Gill sets a small silver pitcher of milk and a matching sugar dish in front of me. Fancy. Since he doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd give a shit about things like that, I have to wonder … did a girlfriend ever live here with him? Maybe I'm reading too much into this whole house thing? Maybe, just maybe, this house wasn't meant for me and Cliff and Solène, but for a future wife, a future family, that he was supposed to have.
I decide there's no other way to know than to ask.
“Did you buy this house for us?” I ask, my voice steady. I scoot my coffee mug closer and pour in some milk. “I mean, specifically to use as a safe house for this job? I'm just asking because it seems awfully nice, and awfully large, so …”
“Where am I hiding my wife, two kids, and golden retriever?” Gill asks, leaning back in his chair with a creak, a cup of black coffee cupped in his strong hands. My own tremble a little as I spoon sugar into the mug and try to ignore the aching throb of the scabs on my palm. “They're in the backyard, stuffed in the shed next to the minivan.”
“Please don't deflect my honest questions with humor,” I tell him, lifting my chin up and giving him my most haughty glare. I refuse to smile at his joke, flat out refuse. My lips struggle to betray me anyway. “Gilleon, I want an answer. I feel like I deserve one after what happened yesterday.” The memory of the gunshots makes my head hurt, so I push it back, refusing to acknowledge how close I actually came to dying.
“I bought this house in preparation for the job, yes.” Gill leans forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor with a crack. Some of that gorgeous dark hair falls into his blue eyes as he stares at me, my own gaze dropping to his chest, to the tightness of that T-shirt and the smooth slide of muscles beneath it. Every move that Gill makes is done with feline grace, a slick sureness that whatever the prey is, however fast or strong or cunning, he'll be the one to take it down. “And no. No, there is no one, Regina. I don't have a wife or a girlfriend or kids.”
My throat works hard to swallow past the sudden lump that forms and I choke on my coffee, turning away and closing my eyes for a brief moment.
“What's wrong?” he asks me, but I just shake my head, hating him for being so damn perceptive. This is going to get old fast, isn't it? “Regina.”
“Gilleon,” I say, turning back to face him, finding his eyes on my body, roving over the smooth square of chest and cleavage above the neckline on my dress. He lifts his gaze back to mine as I reach down and pick up my coffee. “I don't care about any of that. That's not what this is about.”
“Bullshit,” Gill growls, tightening the muscles in my lower belly. He bares his teeth at me in a small scowl. “Why can't we just be honest about what's going on here? You've been cold and distant since the moment I set foot in Dad's kitchen.”
“Me?!” I ask, and I can't seem to keep the shriek from my voice. I point at myself, right at the diamond pendant hanging down on my chest. “I'm the distant one? I'm not the one that puts on expressionless masks, that goes all cold and dark and deep, retreats so far into his fucking self that even though he sees everything, sees it all, he's blinded by it and misses the most important things of all.”
“What, Regi? What is it that I'm missing?” His blue eyes are vacant, focused on the tabletop as the fingers on his right hand curl against the polished wood. I don't miss the bunching of muscle in his arms, the tension in his jaw. When he flicks that gaze up to me, all of the emptiness breaks and I have to really struggle to catch my breath.
“If it seems like I've been cold and distant,” I say, already regretting the massive hint I just dropped on him, “it's because I've been trying to be cordial and pleasant. Because, after all these years, I see you appear like a ghost from the grave. Because the first time in a decade that you decide to talk to me, it's about a robbery. Because ten years ago, you left me with an engagement ring on my finger …” I suck in a deep breath, fighting against the prick of tears behind my eyes. This is why I hate reliving this shit. Not seeing him all that time, it was really a blessing in disguise. Love can't be killed. Once it's there, it sits in your heart forever. Sometimes, it morphs or changes. Sometimes, it grows. And sometimes, it lies dormant, like a seed in dry dirt. I don't want this particular seed watered because I don't want it to grow thorns. I've bled enough already.
