You sound like she said.”
“An asshole?”
“Complex.”
“I didn’t say anything complex there, quite the opposite.”
She smiles. “You did, you know. So did she.” She looks me up and down. “Athena. And you look like the kind of man not about to go until he gets what he wants, so you might as well come in.”
I follow her inside, and it’s cozy. It’s not the home of a thief. Then again, neither is Sadie’s. Actually, what the fuck am I even thinking? How would I know? I don’t hang around with criminals on any kind of basis.
A smile threatens to break free. Sadie would, of course, disagree with that. And she wouldn’t be meaning her.
“I know you’re looking for the Sinclair jewel.”
“Me and everyone else, apparently,” I say, sitting on the sofa because I’m towering over her and somehow, this short old lady with ridiculous nails and hair is making me feel small.
Like she’s the one with power.
And maybe she is. Because Sadie came here. “You know where it is?”
“No one does, Mr. Sinclair,” she says.
“That’s not true. Someone does.”
“That someone ain’t Sadie.”
I cross my legs and fold my hands and give her a cool look. “I don’t know who you are, Athena.”
The niceness falls away and her gaze turns hard. “Listen, bub,” she says, heavy on the mocking tone, “You invited yourself here. You followed the person you hired.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who hires people he thinks might steal from him.”
“Desperate times.”
I look about the room. Everything is tasteful, but nothing worth more than it should for a place like this. Lived in, cared for, but not full of riches. The lamp on the table catches my eye, along with the photo propped up.
The tiara.
“What? You don’t think a lady in her forties can recreate that?” She says this quietly and I swing my gaze back to her. She hasn’t seen forty in decades, but I keep that to myself.
“I think you very probably can.” I consider her. “Although the real thing would be better.”
She snorts. “So you say. But we don’t know where it is.”
“Maybe Sadie’s taken after her father.”
The woman’s face turns hard. “She has his talents, all right, but taking after him? Not on your pathetic pampered life.”
I nod. “And how do I know that?”
“I don’t care.” She crosses her arms. “That girl had a hard life. But that’s her story to tell—if she chooses. I will tell you this. She’s smart and has honor and she managed to have the courage to walk away from a life she could have embraced and lived on easy street as they say.”
“Sadie’s a pain in my ass and probably the smartest, trickiest person I’ve met.”
“So it’s true love, then,” she says.
The words are framed in sarcasm, but they hit me in the solar plexus with their quiet undertone, like she means it.
“Sorry, Athena. I don’t believe in love. It’s not part of my DNA.”
She nods. “Break her heart and I’ll break you. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t and it definitely doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“Are you…are you threatening me?” I can’t control the grin because as she nods, I like this woman. A lot.
“I believe I am making you a promise, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Sadie gets her ballsiness from you, then.”
“Hers is very much her own,” Athena says. “And Sadie’s tough, but there’s softness if you look. She’s also closed off, because she’s vulnerable. She never had… She’s worth it, if you give her a chance.”
“It’s a business relationship.”
One of her brows rise. “So business put those hickeys on her neck, then?”
Heat rushes my face. How she just managed to embarrass me like a teenager is beyond me, but I let it slide, because she’s looking at me like she’s got my number.
“I thought so. Now, do you want to sit there making a damn fool of yourself, or do you want to learn how I create fakes, and maybe try and weasel some more information about Sadie from me?”
I smile. “Now, how can I resist such an offer? Lead the way. I’m all yours.”
Athena didn’t tell me anything about Sadie that I didn’t know. Not in words. But there was a world in all the things she didn’t say as well as the seemingly insignificant things.
Then there was the knock on the door, followed by a teen barreling in, wide-eyed, bloody nose. I’d been leaving, and the look she gave me told me to continue on my way.
But not before I got a glimpse of why the woman wasn’t surrounded by riches—because she certainly could be judging by the work room and some of the things in there. They were old, the finished pieces, kept because she liked them. And when she slipped the kid money, and how she spoke to him, I knew she’d helped Sadie, too.
As I knock on my mother’s door and wait, I can’t keep it all out of my head.
The old reprobate clearly helped kids. And I’m betting a considerable chunk of my fortune that she uses her skills to make sure these kids and their families are looked after.
I’m betting she keeps kids out of broken systems and tries to bring them a better life.
Does everyone suddenly possess bleeding hearts?
“Kingston?”
I almost jump. “Sorry, it’s been a long couple of weeks,” I say to my mother.
Normally her housekeeper answers the door, but it must be the woman’s day off.
“Come in.”
I follow her through the great hall and into her sitting room. It’s feminine with a modern edge, and not how we grew up. I look at her. She’s pacing. “What are you up to?”
“I could ask you the same question, Kingston. Time is running out.”
“Well, you and Jenson managed to somehow allow the final jewel to be stolen.”
“No one allows such things.” She pours tea into a porcelain cup and offers it to me.
I take it. The delicate cup and saucer with the tiny painted flowers and rim of gold looks ridiculous in my big hand. And I’m not fond of tea.
“What do the police say?”
“What I’d like to know,” she says, stirring milk and sugar into her cup, “is what progress you’ve made.”
“I did ask a question.”
Her gaze skitters to me. “Time is running out. What are you going to do when you find it?”
“If. And it’s not your business.”
“It’s a family heirloom.”
“It’s mine and something I’m going to be jumping through hoops to win.”
She sighs. “Kingston.”
“What? You don’t answer anything.”
“It’s been seen, you know. I have ears to the ground.” She continues to look at me.
I set the teacup down. “What are you up to?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“You could end this, and you know it.”
“And how can I do that? Your father was of sound mind when he did all this.” She blows on the steaming tea then takes a sip.
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, but who put him up to it. You?”
This woman could win awards in evasion. And I continue to probe and she continues to calmly dodge until I’ve had enough.
“We need to stop these games, Mother.”
“What games? I’ve heard your tiara has been seen, and I wanted to know if you’d gotten it back or had a plan.” She smiles. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, right. Something bigger is going on and I want to know your part in it.”
My mother sighs. “What do you mean?”
“You’re keeping me from my piece of the Sinclair jewel collection.” I pick my cup up and take a swallow, the tannins bitter and drying on my tongue. “I want to know what the big picture is here.”
“It’s gone, Kingston. You need to bring it back or the business is gone. That’s the only picture.”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
There’s steel behind her calm and genteel smile. My mother is definitely up to something.
“Believe what you want, darling. It’s all in your hands.”
“You know, I’m going to sell it when I get it. Turn a profit.”
There’s a long silence. And finally, she asks, “Don’t you think it might mean something?”
“I really don’t care.”
“Turn a profit. You think it’s all about money. That worth.”
“Of course I do. Money matters.”
“Some things are worth more than money,” she says, after another long beat. And she takes a swallow of her tea.
But I shake my head. “Money rules above all else.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Mother. It’s the only constant. It brings success and power and stability. Everything else can waver, but money only matters.”
She sets down the cup and saucer. “And love, Kingston? Does that come with a monetary value, too?”
“Come on. You get it.”
“Do I? I believe in love. I think it’s important, Kingston. I think it’s a constant. Steadier than money. And you don’t?”
I just laugh. “No.”
And it’s true. Love doesn’t exist.