Her smile grew a little wider, and then it froze as her gaze locked on a place over my shoulder. She tilted her head toward theentrance.
I turned and saw Lucas and Liam making their way toward us. Both wore black—where Liam had donned a button-down over dark slacks, Lucas sported a T-shirt overjeans.
“Are a lot more of you coming?” Sarah asked after they reachedus.
“Why?” Lucas waggled his eyebrow, the one slashed by a white scar. “Afraid of running out of finger food,blondie?”
Liam coughed, probably trying to signal that Lucas’s joke was in poor taste, but Sarah laughed, which won her manyscowls.
“I don’t know if more of us are coming.” Liam scanned the room, which from his vantage point, was way easier than from mine. Not quite as tall as August’s six-and-a-half foot frame, Liam was still up there. “Did they release Julian’sbody?”
Sarah shook her head. “I doubt they will.” She took a small step toward me, almost as though she were about to drop a kiss on my cheek. “I got all the packetsout.”
I squeezed her wrist ingratitude.
“What packets?” Lucas asked, ever sosubtle.
Liam must’ve answered Lucas through the mind-link, because the latterblinked.
Sarah nodded. “I put them somewhere safe andcool.”
“Not in your house, I hope,” Lucassaid.
Her cheeks pinked. “No.”
“Remind me to play poker with you. You’re a shitliar.”
She flushed a littlemore.
“Lucas . . .” Liam started, a warning in hisvoice.
“She shouldn’t keep that shit anywhere near her,” Lucasgrowled.
Panic tightened my throat. “He’s right, Sarah. Look at what they did to mycousin.”
“Oh.” Even though Sarah’s lids were bloated with tears, they lifted a little higher. “Where should I put themthen?”
“You could give them to us,” Lucasoffered.
I could tell from the way her head jerked back that she wasn’t fond of the idea. “I don’t think Robbie will go forthat.”
Lucas puffed out a breath. “Your brotherknows?”
“He helped me get them out,” shemurmured.
A nerve ticked in his jaw. “And he let you keep thestash?”
Sarah splayed her hands on her hips. “He trusts me,Lucas.”
I didn’t think trust was theissue.
Before I could say anything, a hush fell over the room, disturbed only by the swish of fabric and the clink ofjewelry.
“Don’t stop talkin’ on our account,” came a voice that was becoming familiar all tooquickly.
I whirled toward the sweeping staircase. At the top of it stood Cassandra Morgan, barefoot and sheathed in a tunic that resembled a burlapsack.
Sarah hissed before clapping her hands over herears.
