On the threshold of his office, I took a deep breath and prayed I could still turn this thing around.
I wasn’t a man who prayed. Who believed in a God who could save anyone—but surely not me. I wasn’t worthy of redemption.
But Zoe didn’t deserve any of this. If I could ensure her safety, I would lose everything. Gladly.
Like the first day I’d come here—not that long ago, but a lifetime in my head—I had to summon my nerve to walk inside and breathe Lewis’s rarefied air. But unlike the first time I’d come here, I wasn’t full of bravado. I’d been stripped down to the core.
Just a man who was willing to do whatever it took to protect the woman he loved.
Donovan was standing at the window again, an eerie echo of our first meeting. He turned toward me, his eyes dark and fathomless.
And I flicked the match across my world and set it to burn.
“I came here as part of a con to pay back my debts in London. I was supposed to set up Simon to pay for my—our—mum’s safe return from the evil men who held her. But no one’s holding her, except her own greed and her own neediness. The same things that held me. But no more.”
I stumbled forward and gripped the back of the chair opposite Donovan’s desk. “I don’t care what you do to me. You can make sure I’m blacklisted and never sing again. You can see me imprisoned. I’ll pay back every cent of my advance and whatever this costs you. But they’ve threatened Zoe Manning—Lila’s cousin. She’s in danger. You have to help.”
I shut my eyes as horrific images scrolled through my brain, ones with a soundtrack of Zoe screaming. My knees turned liquid and I gripped the chair harder to remain on my feet.
“Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. Please just help her.”
He stared at me a moment longer, and then he moved to his desk and picked up the phone.
Twenty-Nine
The tinny sound of “Arsonist’s Lullaby” emanated from Margo’s phone where it sat on the nightstand.
Her husband was entirely too cute, even if he was a pest.
She grinned and answered his call. “Seriously? Calling already? Didn’t you just leave here?”
“Are you sure you can’t wait for me? Hello, house hunting is supposed to be a couples’ activity. And here I am, slaving away, and you’re about to go have fun without me.”
Margo hurried around the bedroom, looking for her other heel. It was here somewhere. “Slaving, really? You’re singing for your supper, pal.”
“It’s not just that. We’re writing in here too, and there’s retakes, and fuck, it’s too early for this crap. Even if we just did our first real take together.” He exhaled audibly. “We sang together, Violin Girl. Like for real.”
She hauled up the bedspread and went still. “What?”
“Yeah.” He let out another breath. “I didn’t intend to do it, but when I came in, he was in the booth.”
“How was it?” She sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching a handful of the spread. The ache in Simon’s voice made her own throat tight.
“Intense. We sound good together. I don’t know what to make of any of it.”
“You don’t have to know yet. Just being there and doing it is a lot. Processing what’s happening will take time.” She smiled though he couldn’t see her. But he’d hear it in her voice. “I’m proud of you. This is a big step.”
“It is. I didn’t even have coffee yet.”
She had to laugh. “Rough living. Aha, found it.” She dragged her navy-blue pump out from under the bedspread and slipped it on.
“Found what?”
“My other heel. They have a way of disappearing on me. Of course the bed looks like wild animals nested in it, but the realtor expects me at ten and—”
“And whoa, take a breath. Did you forget we have a housekeeper? She’ll make the damn bed. As for the sheets, you weren’t complaining when your toes were pointi
ng due north this morning.”