“Listen,” I say as slowly and calmly as I'm able, “we both know what you did to me, how you left.” I lift up a hand when he starts to speak. “I don't care why. Why isn't important to me, Gilleon. But you and me, we had something …” My voice gets rough and low, but I don't care. Maybe that's why fate brought us together again, just so I could say this. “We had something special, Gill. Some,” I curl the fingers of my free hand against my chest, “some rare and wonderful spark. When it was snuffed out, I thought I would die of heartbreak. But I didn't. I knew I'd lost something one of a kind that day, but I got through it, worked past it.”
I stand up from the table, still not looking at him. He's looking at me though. I know that because I can feel it, can feel his gaze burning through my dress and straight to the red bra and panties that I've got on underneath. A strange, distant part of me wants him to bend me over this table and fuck me, but I know I'll feel even worse if we do that, even more empty inside.
“I'm sorry if I'm being aloof, if I don't seem like I want to make friends. To be honest, Gill, I don't. I just … want to keep things professional, okay? Please don't bring the subject up again.”
I shove away from the table and storm out of the kitchen, my heels loud on the wood floors as I head towards the living room and the main staircase. I'm barely out of sight before I hear a growl and a crash, like the sound of glass shattering.
I pause for a moment and then turn around, moving slowly back towards the kitchen. When I peer inside, I find Gill bent over the table with his elbow on the wooden surface, his head in his hand. On the floor next to me are the remnants of a navy blue mug and a sea of rapidly cooling coffee.
I sneak away before he sees me and retreat back to my bedroom.
To my credit, I don't shed a single tear.
Memories poke and prod at my subconscious, but I brush them away, shoving at them with angry fingers. Not right now, I snarl, my mental voice taking on the same violent, wild pitch that had burst from Gill before he'd thrown the coffee cup.
What the hell is going on here?
“Je pense que je perds la tête,” I murmur. I think I'm losing my mind. I put my fingers against my forehead and close my eyes, slowing my breathing down to a manageable level.
But no. No. That's not how I operate.
I open my eyes back up.
“I will handle this situation with grace and dignity,” I say, reverting back to some positive self-talk. “No matter what comes my way, I can handle it.” Except for outlaws with guns, my cynical self tries to add. I shove that thought back, too, and start pacing, the click of my heels on the floor a comforting sound, a familiar sound, one that says that I'm in control. Me. I decide where I walk, how quickly I go; I steer my own destiny.
If I had a cell phone—or any phone at all for that matter—I'd call up Leilani right now, even though I'm not supposed to. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to about all of this. My usual go-to, Cliff, isn't looking like a great option right now. Normally, when we talk about Gill, it's like we're talking about some distant, fictional character, some figment of my imagination that only haunts me in dreams. Right now? When I see Cliff and Gill together, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The stepdad that's become like a true father figure to me, he's really the dad of the man that shattered my heart and stepped on it. And he loves his kid, like any good dad should, for all his faults and shortcomings. So how can I possibly talk to him about this?
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway draws me to the window and I pause, looking down to find Aveline stepping out of some generic black rental sedan.
My fingers twitch on the windowsill.
I might've just met the woman, but I could really use a friend right now. Plus, she knows Gill. Plus, she's a badass capable of saving me from armed gunmen.
Yes.
It's her that I want to talk to, hang out with.
I fix my dress and head back out into the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs as Gill moves toward the front door. When he looks up at me, the mask is back in place, fixed firmly across those full lips, those beautiful blue eyes.
I can't resist …
“Is my coffee still on the table?” I ask, moving down the stairs, my hand sliding over the banister. “I could still use that pick-me-up.”
“I'll get it,” he tells me, opening the front door before Aveline can even knock. I wonder if he's cleaned up the mess yet. “Can I get you some coffee, Ave?” he asks, moving back down the hall and trusting his partner to lock the door behind her.
“Black,” she says, giving me a once-over and a raised red brow. “Wow, fancy. You got plans today?” I'm sure the question's rhetorical, but I answer anyway, watching as Aveline shrugs out of her navy blue coat, revealing a brown shoulder holster and the black pistol that's tucked away inside of it.
