A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

Sebastian’s eyes were wide and startled. In a frenzy, he turned and hurried back down while I chased after him. Watching him leap down the steps a few at a time, I was certain he’d hurt his injured knee, though he would only feel it later––when the adrenaline wore off. When I finally reached the bottom, five armed men ran past me in the direction of Charles’ office. I was the last to arrive.

Charles was slumped over on top of his desk, a pool of blood growing around his head. A handgun lay on the floor close by. Sebastian had his fingers on Charles’ pulse. His face was a solid mask, as still as death. Only I knew better. When the pain was most unbearable was when he retreated behind the walls of his fortress…I could almost hear the sound of his heart splintering apart into jagged pieces.

“Call the police,” he told to the security guards. They were the last words he spoke willingly for the next two days.

Chapter Nineteen

Once we got back to Geneva, our life was summarily high jacked, governed by meetings with the FBI and Interpol. With the case winding down and details to tie up, Sebastian was busy keeping bank business running as smoothly as possible while simultaneously appeasing clients that were wary of all the attention by both the Swiss and American governments.

A melancholy atmosphere hung over everything. We stayed mostly at the apartment. Dealing with the fall out of what Charles and Marcus had done was taking up so much of Sebastian’s time that he didn’t have any to spare for the trip back and forth to the estate. Which meant that I spent all my days and some of my nights alone––with nothing to do except clean and cook. When Sebastian suggested we get a permanent housekeeper for the apartment I almost murdered him with my eyes.

The only bright spot was that I got to see Charlotte more often. Little did I know when we met for lunch that day that would soon change as well.

“So…what will you do now?” Her big brown eyes wide, she stared back expectantly as we made our way to the brasserie on the corner. A crisp breath of wind painted two circles on her dimpled cheeks and blew her curls in every direction. We both shivered as we walked into the headwind.

“Well––I have a month and a half until my interview for the residency position, and that’s in no way a sure thing.” At the smirk and raised eyebrow she gave me, I added, “Don’t look at me like that. I refuse to let him meddle in this. If I get it, it will be on my own merit.”

“Boooring. You are so bloody boring.”

I chuckled at her usual dramatics. “You’d be surprised,” I teased, my eyebrows wiggling.

“You dirty girl. Don’t leave out any of the filthy parts.” Something close to wistfulness crossed her face. She was definitely hiding something behind the jokes and sarcasm.

“Charlotte, why aren’t you dating? And don’t give me that crap about living on the estate makes it difficult again.” The amusement dropped off her face all at once. Her steps slowed. “There’s a reason I wanted to see you today.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

Without preamble, she said, “I’m leaving in a few days.”

I stopped walking and turned to face her. “Leaving? Like on vacation?”

She bit her bottom lip, her brow wrinkled. “Not exactly,” she replied, her voice dropping in volume.

“Then how exactly?” The churn in my gut told me I wouldn’t like the answer.

“For good.” The bottom officially fell out of my stomach.

“For good?” I repeated, grief-stricken. “What do you mean for good? And where are you going?”

“Back to England.”

“You’re being deliberately vague.”

Her eyes darted around, searching for cover from my scrutiny. “It’s my mum. She’s sick.”

“And the dog ate your homework? You’ve never once mentioned your family.” Blowing out a deep breath, she continued. “I need to go deal with a problem that I’ve put off for years. Please don’t ask me anymore.”

“Why not? Maybe I can help.”

The wind kicked up again, her hair streaming across her face. Pushing the curls away, she said, “You can’t. Believe me, I wish you could, but you can’t.” Her expression convinced me that she truly believed it.

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I want to…depends how things go.”

“Promise me that you’ll call and let me know how you are. I won’t rest otherwise. If you make me worry, I’ll come looking for you.”

The edges of her plump mouth curled up faintly. “Worse than a Sunday school teacher.”

“Count on it.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Now let’s get inside and get drunk––give you a proper send off.”

“You get drunk. I’ll drown my sorrows in an extra large crème brulée since I won’t be seeing any for a while.”

“Deal.”

We spent the rest of the lunch laughing, talking about anything and everything other than the secrets I knew she was keeping from me. I just prayed that when the time came, she wouldn’t hesitate to call.