I needed to go home. I opened my mouth to tell Muriel I’d changed my mind, when she said, “I think Tristan enjoys what he does a little too much.” Darkness smudged the thin skin underneath hereyes.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “And Jarod? Does he enjoy ittoo?”
“Jarod inherited his uncle’s sense of duty andmorality.”
“So, he doesn’t . . .hurtpeople?”
“We don’t discuss his job, Leigh. The same way I never discussed it with Isaac. But I trust that if hehurtspeople he does it for areason.”
Moneywas the first one that came to mind. Revenge was another. Control. Many more words flowed freely through my mind, none easing myqualms.
“Come now,” Murielsaid.
Suddenly, the staircase looked as though it led to a dungeon instead of apartments crafted in rich satins and glossedwood.
“I-I . . .” Nerves skittering like claws against my skin, I glanced toward the pantry where I’d left my bag, then toward the study where the men spoke in such low tones it was impossible to hear what they werediscussing.
I want you here. With me. I need you here.Jarod’s plea and imploring gaze reeled throughme.
I’d promised to stay, and I was a woman of my word. Jarod had such little faith in angels—for good reason—that if I left, what would remain of hisfaith?
The rules of my mission might have changed, but not its reason. I’d signed up to sprinkle light into his darkness. My methods were unorthodox, but if they led Jarod to become a better man, then it would be worthit.
Sighing, I decided to follow Muriel up those stairs and see where theyled.
Chapter 38
ItrailedMuriel through the set of tall doors opposite Jarod’s bedroom. As she flicked on some lights, I understood why she’d referred to the bedrooms as apartments. We’d entered a large hallway decorated with framed charcoal drawings of women with cubic faces and asymmetric breasts in various stages of undress. When I read the scribbled signature at the edge of the thick vellum, I realized I was staring at works of art that were worth an insane amount ofmoney.
Muriel walked past them as though they’d become one with the cherry-wood paneling behind. She’d probably seen them so often they no longer impressed her. At the end of the hallway, she opened one of twodoors.
“This was the room Jarod grew upin.”
I was expecting a little boy’s bedroom made up in a palette of blues and whites, complete with ships in bottles, dangling paper planes, and baskets brimming with toys. The only thing I’d gotten right was the blue, but it was far from the shade of the noon sky I’d envisioned. This was the color when twilight and dusk collided, a blue that was almostblack.
I took in the king-sized bed boxed into a dark wooden alcove with built-in shelves that didn’t seem suited for a child. “Was itredecorated?”
Muriel stared around the room as though to check everything was still in its place. “No.”
I peered out the window that gave onto a tall gray wall crusted in pigeon droppings and exhaust gas. The view was a far cry from the sumptuous courtyard with its stone fountain and tangledivy.
Muriel turned on the light in an adjoining bathroom made of white and gray stone tiles. Polished silver fixtures reflected my pale face, haggard green eyes, and snarled brassy hair. While I smoothed my hair back, Muriel opened the cupboard beneath the sink and removed a stack of folded towels, which she deposited on the side of a claw-footedtub.
“Why don’t you take a hot bath? I’ll bring up yourbag.”
“I can go get it,Muriel.”
“Nonsense. Stay here.” She patted my hands, which I was wringingtogether.
Was she afraid I might bolt if I went back down the stairs? The thought did cross mymind.
Before leaving, she turned on the bath faucet, and the gushing noise replaced the quiet stillness. “Do you needclothes?”
“I actually packed some.” I blushed as I realized how that sounded. When she arched an eyebrow, I added, “I did something that made my family mad, so I wasn’t sure I would be welcomedhome.”
She scowled. “No mistakes are ever grave enough to turn awayfamily.”
I shrugged, and the movement reawakened a battery of little aches. Where the twinge of one lost feather faded relatively swiftly, the pain of losing so many loitered. “I might’ve been overdramatizing. Maybe they wouldn’t have locked meout.”