“Only if you don't,” I say, flashing my best smile. Aveline narrows her eyes at me, the dark black makeup emphasizing the bright green of her gaze.
“I'm on guard duty today,” she says, moving down the hallway towards the kitchen. Perfect. I smile and follow after her, both of us pausing when we find Gill on his knees cleaning up the mess of broken glass and splattered coffee. He doesn't even bother to look up at us. “How on earth did you manage this one?” Aveline asks, running her fingers over a splatter of coffee on the wall near her head.
Gill doesn't respond, pulling the trash can closer with his tattooed hand and slamming a wet paper towel full of glass into it with a crunch.
“Never mind,” Aveline whispers, holding up her hands and moving to the cabinets to grab a mug for herself. “I don't want to know.”
“Regina,” Gill tells me, standing up straight and spraying the wall with cleaner before wiping it clean, “I'll be in and out today, but Ave will be here if you need anything. I don't expect anymore trouble, but try to stay in the house for now.”
“When do I get a phone?” I ask as Aveline starts rifling through Gill's cabinets like she's been here before. She emerges with a granola bar and peels the plastic back, shoving it between her teeth before throwing her black duffel bag down on a kitchen chair and unzipping it. “When can I call Leilani? Or my sister?”
“It depends on the information that I get today,” he tells me, setting the cleaner down on the table and running his fingers through his hair. The dark perfection of it, the way it glistens in the sunshine from outside, it's … difficult to look at. I swallow hard. “Hopefully by next week you can start living normally. By next month, you should be able to get your own place.”
“Next month?” I try not to choke on the words, but I can't help it. Gill's attention snaps right to my face and he steps close to me, his boots touching the toes of my red heels. We're two polar opposites—a soft, strong feminine and a damaged, brutal masculine. The contrast hurts too good to breathe.
“Think you can suffer my company that long?” he asks, and I get this really weird feeling that he wants to kiss me. But no. Gill turns away and heads over to the sink, grabbing his coffee and downing it, the corded muscles in his tattooed arm tensing with the motion, far too much strength in them for such a simple task. “I'll be back in a few hours. Aveline?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know what to do if the shit hits the fan. Have some faith in me, will you? I saved your sister a bullet wound to the head yesterday.”
Gill grits his teeth, but he doesn't say anything, stalking from the kitchen with those sleek, strong predatory movements that put me on edge. I know, just know, that at any moment, he could quite literally reach over and snap my neck. I don't think he'd ever do anything like that, but just knowing that he's capable is kind of scary.
“Whoa,” Aveline says, tossing a pile of papers onto the kitchen table and whistling, “he is pissed. What happened this morning?” I get myself another cup of coffee and sit down at the table next to Aveline.
“Nothing,” I lie, sipping carefully and watching as she shuffles through the green folders, finally passing one over to me. I open it up and find a series of documents—a passport, driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, a book of blank checks, a few credit cards—and all the ones with pictures … feature yours truly. Only … I look a little distorted. Still me, but different. “Fia?” I ask, staring at the foreign name printed beneath my picture. “My name is Fia now?”
My head spins and I have to sit my coffee cup down before I drop it.
“Fia Marie Levine,” Aveline says, crunching down on her granola bar as I sit there and gape at the papers. Somehow, I can't imagine being anyone but Regi Corbair. I mean … I knew this was coming, but it's still difficult.
“Why does my face look different?” I ask, touching a fingertip to my driver's license picture.
“I wiped your records, but you never know who might have a photo of you. Facial recognition technology is too good now. It's a little scary.” Aveline taps her red painted fingernail against the card. “I altered this just enough that you should still pass if anyone looks at it, but different enough that you shouldn't be found either. Gill begged me to find someone with the middle name Regina, but there weren't any good candidates. Sorry.”
“Find someone?” I ask, not sure I really even want to know. “Fia is a real person?”
