“You might actually start to likeme.”
I squeezed my knees tight. “Just because you tell a good story doesn’t make you likable. Now, if you let melea—”
“Go.” He jutted his chin toward his bedroom. “There’s noalarm.”
“Youlied?”
“Ilied.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what I do. I lie. I blackmail. I extort. And sometimes, I kill. I’m a bad,badman,Feather.”
“Why did you want me to think I was yourprisoner?”
His gaze ran over the orange hair I was twisting into a long rope. “Because it amusedme.”
I released my hair and lowered my hands to the thick cushion. “It amused you?” I croaked, genuinely hurt that he’d gotten a kick out of my turmoil. As my hair unraveled against my shoulder blades, I pushed myself up, the cruelty of his parting words making my movements alljerky.
He watched me, and the weight of his stare made my eyes heat withaggravation.
“Have a good life, JarodAdler.”
He didn’t speak, not even to say goodbye. Not even to say goodriddance.
I paused on the threshold between his balcony and bedroom. “Was any of the story you just told metrue?”
“Perhaps.” He returned his gaze to the sky. “Perhapsnot.”
Ugh.The man was infuriating. Why couldn’t he ever give me a straight answer? As I turned to go, he said, “See you later,Feather.”
I looked over my shoulder at his prostrate, relaxed form. “No, youwon’t.”
Although he didn’t gaze away from the deep indigo firmament, I noticed the corners of his mouthlifting.
The gall of him.Thinking I would comeback.
What was it with him and Tristan convinced they were soirresistible?
After tonight, nothing and no one—neither altruism nor Celeste—could drag me back to thisplace.
Chapter 17
The first thingI did after I retrieved my bag from the vestibule and exited Jarod’s home was typeLe Démon racehorseinto my phone’s browser. As the results of my search loaded, a carhonked.
I jumped, almost dropping myphone.
The white-haired driver from yesterday circled the sedan and drew open the back door. “Monsieur Adler insists I drop you off at yourplace.”
I swallowed. I didn’t doubt Jarod had asked his driver to drop me off. What I doubted was the destination. I bet Jarod had instructed the man to drive me out of the city . . . out of the countryeven.
“Please thank Monsieur Adler for hisgenerosity, but I’d ratherwalk.”
“Mademoiselle, it’s the middle of thenight.”
I found his comment borderline humorous. Warning me about the dangers that might lurk in the darkened streets. Wasn’t he aware of whom he workedfor?
I wheeled around and clip-clopped down the shadowy arcade, checking over my shoulder when I heard the car door shut. Red taillights flared, but the car didn’t move. I bet the driver was relaying my refusal for a ride to Jarod. I quickened my strides and crossed the road. When I looked back, the sedan hadvanished.
