The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

“Getting by,” she says, her voice undeniably shaky. “How is he?”

Oblivious. “Good. He’s good.” Inflating that would be insensitive.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

My back naturally straightens, my forehead naturally frowning, as I rack my mind for what I could have done that she could be thanking me for. There’s nothing. “What for, Hilary?”

“For the invite.”

“The invite?” A horrible feeling comes over me.

“You’re renewing your vows.”

I stare at the French doors that lead onto the terrace. “We are,” I murmur. What is he thinking?

“It’s lovely of you to think of us. To make us feel . . . included.”

My heart is quickly aching for her. I don’t know what her husband is up to, how on earth he’s managed to get himself caught up in the underworld, but I do know Hilary is a good woman. She doesn’t deserve this, no matter what she took from me. I wasn’t a woman to her. Hardly even a human being. I was a nonentity, a likely drug addict, a hooker, a no-hoper. At least, that’s what she told herself. That’s what helped her come to terms with what she did. I have to remind myself constantly that she raised him well. Loved him. Gave him everything—respect, manners, and a heap of other qualities. “You’re welcome.” I feel like we’re dancing around a massive, illuminous pink elephant. “Hilary, Daniel’s safer here,” I say, getting up and walking around our room, struggling to find the right words to ease her. I’m not sure what Derek has told her. How much she knows.

“Who are these people, Rose?” Her voice begins to break.

“They’re dangerous.” I won’t beat around the bush. She must have figured out that much.

“And your husband? Who is he?”

My head in my hand, I drop to the bed again. I can’t tell her that he’s one of the good guys. My husband is no saint. He has more murders under his belt than I dare to admit. But he loves me. He loves Daniel. Even if he’s being a selfish, reckless idiot. “He’s one of the only men who can stop them,” I say, because it’s nothing but the truth. Him. James. Both have personal vendettas against the illusive Bear. They won’t rest until they find out who he is and kill him. And I just have to sit around and wait for that to happen while going out of my mind with worry.

I hear a faint snivel down the line. “Promise me you won’t cut me off completely,” she begs. “I know I did wrong by you. I know you owe me nothing, but please, I beg you, please don’t take him away completely.”

“I do owe you, Hilary. I owe you for taking care of my son for so many years. And I would never cut you out of his life. We’ll figure something out when the dust settles, I promise. But for now, his safety is my priority.”

“Of course,” she croaks.

“And I need you to know, Hilary, that Danny dealt with the men who were at the beginning of this mess. The men who you bought Daniel from, the men who abducted me, they are all gone. These people now . . . I don’t know who they are.”

“I wondered where the money was coming from,” she says. “Derek’s business was good, he’d said. He was finally earning the name he always wanted. New offices. New cars. The mortgage was paid off. I feel so stupid.”

“Derek is a string in their bow. A tool they’ll use or blackmail. Nothing will ever be for his benefit, only theirs. They dig and find skeletons in closets, Hilary. And they found a big one in yours.”

“Daniel,” she says quietly.

“Daniel,” I confirm going to the bathroom and slipping on my robe. “And if they ever find out there’s a connection with Danny Black’s wife—me—it’ll be game over.”

“I understand.” Another snivel. “You should know I’m filing for divorce.”

“What?”

“I’m staying with my sister at the moment. Out of town. Apparently, your husband advised Derek that it would be prudent. It’s given me a lot of time to think.”

“Oh, Hilary.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Rose. I just want you to make sure Daniel is safe. The moment Derek took money from them, he put us at risk. I can’t forgive him for that. I should go, I’ve kept you long enough. You must be so busy.”

I look around our room. “Lots to do.”

“You understand why I can’t be there, I’m sure.”

“Sure,” I murmur. “Bye, Hilary.” I slip my cell into my robe pocket and rub at my aching head, pulling the bedroom door open. “Morning,” I say to Tank as I pass, hurrying downstairs. I fall into the kitchen, and Beau and Esther look up at me, both running eyes up and down my robe. “He invited Daniel’s”—I make quote signs with my fingers—“‘parents,’” I blurt. “Where’s the guest list?”