Caleb is pissed because he thinks Kira is going to make Nix stop seeing him. Because of me. Because of mystupid obsession with fire. But he’s being an idiot. Nix is as stubborn as Kira, maybe more. If anyone’s telling anyone what to do, it’s Nix.
But Kira… fuck. She’s the one twisting the knife.
She seems to have had an attachment to that sorry excuse for a house.
I told her in the car that I could buy her a new house. Something bigger. Nicer. Anything she wanted. Anything to stop her from crying because of something I did—Jesus, I’d never hated myself more. But she started asking me if I could buy memories with mydirty fucking money.
And I couldn’t answer.
Because no. No, I couldn’t.
It never crossed my mind what that place could mean to her. I was never especially attached to anything in the slab of cold stone behind me. The only thing that ever held any value died when I was seventeen. I didn’t think that a couple of mismatched dressers and common garden chimes could mean so much. But I guess when you grow up without anyone to count on, you find value in other things.
And I burned all those things to the ground.
I’ve never felt remorse before, and I want to crawl out of my skin with it. It’s not something someone in my line of work allows themselves to feel. But Kira Noland is cracking the armor I wear. I’m a weaker version of myself when it comes to her. I would have burned down her house on day one if it wasn’t for her.
And that’s why I need her close. When I’m away from her, my mind is preoccupied with not knowing if she’s okay or resting like she’s supposed to, and all that leaves me even more vulnerable and distracted than I already am.
That’s why I need James to accept this living arrangement.
I can’t be away from her, and if I tried to stay somewhere else with her, Arnold would hunt us down and give James a reason to be suspicious. This way, I’ll keep him in the dark about Marshal by hiding the secret in plain sight. The play is to act like there’s nothing to hide.
But when his car pulls up and out steps Arnold with him, I grit my teeth the whole way to James’ office. Arnold toils his beard in the corner, grinning like a fucking mad man as I explain how the Noland sisters’ house burned down and they need a place to stay for a little while.
“I don’t like strays in my home,” James says over a bourbon once I’ve pleaded my case, and I resist the urge to clench my fist at his reference to Kira and Nix being strays.
Looking too protective will only hurt me here.
“Why? Afraid it might get a little cramped?” I can’t hold my tongue.
Him being opposed to this is laughable. It’s not like there isn’t plenty of unlived-in space. They could probably go weeks without bumping into each other—if I’m lucky.
His lips tighten in unspoken scolding. “I run a delicate business.”
“Right, yeah. So, you want me to tell them they have to leave?” I sigh as if this is all so tedious. “I’m sure they won’t tell anyone that the almighty James Landon wouldn’t let two homeless girls stay in his giant mansion. It’s not like Cloverwick is that small. Or that it’s Caleb’s girlfriend or anything.” I shrug.
He raises his chin to stare me down as Arnold shifts against the wall, that smug glint still flashing in his eye like he’s watching a dog get beaten for pissing on the rug. But I know Arnold. He’s doing more than just watching. He’s waiting for the right moment to needle his way deeper into James’ ear, to tell him about Kira if I don’t.
Fucking prick.
“Look,” I drag a ragged hand down my face as if this is hard for me to admit. “I’m fucking the older sister, okay? Your sons have similar tastes. What can I say?”
I hate to degrade whatever it is Kira and I have, but anything with feelings doesn’t last long in this house. And this is justtemporary until the Marshal case dies down. Once that’s filed away in a dusty box, and Caleb goes off to college away from James, I can go back to the city, hopefully taking Kira with me. I don’t know her sister’s grades, but I would assume she’ll be going to college as well.
James swirls his bourbon, gaze unmoving as he looks for cracks in my confession. And I’m sure he sees them. But we’re both going to pretend we have the upper hand, just like in a courtroom. Never show your cards until you have evidence. Only move on what you can prove. And if I have it my way, he won’t be able to prove anything.
The silence stretches until it becomes its own kind of interrogation, and I can feel Arnold enjoying every second of it. The bastard is practically vibrating in the corner.
“Tell me again how their house caught fire,” James says.
I didn’t tell him, but he knows that. “Old wiring. Cheap insulation.” I lift a shoulder. “I don’t fucking know. Pick one. The place was a matchbox.”
“Tragic,” Arnold croons with feigned sympathy, eyes boring into mine with knowing.
The fucker is the one who taught me how to make a house fire look like an electrical accident, and I don’t doubt he’s putting all the pieces together in that twisted mind of his. But does he know why I burned it down? Does he know about Marshal? Layton’s investigation? He’s been in the city with James, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been doing his homework and is just waiting for the perfect time to turn it in.
“Sure is,” I challenge.
