“It’s grand, indeed. I take it you’ve never been.”
“I haven’t been outside of Johannesburg much. With Gus’s business, he couldn’t afford to travel. He was always on call, so we never ventured far from the house. The farthest I’ve been is the Modderfontein Reserve where he sometimes goes fishing.”
“We’ll have to rectify that,” I say, tracing the line of her jaw before pulling my hand away. “The world is big. There are many places and many things to see.”
“I’d like that,” she says softly.
Her words make me feel fuzzy and warm. That invincible notion comes over me again. I latch onto it, wanting to believe that nothing and no one can come between us.
“Are we going down there?” she asks, looking back at the lights.
I haven’t given it thought when I drove here. Making an instant decision, I shake my head.
She turns her face to me. “Then why did you bring me here?”
Why, indeed?
Clenching the steering wheel, I stare straight ahead, but I can feel her gaze burning on my face just as I can feel the questions going through her mind. My lips part of their own accord. My decision to tell her is impulsive rather than logical. “My brother did a heist here.”
“Shit.” She sits up straighter. “That’s right. I remember now. I didn’t really follow the news.”
“It was a fuck-up. He got shot.”
She cups my hand where it rests on the wheel. “I’m sorry.” After a small pause, she asks in a compassionate tone, “Do you miss him?”
I don’t deserve the sympathy she offers for a brother who isn’t dead. Pulling my hand away, I say, “I do, but not like you think.”
When I look at her in the dim light shining from the dashboard, she’s frowning.
“I was there when it happened,” I say.
“What?” she asks, a small gasp riding on the word.
“I was there the night the heist went down.”
“What do you mean you were there? You were in Morocco when it happened.”
“I was right there when the security guard pulled the trigger. I saw the hole in Ian’s T-shirt and the blood that dripped on the floor.”
“But…” She searches my eyes. “You lied about Morocco?”
“Africa was just a bogus story Damian invented.”
I see the exact moment she fits the pieces together. Her beautiful eyes flare. “You were part of the gang?”
“I’ve been stealing with Ian from the day we left our parents’ home.”
Covering her mouth with a palm, she stares at me for a few quiet beats.
“Ian was the mastermind behind the heists. My job was anything to do with the technical side, such as cutting alarm systems or hacking codes and passwords.”
“The car and the house… That’s how you made all your money.”
“Correct.”
“Why?” The question is breathless. “Why are you telling me this?”
I’m taking an enormous risk. If she lets the information leak to the police, they’ll most likely reopen the investigation. I’ve given her immense power over me, but like I’ll never use the evidence I still hold against her, I know she’s not going to tell anyone what I’ve shared with her. She won’t dare, not if the evidence of her theft may fall into Gus’s hands. Of course, I’ll never do that to her, but as far as she knows, talking will be a gamble.
So why did I tell her? Because I need to be certain how far I can trust her. Call it a test of sorts. I’d rather never see Ian and Cas again than risk their lives. I have to be dead sure before I confide that part of the truth. She said she cared about me, but caring comes in many shades. It can be a little, and not enough. Damian asked if I could trust her. The answer is yes, but it’s time to find out how much.
However, there’s also another reason why I’m spilling my guts, a reason that has nothing to do with a test and everything with the organ that pumps blood through my body. “Because I don’t want secrets between us. I don’t want to hide who I am any longer.” Cupping her cheek, I brush my thumb over her lips. “Not from you.”