A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(25)

“I’m a fashion plate, what can I say?” She bit her bottom lip. “Can we go somewhere a little more private to talk?”

“Sure.” He nodded. “The café?”

More memories. Lunch and dessert at caféAGO. Coffee for him, Coke for her. She always chose key lime pie if it was available because she believed it was the best pie in the universe—like a vacation on a plate. While they ate, they would discuss what they’d seen so far. What paintings and photos they loved the best, which sculptures were the most inspiring and meaningful. The days they spent at the gallery always flew by.

On the way to the café, they fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Crys had been so determined to focus on whatever she had to do to learn more about Markus King that she hadn’t taken into consideration the emotional impact that seeing her father for the first time in two years would inflict. In the mere minutes she’d spent with him so far, she felt as if she’d regressed in age by at least ten years. She was now seven years old, following her daddy out of the photography exhibition, down the stairs, and around the corner until she could smell the delicious food—sandwiches, salads, pastries.

Scent helped her summon up the past as perfectly as any time machine—or photograph—could.

All she selected for lunch was a chocolate chip muffin and a bottle of water. Daniel got a chicken sandwich and a coffee and paid for everything at the register.

Neither of them even glanced down at the food once they’d chosen a table as far away from the other diners as they could find.

She’d expected to feel only anger at seeing him again. But what she truly felt was . . .

She didn’t actually know what she felt. There was no perfect word for it, she realized. A blend of nostalgia, curiosity, and, oddly, a sharp edge of relief. All mixed together into a messy batter along with only a few tablespoons of anger.

She consciously tried to bottle up all her emotions and shove them into her fuchsia leather bag for safekeeping.

“I know you have questions for me, Crissy,” he said, his fingers curling around the edge of the table.

If it were anyone else, she’d protest the use of that cutesy nickname, but it sounded right coming from him. Just like the good old days.

“I know you must be furious with me,” he said when she didn’t start talking right away. “All I can say is I’m sorry, but I know that’s not nearly good enough.”

“I just . . .” Crys squeezed her bottle of water, the cold condensation sliding between her fingers. “I can’t believe you’ve been in Toronto the whole time. You’ve been so close, and I didn’t know.”

“How did you find out?”

She considered her words. “I overheard Mom and Jackie on the phone. Your name came up.”

She wasn’t going to tell him everything. The book, what had happened to Becca—that was too precious, too fragile. This was an information-gathering mission only—information-giving was not on today’s menu. And as much as her heart was in turmoil over this meeting, her brain was focused on what mattered.

She hoped very much the ratio would remain that way. Hearts and brains didn’t always get along so well.

“Eavesdropping,” he said. “So things at home are the same as always, huh? You’re still a troublemaker.”

It wasn’t said as an insult but rather more with grudging admiration. “It’s one of my talents.”

“What were they saying about me?”

“Something about Mom still believing in you, but Jackie telling her you’re old news.”

She watched closely to see if this would get a reaction, but there was nothing in his expression to give her any clue what he might be thinking. Not even a blink or a twitch.

“Jackie never liked me,” he allowed. “What else?”

“They said you’re part of some exclusive society,” she ventured tentatively.

He’s been swallowed up by that monster’s secret society long enough for us to know he’s lost to us had been Jackie’s exact words. They’d been branded into Crys’s memory verbatim.

“Did they.” He said this flatly and not as a question.

His bland reaction infuriated her. “Is it true? You left us because of some secret group you joined? What is it, like a cult that brainwashes its members to leave their families?”

Yeah, she definitely didn’t have her emotions properly bottled up today.

She forced herself to take a shaky sip of her water.

She liked to think she had a talent for reading faces, after studying so many at a distance through her camera lens. Most people wore their emotions openly on their faces—anger, sadness, happiness, disappointment. Emotion was beautiful, no matter what it was. The more powerful the emotion, the better the picture turned out.

It felt a lot different not being the one behind the camera.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, and she began picking at her muffin.

“It’s not what you might think,” he said finally. “I am involved in an important organization . . . one that I believe in with all my heart and soul. It’s a good thing, Crissy. The only bad thing about it was that I had to make an extremely difficult choice I never wanted to have to make.”

“So this society made you choose them or us.”