Page 59 of Merciless Heir

“Things aren’t that easy, Kingston.”

I nod and smile. “Things never are.” I pause again. “Just one thing; just how much of this is my mother’s interference?”

I get home later than I’d have liked. There’s work waiting for me. I’ve three messages affirming that, but I walked home, across the park because the bite in the air helps clear my head.

Jenson never answered me, which told me even more.

I don’t think the tiara is meant to be missing. At least not like it is. Perhaps I’m meant to be on some wild goose chase, but if so, I can’t see to what ends.

I absolutely know my mother is up to her elegant neck in whatever the fuck is going on. His not answering answered that.

And Sadie’s involvement? It might have my mother’s prints on it, or perhaps not. That’s the thing. Yes, mother had the word Raven written down, but that’s exactly the direction she would turn to if the police weren’t to be involved.

I honestly don’t know what that means. Only that perhaps my father stipulated that.

I don’t have answers. I don’t have anything, and I’m not sure I want them.

What I do want is the tiara and the money it’s worth. And I want to keep the family business private. Yes, for me, but mainly for my brothers. I get something out of it, but they get more, in terms of sentimentality and the fact it belongs to us.

I’ll get the tiara in time. Have it valued and Sadie sell it. And then I’ll get to the bottom of this mess.

Something isn’t right when I let myself into my home. The lights come on as I step in, just like I’ve set them. But it doesn’t feel empty. My cleaning service isn’t due for another few days and the air doesn’t hang with that sparkle fresh scent from scrubbing things that don’t need to be scrubbed.

I stand still in the wide hall and set down my coat and keys. Hesitating, I glance at the phone in my hand and then set it down, too.

No, it doesn’t feel empty. Or just vacated. Someone is here.

And I know exactly how she tastes.

“When I said I’ll see you tonight, Sadie,” I call out as I go into the library and fix myself a drink, taking a seat on one of the leather sofas, the reading lamp casting a soft warm glow and fuzzing the edges of shadows. I take a sip of the Scotch—I like quality single malt when I read—and set it down on the book I’ve been reading when I have the time. Honestly, it feels forever. “When I said that, I envisaged you on the other side of the door. Or down in the foyer, asking to be buzzed up by the doorman.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She comes in, barefooted like this is her home and something strikes me deep at that thought, of what it means and how she seems to fit almost perfectly.

I say almost because I don’t like her.

If I cling to that lie, all will be safe and fine.

“Manners aren’t meant to be fun.”

She makes a scoffing sound and comes to sit next to me, leaning over to steal my drink.

“That is disgusting.”

“That,” I say, easing the glass from her fingers, trying to ignore that lingering buzz from where her breasts brushed me fleetingly, “is Laiphroaig Lore. Single malt? You need to develop good taste, Sadie.”

“Yes, I do. Especially since I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

“I didn’t learn anything new today,” she says, stretching and sitting back, shifting so she’s got a little distance between us. Like that will keep her safe. “And you commanded it. I’m on your dime, Kingston.”

I take her in, her cheeks still a little bright from the cold, the tip of her nose a charming pink. “Not been here long, then?”

“Arrived about five minutes before you.”

“We’re an interesting pair, aren’t we?” These words come of their own accord, because we’re a puzzle I can’t quit. “You annoy me. I annoy you.”

“I don’t respect you and your kind,” she says.