Stepbrother Thief (12 page)

My throat works hard to swallow past the sudden lump that forms and I choke on my coffee, turning away and closing my eyes for a brief moment.

“What's wrong?” he asks me, but I just shake my head, hating him for being so damn perceptive.
This is going to get old fast, isn't it?
“Regina.”

“Gilleon,” I say, turning back to face him, finding his eyes on my body, roving over the smooth square of chest and cleavage above the neckline on my dress. He lifts his gaze back to mine as I reach down and pick up my coffee. “I don't care about any of that. That's not what this is about.”

“Bullshit,” Gill growls, tightening the muscles in my lower belly. He bares his teeth at me in a small scowl. “Why can't we just be honest about what's going on here? You've been cold and distant since the moment I set foot in Dad's kitchen.”

“Me?!” I ask, and I can't seem to keep the shriek from my voice. I point at myself, right at the diamond pendant hanging down on my chest. “
I'm
the distant one? I'm not the one that puts on expressionless masks, that goes all cold and dark and deep, retreats so far into his fucking self that even though he sees everything, sees it all, he's blinded by it and misses the most important things of all.”

“What, Regi? What is it that I'm missing?” His blue eyes are vacant, focused on the tabletop as the fingers on his right hand curl against the polished wood. I don't miss the bunching of muscle in his arms, the tension in his jaw. When he flicks that gaze up to me, all of the emptiness breaks and I have to really struggle to catch my breath.

“If it seems like I've been cold and distant,” I say, already regretting the massive hint I just dropped on him, “it's because I've been trying to be cordial and pleasant. Because, after all these years, I see you appear like a ghost from the grave. Because the first time in a decade that you decide to talk to me, it's about a robbery. Because ten years ago, you left me with an engagement ring on my finger …” I suck in a deep breath, fighting against the prick of tears behind my eyes. This is why I
hate
reliving this shit. Not seeing him all that time, it was really a blessing in disguise. Love can't be killed. Once it's there, it sits in your heart forever. Sometimes, it morphs or changes. Sometimes, it grows. And sometimes, it lies dormant, like a seed in dry dirt. I don't want this particular seed watered because I don't want it to grow thorns. I've bled enough already.

“Listen,” I say as slowly and calmly as I'm able, “we both know what you did to me, how you left.” I lift up a hand when he starts to speak. “I don't care why.
Why
isn't important to me, Gilleon. But you and me, we had something …” My voice gets rough and low, but I don't care. Maybe that's why fate brought us together again, just so I could say this. “We had something special, Gill. Some,” I curl the fingers of my free hand against my chest, “some rare and wonderful spark. When it was snuffed out, I thought I would die of heartbreak. But I didn't. I knew I'd lost something one of a kind that day, but I got through it, worked past it.”

I stand up from the table, still not looking at him. He's looking at me though. I know that because I can feel it, can feel his gaze burning through my dress and straight to the red bra and panties that I've got on underneath. A strange, distant part of me wants him to bend me over this table and fuck me, but I know I'll feel even worse if we do that, even more empty inside.

“I'm sorry if I'm being aloof, if I don't seem like I want to make friends. To be honest, Gill, I don't. I just … want to keep things professional, okay? Please don't bring the subject up again.”

I shove away from the table and storm out of the kitchen, my heels loud on the wood floors as I head towards the living room and the main staircase. I'm barely out of sight before I hear a growl and a crash, like the sound of glass shattering.

I pause for a moment and then turn around, moving slowly back towards the kitchen. When I peer inside, I find Gill bent over the table with his elbow on the wooden surface, his head in his hand. On the floor next to me are the remnants of a navy blue mug and a sea of rapidly cooling coffee.

I sneak away before he sees me and retreat back to my bedroom.

To my credit, I don't shed a single tear.

Memories poke and prod at my subconscious, but I brush them away, shoving at them with angry fingers.
Not right now,
I snarl, my mental voice taking on the same violent, wild pitch that had burst from Gill before he'd thrown the coffee cup.

What the hell is going on here?

“
Je pense que je perds la tête,
” I murmur.
I think I'm losing my mind.
I put my fingers against my forehead and close my eyes, slowing my breathing down to a manageable level.

But no. No. That's not how I operate.

I open my eyes back up.

“I will handle this situation with grace and dignity,” I say, reverting back to some positive self-talk. “No matter what comes my way, I can handle it.”
Except for outlaws with guns,
my cynical self tries to add. I shove that thought back, too, and start pacing, the click of my heels on the floor a comforting sound, a familiar sound, one that says that I'm in control. Me. I decide where I walk, how quickly I go; I steer my own destiny.

If I had a cell phone—or any phone at all for that matter—I'd call up Leilani right now, even though I'm not supposed to. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to about all of this. My usual go-to, Cliff, isn't looking like a great option right now. Normally, when we talk about Gill, it's like we're talking about some distant, fictional character, some figment of my imagination that only haunts me in dreams. Right now? When I see Cliff and Gill together, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The stepdad that's become like a true father figure to me, he's
really
the dad of the man that shattered my heart and stepped on it. And he loves his kid, like any good dad should, for all his faults and shortcomings. So how can I possibly talk to him about this?

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway draws me to the window and I pause, looking down to find Aveline stepping out of some generic black rental sedan.

My fingers twitch on the windowsill.

I might've just met the woman, but I could really use a friend right now. Plus, she knows Gill. Plus, she's a badass capable of saving me from armed gunmen.

Yes.

It's her that I want to talk to, hang out with.

I fix my dress and head back out into the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs as Gill moves toward the front door. When he looks up at me, the mask is back in place, fixed firmly across those full lips, those beautiful blue eyes.