“Was,” Aveline says and my stomach drops. “And the reason she's past tense isn't any of our doing. I don't kill innocent people, just look for ones that are already dead.”
I reach over and grab another file, finding Cliff's papers—sorry, Ivan's—and Solène's. Her new name is Giselle, apparently. Fitting, but … “Her last name is the same as mine,” I say, flipping between Cliff's documents and my own. His new last name is Bernard.
“Yeah, about that.” Aveline sits down and pushes the papers towards me, dunking her granola bar in her coffee. “With the age difference between him and her, it was hard for me to find a suitable match. It was much easier to call you her mom and be done with it.”
My throat closes up.
“You know, the strangest thing came up when I was working last night,” Aveline begins and I feel my head start to spin. “I was going through your old docs, wiping them from the system, when I happened upon something.”
“Bonjour.” Cliff's cheerful voice breaks through the tension and pulls me up for air, drawing my attention to the archway into the kitchen. “How are you lovely ladies faring this morning?” I smile at my stepfather and curl my fingers around the files. How is he going to react when he sees this?
“Fine,” I say, even though I feel anything but fine. “Did you sleep well?”
“Regina Elaine Corbair,” Cliff says, putting his hands on his hips and looking me over. “You look anything but fine.” I narrow my eyes at him and glance over at Aveline. She doesn't say anything, just leans back in her chair and shoves the last of the granola bar into her mouth.
“Got our new names today,” I tell him, standing up and passing the files over. I get myself yet another cup of coffee and drink it down like it's a shot of vodka. When I'm done, I slam the cup on the counter and gaze out the window at the trees separating Gill's house from the neighbors. After a minute, Cliff comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing tight, just like he always did for Gill, a comforting gesture.
“It'll be okay, Regi,” he tells me as I stare dry eyed out the window and wish for a moment that I was anywhere but here. “Maybe … it's about time all of this came up?” I take a shuddering breath.
“No,” I tell him, and I know he'll respect my wishes on this. “It isn't time until Gill opens his eyes and looks.” I turn around and face Cliff. “All he has to do is look.”
True to his
word, Gill pops in and out of the house during the day, but I don't talk to him, hardly even glance his way as he trudges in, tracking the floor with mud from his boots. Dressed in my T-shirt from yesterday and a pair of designer leggings, I lounge on the couch and scroll through movies on Netflix, looking for the most horrific, gruesome one I can find. The worse the movie is, the better I feel about my own life. A coping mechanism, I know, but my past is catching up to me, trailing behind and breathing hot against my neck; I could use a distraction.
“You can call me Ave, if that'll make you feel better,” Aveline tells me, appearing in the darkened living room. I closed all of the curtains, blocking out the beautiful golden sunshine and the view of the lake. It's not a pity thing, just a practical one. Who watches horror movies in bright, glaring sunlight?
“And how will that work?” I ask, wondering if Solène and Cliff are still upstairs reading. They're both literature buffs, spending countless hours in silence together, rehashing old classics and brand new bestsellers both. Cliff is a good dad, a perfect one, really. I know he doubts himself because of what happened with Gill and his mom, but his son chose to live with her, and he was trying to be respectful. It was a mistake, yes, but a forgivable one; he had no clue she'd drop off the deep end like that.
“If you call me Ave, you can pretend we're friends and then sharing secrets together will be no big deal.” A smile twitches at the edge of my lips as she sits down next to me and passes over a glass of red wine. “It's not some fancy French boudoir or whatever, but it'll do the trick.”
“I think you mean Bordeaux?” I ask, but Aveline waves my words away, nodding her chin at the TV. I notice she doesn't have a glass of wine in her own hand. She must take this whole no drinking on the job thing very seriously.
“What are you watching?” she asks, her eyes scanning the curtains, her arms stretched out alongside her, draped over the back of the couch. Even now, when she's trying to look relaxed, Aveline looks tense to me. “Been hearing a lot of screams in here.”
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