The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(80)

In her mind, she heard him say that he was ashamed. Then she recalled when he had first opened his eyes to her and she had seen that the whites were all red…

Such suffering.

“Are you going to stay clean?” she demanded, even as she wondered how in the world she could trust any answer he gave to that.

“Yes. On my life, Marisol. I will never do any drug again—I have learned too well where that takes me.”

Shit, she thought.

After what felt like a lifetime, she shrugged. “I catch you lying to me or doing coke, and I’m leaving. I have no interest in enabling you, making excuses for you, or pretending I will spare you any kind of a backward glance. You have one chance and that is it. Are we clear?”

Pushing himself upright, he nodded immediately. “I understand and I accept this.”

“And she’s going to make you convert. My grandmother does not play—and you’re going to have to learn Spanish and/or Portuguese. She’ll teach you it whether you like it or not.”

“Marisol…”

When Assail’s voice cracked, she went over to him and embraced his thin body. He had been through hell, and the medical staff had certainly assumed they were going to lose him—and as much as Sola would have preferred the truth right from the beginning, he was correct. She probably wouldn’t have come up here if it had been just a he-isn’tcoming-out-of-his-addiction or he’s-lost-his-mind thing.

And that was kind of ugly to admit. Like cancer was a noble disease, but if your biochemistry had conspired with a drug to your mortal detriment then you were undeserving of sympathy, support, understanding.

“I am sorry,” he said into her hair.

“Me, too. And I love you.”

The shudder that went through him made her feel as though she was doing the right thing: He was relieved like that because he didn’t want to lose her as badly as she didn’t want to lose him.

“I will take good care of you and your grandmother,” he said roughly.

Leaning back, Sola pegged him with a hard eye. “That’s a two-way street. I’m not a damsel in distress who needs to be saved, I’m a partner who will help you to survive, too. If there is a price on my head, then the Benloise family has one on yours, too. You need me as well.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I most certainly do.”

Sola had to smile. “Guess I told you, huh.”

“You certainly did. And it’s a huge turn-on. You want to go upstairs and order me around some more?”

She narrowed her eyes again. “Say please.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease…”





THIRTY-SIX


It was at about four in the afternoon the following day that Vitoria arrived at the gallery and learned she’d made a mistake. And unfortunately, she discovered her lapse of judgment in front of the police.

Striding through the rear of the building, she nodded at staff who were clustered together in stressed, chatty groups. Not much work was getting done, but she let that slide, given what was going on.

As she came out into the gallery space proper, she immediately identified the man standing in front of a balloon sculpture of a woman giving birth.

“You must be Detective de la Cruz?” she said as she walked over to him.

He turned to her and seemed relieved not be focusing on the “art.” “That’s right. Vitoria Benloise?”

“That is I.” Yes, she knew grammatically it was “me,” but she’d always felt that was too common-sounding. “How may I help you?”

He flipped opened a leather wallet, revealing a photo ID that read Detective José de la Cruz, Homicide, and a brass Caldwell Police badge. Then he put out a hand. “Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”

The man was forty-ish, and with a name like his, she liked him even though they were already on different sides of the table. Plus he had nice, dark eyes. His clothes were simple, the sport coat and open collar professional-looking, but not stuffy, and she was surprised, given how cold it was, that he didn’t also have on some kind of an overcoat or parka: Even with the late-afternoon sun shining down, when she had gotten out of her brother’s Bentley, she had been chilled to the bone during the short distance to the staff entrance of the gallery.

“Absolutely, Detective.” She shook his hand. “What’s going on?”

“I’m investigating a homicide committed last night.”

“Oh, dear. Is this about Margot? I’ve seen the news on TV. What a tragedy! How does something like that happen in what should be such a safe part of town?”

“Actually, most homicide victims are killed by people they know.”

“So scary.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that a couple of salespeople had come out from the back and were watching. “Tell me, how may I assist you?”

“Well, I’ve spoken to some of the folks here already—about when Margot left work yesterday and who she might have been with. And they all told me that you’ve recently taken over the business?”

“I am here looking after my brothers’ interests, it is true.”

“You say that as if you expect them to return here. Yet it’s my understanding they’ve been gone from Caldwell for a while?”