“Aye.” He laughs.
“I was ready to dash out of here because I thought I’d been discovered.”
“For what?”
“Card counting—as if you didn’t know.”
I look at the dealer and she smiles. “It took a while for me to catch on.” She looks at Sin and shrugs. “The lass is quite good.”
“Yes. She’s quite good at everything she does, I’m afraid.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sinclair Breckenridge
Bleu is going home. I won’t see her for two weeks. I’m not sure how I’ll handle being without her for so long since we haven’t spent a day apart in three months.
We said our goodbyes last night—all night long. There were many times I considered telling Bleu the things on my heart. I. Love. You. They’re three simple little words—but I couldn’t bring myself to say them.
Work has robbed me of the time I’d prefer to spend with Bleu. That’s why I’m taking the afternoon off to be with my lass. Her red-eye flight doesn’t depart until almost midnight so we’ll have several hours to … say goodbye again.
I’m already in the shower when I hear her come into the bathroom. I expect her to join me at any minute—but she doesn’t—so I grip the handrail and peek around the tile wall.
She has taken off her gown and is standing in front of the mirror naked, looking at her body. “Admiring yourself?”
“No.” She laughs and twists, moving her hand to her hip. “I was wondering what a Celtic shield like yours would look like right here.”
She wants matching ink? “Stunning—that’s how it would look.”
“You’d approve?”
“Of course.”
She comes into the shower with me, putting her arms around my body from behind. “I know I told you a hundred times last night but I’m going to miss you like crazy,” she says.
“I’ll miss you too, my Bonny Bleu. I mean that.” I can tell her I’ll miss her but why can’t I man up and spit out the words I so desperately want to say?
I still have tonight. That gives me all day to think about the perfect way to broach the subject.
“Will you be seeing your doctor while you’re in the States?” She mentioned making an appointment. I hope she does because I’m very concerned about the way the diabetic medication makes her feel.
“I doubt I’ll be able to get in to see her on such short notice. You usually have to have an appointment months in advance.”
“If you can’t, I’ll make sure you get in with the best doctor here when you come back.” She’s let this go on for months. She should have already been seen by someone.
I turn and wrap my arms around Bleu. There’s nothing better than the feel of her wet body pressed against mine. “I wish I had time to make love to you in the shower but I don’t. I have early court this morning.”
“No worries. We’ll take advantage of the time we have before I have to go to the airport.”
* * *
It’s five o’clock and I’m on my way out the door when Heather stops me. “Mr. Breckenridge. I’m so glad I caught you. I have a message from your uncle. He wants you to come by his office.”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir. He said it was an urgent matter.”
No fucking way! If I rushed home, I might have four hours with Bleu before she has to leave. I don’t want to waste that precious time with Abram instead of being with her in our bed.
I dial Abram’s number. “I got your message but Bleu has a red-eye, so I’ll be in a rush to get her to the airport.” Not the whole truth. “Can we reschedule for the morning?”
“Absolutely not. It’s pertinent you see me before she leaves.” I doubt that. “Trust me, Sinclair. You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
“I’ll come for ten minutes.” That’s all the time I’ll allow him to steal from Bleu.
I can walk the distance between our offices in the financial district in about fifteen minutes, but I’m in a hurry so I catch a taxi instead. Abram’s secretary is still there when I arrive. “Mr. Breckenridge will see you.”
“Thank you.”
I stand in the doorway of Abram’s office. He’s combing through a file spread wide across his desk, appearing completely engrossed—or obsessed. I tap on the door to gain his attention. “I’m here.”
“Aah … Sinclair. Come in and take a seat, my boy.”
He hasn’t called me his boy in years. He’s absolutely giddy, so I don’t expect this to be good. “I can’t stay. I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes. I hear our dear Bleu will be leaving the country.”
“Only for a couple of weeks. She’s going home to retrieve her photography equipment and visit her family. She’s not seen them in months.” Why am I explaining this to him?
He gestures for me to come inside. “You make me nervous standing around like that. Come in and sit.”
I do as he asks. “I said ten minutes. You’re down to eight.”
“Then I shall get on with it,” he says. “It has recently come to my attention that someone has been meddling in my business, so to protect my interests, I inventoried my vulnerabilities.”
I already know where this is going—Bleu. “This again? Really? Why are you unable to let it go?”
He tosses several photos across his desk in my direction. “Take a look for yourself and you’ll understand why.”
I pick up the stack of photos—all of Bleu dressed in an iconic uniform I recognize. In one, she’s standing next to a sign: FBI Academy. Quantico, VA. The others clearly display her accepting a diploma and then posing with it while giving a thumbs up. “Where did you get these?”
“The home of Harold MacAllister, her father.” He scatters the photos and scours through them. “This is an interesting story. It becomes more and more intriguing the deeper you dig.” He holds up a picture of Bleu with a man, both dressed in FBI uniforms. “You see, it turns out Bleu followed in her father’s footsteps—being a part of the FBI is a family trait.”
I’m numb. It’s a fucking blow to learn Bleu’s been lying to me all this time, but my brain can’t make the connection. The States shouldn’t have any kind of interest in anything we do. “The FBI can’t touch us.”
Abram gets up and goes to his liquor cabinet. He pours two whiskies. “I don’t give two shits about the FBI. However, I care a lot about Bleu claiming to be a photographer from Memphis, Tennessee, when the evidence tells us otherwise.”
There has to be an explanation, one that explains why Abram is wrong and I’m not in love with a woman who has betrayed me. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
“It’s not your job to find out anything. Leith is the one who originally let her slip in when he hired her. That’s a mistake he’ll pay for, but it was you who brought her into your bed and made her part of this family. It’s your responsibility to take her out.”
He isn’t suggesting I safely send her home. “You want me to kill her.”
“I want you to make good on the promise you made.” I know the exact one he’s referring to. I said I would be the one to do it if she turned out to be something different than she claimed to be.
“I remember but …” I love her.
“After the first betrayal, there is no other.” I know the motto well. Many brothers have died for far less. “You know there’s no other way—absolute and unwa
vering loyalty to you and The Fellowship. You must demand that from any woman in your life.”
I see the evidence but I refuse to accept it. “There has to be an explanation.”
“She has betrayed you and The Fellowship. She can never be trusted now. She must die.”
I can’t do it. “I love her. She’s mine. I’ve claimed her.”
“Do you love her enough to die in her place?” I do but killing me wouldn’t save Bleu and it would never satisfy Abram. He’s thirsty for her blood.
“Listen very carefully, Sinclair. Bleu played the part of the perfect woman for you—because it was her job. That’s why she was so easy for you to love, but none of it is real,” Abram says.
I thumb through piles of photos of Bleu and see a woman I don’t know. “Everything was a lie—a figment—right in front of my face, and I didn’t see it.” What does that say about me?
Abram leans back in his chair, his fingers interlaced, hands clasped. “From the heart’s point of view, this must feel like an immense betrayal. But for Bleu, it was just business. She was here doing a job she was hired to do and she was damn good at it. Don’t knock yourself too badly. Think of it as a lesson well learned.”
“I don’t know how to kill the woman I love.”
“Quickly—it’s the only way. Before your heart, or dick, has time to interfere.”
“I’m losing my lass, the only one I’ve ever loved.”
“Your heart is telling you to mourn the loss, but the truth is that your lass was never real. She didn’t exist.” Try convincing my heart of that.
“I understand she made you fall in love her. That’s why I’ll overlook you killing her quickly and painlessly.”
He’s right. Again. But for the life of me, I have no idea how I’ll kill this woman I love so dearly. I can’t imagine a darker sin.