I can't resist …

“Is my coffee still on the table?” I ask, moving down the stairs, my hand sliding over the banister. “I could still use that pick-me-up.”

“I'll get it,” he tells me, opening the front door before Aveline can even knock. I wonder if he's cleaned up the mess yet. “Can I get you some coffee, Ave?” he asks, moving back down the hall and trusting his partner to lock the door behind her.

“Black,” she says, giving me a once-over and a raised red brow. “Wow, fancy. You got plans today?” I'm sure the question's rhetorical, but I answer anyway, watching as Aveline shrugs out of her navy blue coat, revealing a brown shoulder holster and the black pistol that's tucked away inside of it.

“Only if you don't,” I say, flashing my best smile. Aveline narrows her eyes at me, the dark black makeup emphasizing the bright green of her gaze.

“I'm on guard duty today,” she says, moving down the hallway towards the kitchen.
Perfect
. I smile and follow after her, both of us pausing when we find Gill on his knees cleaning up the mess of broken glass and splattered coffee. He doesn't even bother to look up at us. “How on earth did you manage this one?” Aveline asks, running her fingers over a splatter of coffee on the wall near her head.

Gill doesn't respond, pulling the trash can closer with his tattooed hand and slamming a wet paper towel full of glass into it with a crunch.

“Never mind,” Aveline whispers, holding up her hands and moving to the cabinets to grab a mug for herself. “I don't want to know.”

“Regina,” Gill tells me, standing up straight and spraying the wall with cleaner before wiping it clean, “I'll be in and out today, but Ave will be here if you need anything. I don't expect anymore trouble, but try to stay in the house for now.”

“When do I get a phone?” I ask as Aveline starts rifling through Gill's cabinets like she's been here before. She emerges with a granola bar and peels the plastic back, shoving it between her teeth before throwing her black duffel bag down on a kitchen chair and unzipping it. “When can I call Leilani? Or my sister?”

“It depends on the information that I get today,” he tells me, setting the cleaner down on the table and running his fingers through his hair. The dark perfection of it, the way it glistens in the sunshine from outside, it's … difficult to look at. I swallow hard. “Hopefully by next week you can start living normally. By next month, you should be able to get your own place.”

“Next month?” I try not to choke on the words, but I can't help it. Gill's attention snaps right to my face and he steps close to me, his boots touching the toes of my red heels. We're two polar opposites—a soft, strong feminine and a damaged, brutal masculine. The contrast hurts too good to breathe.

“Think you can suffer my company that long?” he asks, and I get this really weird feeling that he wants to kiss me. But no. Gill turns away and heads over to the sink, grabbing his coffee and downing it, the corded muscles in his tattooed arm tensing with the motion, far too much strength in them for such a simple task. “I'll be back in a few hours. Aveline?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what to do if the shit hits the fan. Have some faith in me, will you? I saved your sister a bullet wound to the head yesterday.”

Gill grits his teeth, but he doesn't say anything, stalking from the kitchen with those sleek, strong predatory movements that put me on edge. I know, just
know,
that at any moment, he could quite literally reach over and snap my neck. I don't think he'd ever do anything like that, but just knowing that he's capable is kind of scary.

“Whoa,” Aveline says, tossing a pile of papers onto the kitchen table and whistling, “he is
pissed.
What happened this morning?” I get myself another cup of coffee and sit down at the table next to Aveline.

“Nothing,” I lie, sipping carefully and watching as she shuffles through the green folders, finally passing one over to me. I open it up and find a series of documents—a passport, driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, a book of blank checks, a few credit cards—and all the ones with pictures … feature yours truly. Only … I look a little distorted. Still me, but different. “Fia?” I ask, staring at the foreign name printed beneath my picture. “My name is Fia now?”

My head spins and I have to sit my coffee cup down before I drop it.

“Fia Marie Levine,” Aveline says, crunching down on her granola bar as I sit there and gape at the papers. Somehow, I can't imagine being anyone but Regi Corbair. I mean … I knew this was coming, but it's still difficult.

“Why does my face look different?” I ask, touching a fingertip to my driver's license picture.

“I wiped your records, but you never know who might have a photo of you. Facial recognition technology is too good now. It's a little scary.” Aveline taps her red painted fingernail against the card. “I altered this just enough that you should still pass if anyone looks at it, but different enough that you shouldn't be found either. Gill begged me to find someone with the middle name Regina, but there weren't any good candidates. Sorry.”

“Find someone?” I ask, not sure I really even want to know. “Fia is a real person?”

“Was,” Aveline says and my stomach drops. “And the reason she's past tense isn't any of our doing. I don't kill innocent people, just look for ones that are already dead.”

I reach over and grab another file, finding Cliff's papers—sorry,
Ivan's—
and Solène's. Her new name is
Giselle,
apparently. Fitting, but … “Her last name is the same as mine,” I say, flipping between Cliff's documents and my own. His new last name is Bernard.

“Yeah, about that.” Aveline sits down and pushes the papers towards me, dunking her granola bar in her coffee. “With the age difference between him and her, it was hard for me to find a suitable match. It was much easier to call you her mom and be done with it.”

My throat closes up.

“You know, the strangest thing came up when I was working last night,” Aveline begins and I feel my head start to spin. “I was going through your old docs, wiping them from the system, when I happened upon something.”

“
Bonjour.
” Cliff's cheerful voice breaks through the tension and pulls me up for air, drawing my attention to the archway into the kitchen. “How are you lovely ladies faring this morning?” I smile at my stepfather and curl my fingers around the files. How is he going to react when he sees this?