The Golden Hour

by L. M. Halloran

  And there’s only one way to do it.

  Stick to the plan.

  I take special care with my appearance in the morning, smoothing concealer under my eyes, applying mascara and lip gloss, and pinning back the sides of my hair. I wear a casual summer jumpsuit picked by Vivian’s stylist and nude heels. Dab perfume at my wrists. Practice my smile in the mirror until it doesn’t hurt so much.

  You are strong.

  You are brave.

  For better or worse, you’re an Avellino.

  Lizzie, Ellie, and Franco are already waiting when I step outside into the balmy morning air.

  My smile is ready, my steps steady. Ignoring my uncle, I kiss my sisters’ cheeks in greeting. “Good morning, Lizzie. Ellie, I’m so glad you made it.”

  “Not like I had a choice,” she mutters, casting a venomous glance at Lizzie.

  Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Spoiled brat. Mom needs to tighten your leash.”

  Ellie turns away, arms crossed. Since I’m standing right beside her, I hear her whisper, “Psycho.”

  My heartbeat trips. A quick glance Lizzie’s way tells me she didn’t hear. What I once thought was normal bickering between siblings takes on new meaning.

  “You’re delusional and paranoid. Keep at it and you’ll end up in a padded room.”

  Ellie knows. What that means, I’m not sure. Does she even care? Heartsick, I focus on the driveway as a limo moves slowly through the gate, down the long drive, and finally stops before us.

  I hazard a glance at Franco and find him scowling at me. With effort, my welcoming smile holds as the limo’s back door opens.

  Vivian emerges first, cell phone to her ear. “Hold on,” she tells the caller. “Girls! So wonderful to see you. You all look lovely. Lord, I am so glad to be home!”

  She embraces each of us in turn. Air kisses for all. Then she sweeps toward the house, her conversation about Senator Whoever floating behind her.

  “So glad I got up early,” murmurs Ellie, watching her mom disappear inside. Lizzie, Franco, and Enzo follow, the latter two pausing to give me similar, dark looks.

  “What did you do?” asks Ellie.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The uncles only look at someone like that if they’re on their shit list, so what did you do?”

  “I told Franco off last week. He’s not happy with me.”

  Her eyes, green and sharp and so like Vivian’s, narrow in interest. “Huh. Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.” Her head tilts. “I’ve been trying to figure out what your game is, Calli, but every time I think I have you pegged, you do something unexpected.”

  “So do you,” I tell her frankly.

  Shadows darken her eyes. “That’s the only way to survive, isn’t it?” she murmurs. “Play by the rules as much as we can, try to carve out a little slice of happiness for ourselves. And when we can’t, run. Some of us even make it out.”

  With everything that’s happened, I’m not even surprised.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?” I ask softly.

  She shrugs, her soft smile ironic. “Everyone thought you were too stupid to live, but I guess I knew you were too smart to die. What I don’t understand is why you came back.”

  “To stop them,” I whisper.

  Ellie nods, like my answer was a foregone conclusion. “I guess they were right, after all. Too stupid to live.”

  My laughter surprises both of us. Ellie’s lips quirk. “Or maybe not. You’ve definitely changed.”

  With a glance at the front door, I ask softly, “Does Vivian know? What you think about…”

  She shakes her head. “I never told her. I’m the flashy airhead, remember? The prize mare. They don’t care what I think.”

  Dots connect in my mind. “That’s why Lizzie was talking about being married off. She was trying to get under your skin.”

  Her sigh is my answer. “It’s what we do. The only normal we have.”

  “You know she’s not well.”

  “Yes.” She blinks hard, eyes reddening. “I’m not saying I think you’ll succeed, but if you do…”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to get her help.”

  “Okay.” With a bolstering breath, she visibly calms, slipping back into her role in the family—the one that allows her to survive. “Tell Mom I’ll call her later. I have a study session this morning.”

  I grab her hand before she can leave, waiting for her to meet my gaze. “I love you, Ellie.”

