Lancelot (The Theriot Family 3)

“Jesus. You didn’t just take his word about breaking ties, did you?”

“Fuck no. I had Blackjack scrutinize everything about him, then I grilled him myself.”

I smiled. “That must have been interesting.”

“He was scared as shit. He said the family occasionally expected him to do something for them, but he wanted to be totally free of them.”

“And he wanted you to help him get his freedom?”

Remington blew out a long breath. “I’ve made it clear to him that I’m not starting a war and endangering my family, but I appreciate the information he’s passed on.”

“Remington, you shouldn’t have—”

“We needed to know who was responsible for this theft.”

He was right. We did, but if this son of a bitch was using my brother to start a war, I’d kill him if he wasn’t dead already. “Does Pop know?”

Silence.

“Remy?”

“No.”

“We’re going to have to tell him if there is proof the Carlottis pulled off the heist.”

“I know. I’ll do it.”

I hated how sad he sounded. “I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“How many times have you stood by me when I’ve done something stupid?”

“Andy was a brilliant historian, and I—”

I didn’t miss that Remy had said was. He must think the man was dead. “You don’t have many chances to make friends who aren’t family. I’ll fix this.”

“What are you—”

“Trust me.” I ended the call and contacted Blackjack.

8

Julian

When I got home from work, I showered, dressed in my softest, comfiest pajamas, and indulged myself by turning up my AC since the pants weren’t meant for this climate. They’d been perfect for the years I’d lived in Boston, but like a lot of my wardrobe from those years, they weren’t practical for anything but the coldest days in New Orleans.

I’d planned to watch a movie starring The Rock and demolish the carton of salted caramel ice cream I’d impulse-bought a few days ago, but now I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy that. I was way too keyed up. I needed something more calming. I considered doing a yoga video, but that seemed like too much effort, so I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, turned on some soothing music, and sat in the window seat that faced the main house.

The window nook had sold me on renting the space even though the apartment was smaller than I’d hoped. I liked to sit in the window and imagine the main house as it had been a hundred years ago. I’d made up a pretend family who lived there along with their servants, and I thought up escapades for all of them. It was silly and childish, but it was one of the few things that soothed me when anxiety plagued me.

When my tea was cool enough to drink, I held the cup—one of my favorites that I’d found at a rummage sale—in my hands and sipped as I let my mind spin tales about the imaginary family from the past.

It was dark now, and there was only one light on in one of the windows, but I was sure I saw someone moving in the shadows, heading toward the old carriage house where I lived.

For a moment, I was sure my imagination had just taken things too far, that I was now seeing the characters I’d made up. My story about the young lady of the house slipping out to meet her lover had become too vivid. But after studying the yard for another moment, I became certain someone really was out there.

I couldn’t make out any details, but the figure was definitely too large to be Gwen. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would show up unannounced. It was a man—I was sure of that—a tall man with broad shoulders. Had he spotted me?

I slipped off the seat and moved so I could peek through the side of the curtains, hoping whoever it was couldn’t see me. I hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but my pajamas were lavender, and they might have been light enough to make me visible.

As he continued to approach the carriage house, my breath caught.

No. It couldn’t be. He didn’t know where I lived, and if he’d followed me home, he’d have been here long before now.

I’d seen him drive away, and his car hadn’t returned, but as the man moved closer to the door, the light I’d left on downstairs showed him more clearly.

I didn’t see his monkey, but that didn’t mean the little creature wasn’t hiding in his jacket or nearby. What the fuck was he doing here?

If Gwen had given him my address—

Bang! Bang! He pounded on the door. “Julian, I’ve brought you something. I’m really sorry about earlier.”

He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt now, and even in the dim light, I could tell he looked damn good in them. He scanned the upstairs windows, and I moved farther back. Was he drunk or just crazy? It didn’t matter. The best thing for me to do was pretend I wasn’t there.