Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(40)

After my bout of sickness, I cleaned up what I could in the office. Begged Finn, my second in command at SilentWitn3ss, to lend me the spare shirt he keeps for when things go wrong in the test lab. Then I fled back home, taking a cab all the way, and hid in the shower for clammy, lukewarm hours. I thought about whether all this mattered if I’d never forgiven him anyway. I wondered whether I’d forgiven him so much, I’d just forgotten what it felt like to resist.

Fast-forward and I’m stepping into the modern, airy space of Aeron’s penthouse apartment. Inky-black night cascades through floor-length windows to paint shadow stripes across the living area, and the kitchen, which is usually cluttered with half-finished juice cartons or crayon drawings, is conspicuous in its silence; the only noise creeps from farther down the hall.

Ethan appears from one of the bedrooms, his slow gait and withered expression evidence of his lack of sleep. His eyes widen as he recognizes me; we’ve crossed paths here and there, but only ever in Aeron’s company and for seconds at a time.

“Oh…hey.” He reaches up, absent-mindedly patting his messy hair. “Were you at the door for long? Only I didn’t hear anything, so—”

I hold my key up.

“Ah. Should’ve known, huh.”

I glance about the dark hall, past the puddle of lamp light spilling from Ash’s open door. It’s past nine; I’m surprised he’s not in bed. “Is Aeron here?”

“In his room. Is he expecting you?”

“Maybe.”

“Right.” Ethan’s forehead creases with pained sympathy. “Only he’s…well, he’s not in the best of moods.”

Neither am I.

“Do you mind if I go find him? I won’t disturb bedtime,” I add.

“Oh, bedtime is way off,” Ethan groans. “Between the packing, and the excitement and stuff…it’ll be midnight before we get anywhere near sleep…”

“Packing?”

“Leo?” Aeron emerges from the end of the hall. He cuts an odd figure, hunched slightly in disheveled work clothes. “About f*cking time.”

I point down toward his room. “I’ll be in there,” I mutter to a wary Ethan, striding past before he can enquire further.

Aeron slams his bedroom door behind me and then skulks to the bed…which is smothered in old photos, documents, paperwork. A single lamp spews gold over the bed. The place reeks of dust. He sits in the middle of it all to sort through with fervor, each sheet fired from his fingers like a useless hand of cards.

“Nope. No,” he says to himself, scraping up another heap of paperwork.

“Aeron?”

“What?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t look up. “What f*cking time do you call this?”

“You’re lucky I’m here at all.” In grey corners of my mind, the email flashes, its margins hazy crimson. I slip my coat and bag off in slow motion, dropping them neatly on the floor before leaning back against the wall. Then I unzip my boots—it suddenly seems rude to still be wearing them. The casual nature of each movement calms my pulse a little; such a gulf lies between us. Three feet feels like three hundred miles.

All I could be bothered to pull on after my epic shower was a knitted, long-sleeved dress and a pair of panties, with long boots to keep out the winter chill. But it’s still cold in here, colder than Aeron looks in his nervous heat, and a flurry of goose bumps fight their way toward my nipples before pebbling the buds solid.

He picks up another box of papers and shakes them out on to the bed. Some of the photos are all too familiar; me wearing my old school uniform from England, caught in a variety of silly poses with Amy and Sinead from choir. I lean toward them in shock.

“Where did you get those?”

“You’re just in time to help me go through your old background check.” He thrusts a brown folder in my direction. “Here.”

I step forward, my heart rough in my chest, and take the folder. Flick through. More photos. More…um, what? “Are these…are these files from my gynecologist?”

“Uh-huh.” He manages a weak smile at that. “And even then, I wasn’t thorough enough. Funny.” His tone drops. “Ha ha.”

“This isn’t a background check. It’s a gross invasion of my privacy.”

“A little like what you’ve arranged for Gwen, no doubt.”

“I didn’t go as far analyzing her pap smears!”

“No. Just tapped her phones.” He rubs a big finger into one eye; dark circles, almost bruised purple, shudder with each stroke. “Good job you’re such a beautiful hypocrite, isn’t it?”

I throw the folder down and watch its contents, disemboweled, splay across the floor. “What are you doing?”

He stills. Straightens up, looks right at me for the first time since I got here. “I need to know who sent that email.”

“You have a whole forensics department for that.”

He nods once. “It was sent from a library in St. Petersburg.”

“So it’s some troll in Russia messing with you.”

“No, Leo.” His voice cracks. “It’s not a troll. It’s some wiseass who thought to look for that hospital report. They know things.”