  Tears shimmer. “I know. Even though I wish I didn’t, I love you, too. Be careful.”

  She walks to her BMW convertible, not giving me another glance.

  “Callisto?”

  I turn to find Vivian on the stoop, cell phone still to her ear, her eyes hard on me. Smile. Everything’s fine.

  I join her. “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry to say you have an appointment with Detective Willis… Wilber… whatever her name is at ten this morning. My driver will take you and Hugo will meet you there.”

  My heart leaps. Outwardly, I’m serene. “Why?”

  “I don’t bloody know. Follow-up on the physical or some other nonsense. Trust me, I tried to get you out of it, but apparently that woman you spoke to has the ear of the Chief of Police. She’s making a stink. Hugo has advised us to play nice.”

  I nod. “Whatever you need.”

  “Good, thank you.”

  She ends the phone call without saying goodbye—Hugo’s used to it, I’m sure—and smiles. “I heard you had a spat with Franco.”

  “He overstepped.”

  “Hmm. According to him, you overstepped.”

  I shrug. “I don’t take orders from him.”

  Her expression hardens. “And me? Those were my rules you broke.”

  “Only to show you they weren’t necessary.”

  “For you, perhaps. But maybe they weren’t for you. Don’t defy me again.”

  On that parting note, she sweeps back into the house.

  36

  “Go on in,” says Detective Wilson, opening the door of an interview room, “I’ll stall Barnes a bit.”

  Before I can ask why, I see Finn rising from a chair at the metal table, his worried expression melting to relief. In seconds I’m in his arms, babbling—mostly incoherently—about what happened last night and this morning.

  All the fear and fury, helplessness and grief comes surging out of me until I forget where I am. The camera blinking in a corner. The smoky mirror on one wall.

  “Hey, princess, breathe. Slow down.”

  Holding me by the shoulders, he searches my tear-streaked face. “We’re talking about your youngest sister? Lizzie?”

  I nod.

  His jaw ticks. “You’re not going back there. This isn’t a vague threat anymore.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, Callisto. This is your life on the line, and if you won’t keep yourself safe, then I will.”

  “She’s sick. You have to believe me. She’d never hurt me. They’ve done something to her.”

  Even as I say it, I wince at the denial in my voice and remember her face. Her words: If someone betrays us… Well, that’s where I come in. And suddenly I don’t know whether or not she would take my life if she needed to. Or was told to.

  Finn sweeps his thumbs over my jaw. “I get that you want to find a way to defend her, to make this anything but what it is, but your sister admitted to murder. Whether or not she was groomed by your uncle, she’s a psychopath. You can’t go back.”

  A sob tears out of me, barely muffled by my fist. “She’s only n-nineteen.”

  A voice behind me, firm but not callous, says, “Old enough to be cognizant of and responsible for her crimes.”

  I spin on Detective Wilson, the door swinging shut behind her. She’s alone.

  “You heard everything?” I ask weakly.

  She nods, glancing at the mirrored wall. “Mr. McCowen was very forthcoming this morning, too. I’ll ad
mit, what he had to say was hard to swallow. Sounded more like a Hollywood movie script than truth. Until he showed me the photos on his phone. It’s my strong recommendation you do as he suggests and not return home.”

  Finn’s lips press softly to my temple. “Please, Callisto. I can’t risk losing you like I lost my father. It’s over. We’re stopping this now.”

  The finality—and reality—of his words sink in. He’s right. My hope for this ending a different way died in the basement last night with Lizzie. The plan had been to convince my sisters to take a trip with me. A bonding vacation. To get them far away for when Finn laid everything out to Detective Wilson and their worlds were upended.

  Too late. It was always too late. There’s no going back for any of us.

  The door swings open on a fuming Hugo, whose gaze lasers each of us, stalling on Finn. “Who the hell are you?” Without waiting for an answer, he turns to the detective. “Please tell me you’re not questioning my client without her lawyer present.”

