There Is No Devil (Sinners Duet, #2)(11)

I squeeze my mug, trying to draw warmth through the smooth ceramic.

“I don’t know that I have any great effect on him. No tree can stop a landslide.”

Sonia’s mouth quirks up, enjoying that analogy.

“I’d call him a volcano. You can survive a landslide … not a lava flow.”

I can’t tell if that’s a warning.

If it is, Sonia’s giving it from inside the volcano’s umbra. She’s not safe from Cole either.

She’s worked for him for the better part of a decade. As brilliant and observant as Sonia is, I have no doubt that she’s learned some of his secrets. Whether he intended to share them or not.

Yet she remains unusually loyal to her boss.

I set my tea down, picking up my brush once more, loading it with paint.

My new canvas perches on the easel, the shapes blocked out, but work only just beginning.

Swiping my brush gently across the virgin space I ask Sonia, “You have a son, don’t you?”

Her manicured nails tap against her mug. “Did Cole tell you that?”

“No. I saw you carrying a backpack out the other day. From the Cuphead patches and the skateboarding stickers, I guessed he’s about twelve.”

“Thirteen.” I can hear Sonia’s smile, the affection in her voice. “His name is Will. He goes to the STEM school in Laurel Heights.”

“Oh, so he’s a genius then.” I grin.

“Yes,” Sonia laughs. “And like all geniuses, absent-minded—he forgets that damn backpack in my car at least once a week.”

I dip my brush onto the palette, adding a little more navy into the silvery gray.

“Will lives with you full-time?”

Sonia wears no ring, and I’ve never heard her mention a boyfriend, let alone a husband.

“That’s right.” Sonia takes another leisurely sip of tea. She’s dressed in a tailored pant suit, no blouse beneath. The streaks of premature gray around her face look stark and bold, like she was struck with lightning in just that spot. “His father was an aerospace engineer, designing drones for military applications. That’s where Will gets his math skills. God knows it’s not from me.”

My respect for Sonia battles against my curiosity. As someone who hates personal questions, I don’t want to pry. On the other hand, I’m sure Sonia will have no problem shutting me down if she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Where’s his father now?”

Sonia perches on the edge of my table, her long legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. She looks down into her tea, swirling the mug slowly in both hands.

“It was an ugly divorce,” she says. “Will was eight, just starting third grade. His father wouldn’t agree on split custody. He worked long hours, weekends too, but he couldn’t stand the thought of me having Will even half the time. He hired a men’s rights attorney, a fucking snake, and they threw everything they could at me. Month after month, drowning me in paperwork and court hearings. Trying to intimidate me. Trying to drain our bank account to the point where I’d hand over my son just to make it stop.”

I stop painting, turning to look at her.

Her face falls into deep lines of exhaustion, remembering the ordeal.

“It was relentless. Vindictive. Irrational. He’d pretend to be willing to come to an agreement if I’d meet him for mediation, but then he’d yank the football away again. I started to worry that even if I could force him to come to terms, he’d never abide by them. He was already flouting the temporary custody agreement, refusing to bring Will back to my house, shutting off Will’s cellphone so I couldn’t call or text. He had family in Saudi Arabia and plenty of job opportunities overseas … I lived in terror that one day he’d take my son and never return.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “That’s awful.”

Sonia nods, anger still burning in her eyes. “It was.”

“Did the judge sort it out?”

Sonia snorts. “Not fucking likely. The system is a stick in the hand of the biggest bully. The lawyers get rich and everyone else gets fucked.”

“What happened, then?”

“A miracle,” Sonia says. “I had Will at home for the weekend. For once his father wasn’t calling and texting, trying to interrupt us, blowing up my phone. I remember thinking that he must be slammed at work. I certainly didn’t believe he was turning over a new leaf—I wasn’t that stupid.”

Sonia’s voice goes low and dreamy as she gazes into her tea.

“Monday morning, I drove Will back to my ex’s house. He was renting a place in Oakland, a little modern bungalow with an attached garage. I parked out front, noticing that all the lights were off in the house, even though I was right on time and he should have been expecting us. I told Will, ‘Wait in the car.’ I must have known something was off. I walked up to the front door, rang the bell, knocked. No answer.”

I swallow, my throat tight with anticipation, even though this all happened years ago.

“I heard this sound. Sort of a low rumble, coming from the garage. I couldn’t have told you what it was, and yet, deep down inside, I already knew. I felt myself walking over, wrenching up the door. Standing still while exhaust billowed out all around me.”