Devil's Redemption (Devil's Pawn Duet 2)

Her face gives nothing away about what I told her on her visit to the house. And I’m not actually sure how she feels about Jericho, this banter between them not unfriendly but also not quite friendly.

“I love gifts,” I say, and she watches as I tear the package open. It’s a book about pregnancy, what I can expect, a week-by-week guide. “It’s perfect! I don’t have one.”

“I’m glad you like it. But it’s just the beginning. If I’m going to be an aunt and godmother—”

“Godmother?” Jericho cuts her off, eyebrows rising high on his forehead.

Megs just carries on. “You know I’m spoiling him or her. I’ve already started a collection. It’s been too long since I’ve held a baby.” Megs leans in to hug me. “You good?” she whispers.

I hug her tighter. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Page 286,” she whispers and pulls back, turns to Jericho. “Are you just going to sit there or are you going to make yourself useful and pour the lady a cup of tea?”

I look down at the book on my lap tempted to turn to page 286 now. In fact, it takes all I have not to as I set it aside and listen to their back-and-forth. Jericho makes a comment of “…isn’t that your job? I thought for what I paid I’d at least get halfway decent service.”

But even in his tone, I get the feeling he might like Megs. At least not hate or completely distrust her. It’s when we’re cutting into the cake that his phone rings. I pause with the knife just touching the icing and watch as he takes the call, getting up to speak in a lowered voice.

“Does he think he’s some sort of spy?” Megs asks, watching his back for a moment before turning to me. I notice the glance she gives Anthony at the door. “He was sweet to rent the place out for you. You should have heard him when he called me.” She shakes her head. “If I didn’t know the other side of him, I’d think he was just a big teddy bear.”

A teddy bear. Jericho. That’s twice someone’s called him that.

“I have ultrasound pictures,” I say, changing the subject as she pulls up a chair. I set the knife down and take out the photos to show Megs. A glance at Jericho tells me that whatever is going on it’s got him worked up.

“Oh, my goodness! Looks just like dad,” she says once Jericho disconnects the call and returns to the table, his mood visibly darker.

He glances to Megs. “Aren’t you supposed to serve and leave?”

She rolls her eyes and hands me back the photos. “Well, let’s just hope she inherits mom’s personality or that kid is doomed.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jericho starts.

Megs laughs and walks away. I cut a slice of the cake only to have about a million pink and blue sprinkles spill out onto the dish and over the table, the sight so gorgeous all I can do is laugh. I think how much Angelique would love this. How much I love it.

But before I can ask Jericho to take a picture of it, before he can even enjoy the spectacle or be irritated by it, his phone rings again. This time when he answers his tone is sharp. There’s a long silence while the person on the other end responds. I glance to Megs who is watching from the counter. When I look back to Jericho, I hear his muttered curse before he shoves the phone back into his pocket and returns to me, body tense, legs stiff.

“We need to go,” he says.

“What? Why?”

“I need to take care of something. It’s urgent.” He picks up the book and my purse and gestures for me to get up.

“What’s going on?” I ask without standing.

“Nothing to upset you. We just need to leave.”

“Remember what you said this morning? About trust?”

“Yes, that I’m working on it, and it will take us both time to trust. Let’s go, Isabelle.”

“You go. I want to eat my cake.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Why not? The door is locked. Anthony can take me home when I’m done. You’re busy anyway.”

“Isabelle—”

“Tell me what it is then. Tell me why you’re angry again. And tell me what you found in the autopsy.”

He grits his jaw, hands tensing into fists. He closes his eyes, then, ten seconds later, opens them and takes a deep breath. “Okay. You’ll stay here. Anthony will stay with you. The door will remain locked. Anthony,” he calls out and Anthony is at the table in an instant. “I need to take the car. Call for another one to be brought around. Once it’s here and my wife has enjoyed her cake, take her home. No one comes in. No one goes out. Is that clear?”

I roll my eyes and pick up my fork, no longer interested in them. Angry at this turn of events. Disappointed by it, by his words about trust because they’re empty.