  Before she can respond, I say, “Hugo, you’re fired.”

  He turns ashen. “Now wait a minute—”

  “You heard her,” says Detective Wilson, no hint in her voice of the satisfaction she likely feels. She takes his arm and guides him back to the door. “Time to go.”

  “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” he growls at me, right before the door closes in his face.

  “Well done, Calli.”

  Not sharing the detective’s smile, I sink into an uncomfortable chair. Finn clasps my shoulder, squeezing gently.

  Wilson sits opposite me, dropping a thick file and notepad onto the table.

  I nod to the file. “What’s that?”

  “Until today, it was my pet project in conjunction with a friend at the Bureau. Now, it’s a case file on your family’s extracurricular activities.”

  All my capacity for surprise has been scourged. I merely nod. “When we first spoke, I had a feeling you knew more than you let on.”

  She gives me the barest of smiles. “It wasn’t a coincidence that you spoke to me, although I felt damn lucky I was working the night you came in.” Her keen gaze shifts between Finn and me. “I only wish I’d made more of an impression—maybe you would have invited me into your little troupe of vigilantes.”

  “It was my idea,” Finn says quickly. “Like I told you, I wanted revenge and blackmailed her into helping me.”

  She gives his hand, still on my shoulder, a pointed look. “So you say. It’s time for you to step outside, Mr. McCowen. Don’t go anywhere. I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you.”

  Finn crouches beside me, his gaze heavy on mine, full of pride and a touch of worry.

  “I’ll be okay,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  His lips meet mine only briefly, but the moment itself expands like a ripple in water. Endlessness wrapped in our shared breath. And when he draws away, I’m left with the same feeling of having hiked through the forest outside Solstice Bay.

  Rooted.

  Strong.

  Calm.

  The door closes softly behind Finn, and Detective Wilson asks, “Are you ready, Callisto?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s start with events leading up to you staging your own death.”

  37

  After close to eight hours of interviewing, with only minimal breaks for food, I’m the kind of tired that runs into walls and misses steps.

  When Finn suggests we spend the night above a sex club in the owner’s private loft, my eyes almost fall out of my head. But after he tells Detective Wilson the owner’s name—Dominic Cross—to my surprise, she agrees it’s a good idea.

  “He’s ex-military special forces,” she says, then adds with a dry tilt, “I’m sure his place will be more accommodating than where we’d put you up tonight.”

  Finn tells me a bit more on the drive over—how Dominic and his wife, London, were attacked at the loft some years ago, and despite the threat being laid to rest, he had a state-of-the-art security system installed.

  “No one’s getting in there but us.”

  Despite my fatigue, a thrill dances up my spine. No one but us. Given I spent the day offering the police not only the means to ruin my family, but also the ability to bring me up on charges for faking my own abduction, it feels blasphemous to look forward to a night alone with Finn. But with Molly in a hotel downtown under an alias, I can’t help my relief. We’ll be safe. At least tonight. I don’t think about tomorrow—it’s too painful.

  “Here we are.”

  After parking in a small back lot off Wilshire, Finn leads me through the deepening dusk to a nondescript back door. The building is square, two stories, and though I know the ground floor is some infamous club, I don’t hear any music.

  “The club’s not open yet,” says Finn, reading my mind.

  “Ah, okay,” I answer, shifting from foot to foot as he punches in numbers on a keypad I hadn’t noticed.

  There’s a soft beep and a click. The door swings open. Finn leads me through a dim hallway to another door. Equally nondescript. Another keypad, this time requiring a thumbprint. It takes seconds, then there’s a series of thunks as bolts snap away from their sockets. Finn pushes the heavy door open, revealing a narrow staircase framed by pristine white walls.

  “This is…” I trail off, biting my lip on the words over the top. Because it isn’t. It’s exactly what we need.

  Finn slants me a humored glance before he steps inside. “Members are fingerprinted these days. A few clicks on his keyboard, and Dominic can give limited access to the loft.”

  I consider the implication, not sure how to feel about it. “You, uh, come here a lot?”

  He chuckles, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I’ve been for drinks a few times. It’s actually my best friend, Gideon, who’s friends with the owners. I called him yesterday, and he called in a favor.”

  I nod like that makes sense, while a funny tingle in my stomach reminds me how little I actually know about Finn. His likes and dislikes. Habits and aversions—aversions besides my family, that is. Does he like oysters? I hate them. Does he play sports—I’m not coordinated enough.

  Are we even compatible? Do we have anything in common besides my family?

  Finn, oblivious to my mental spiral, waves me inside. I wait as he closes the door and resets the keypad. Thunk thunk thunk. Immediately my anxious thoughts fade away, security melting the edges of the bone-deep stress I’ve carried since stepping foot inside my childhood home.

  I’m safe here. No pretending. No overthinking. I can be myself for the first time in what feels like forever. And when we reach the top of the stairs and Finn flips on a light switch, my gratitude doubles.

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  “Right?” Finn agrees, tossing his wallet and keys on a sleek side table and heading for the open-concept kitchen. “Something to drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sparkling water, wine, or liquor?”

  A shot of something strong sounds magical, but I also don’t want to pass out in twenty minutes. “Wine, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I wander through the space, drifting past an elegant seating area, dining table, a console with a beautiful record player and saliva-inducing record collection, and admire several beautiful, bold pieces of art. On the other side of the kitchen is a bedroom—I can glimpse dark bedding on a massive bed.

  I stall beside one section of the wall where a giant cross leans. I almost ask if the owner is very religious—then I see the cuffs. Blushing at my own naiveté, I spin and almost knock the wine glasses from Finn’s hands.

  His eyes twinkle at me. “Never seen one of those before, have you?”

  I take a gulp of wine, not tasting it. My second sip is more measured—it’s excellent.

  “Definitely not. I mean, I kind of understand the appeal—allowing yourself to surrender control in a safe
way—but the only way someone would get me on there is kicking and screaming. I don’t like being restrained. Or confined. It’s, um, an old fear.”

  Locked doors. Sightless dolls as company.

  I turn away, embarrassed, but Finn captures my free hand in his before I can flee. “Hey, don’t hide from me. I want to know about you. Everything about you.”

  I meet his gaze with effort, unsteady even though I’m wearing flats. Maybe it’s the wine on an empty stomach, but I know it’s more. It’s him, blue eyes fixed on mine, frank with interest and something else. A darker current.

  I’ve never had a man look at me with such raw possessiveness. Like I belong to him. It fills me with equal parts fear and longing.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” I murmur, the honesty nearly splitting me apart. “My only boyfriend was murdered by my sister”—I almost choke on the word—“and I’ve been running since I was nineteen. I don’t know anything about normal relationships. Is that even what this is? What are we, Finn?”

  I bite my lips shut.

  A smile flickers over his face. “I love it when you blush.”

  Releasing my hand, his fingers graze my hot cheek. “I don’t know how to answer your question, but I’ll try. I’ve been single-minded for so long, focused on preparing and waiting for the perfect opportunity to make the Avellinos pay for what they did to my family…” His fingertip traces my lower lip, igniting nerve endings all over my body. “All I know now is that I want you, Callisto Avellino.”

  More questions slip out, high-pitched, riding the wings of insecurity. “Because we have shared trauma? Or because it’s a different type of revenge against my family?”

  He can’t actually want me, can he?

  “Oh, princess.” His smile grows, edged with that same darkness.

  My fingers tremble on the stem of my wine glass, wishing to touch him. Here, now, with no great threat hanging over us, no bones in the dirt or adrenaline to level my inhibitions, I wish I were brave enough to show him how much I’ve come to need him. Rely on him. But he still hasn’t answered my questions, and doubt keeps me rooted to the spot.