“He’ll be waiting for us, Emory,” Mirabelle said ominously and, though it wasn’t all that revelatory, her resigned certainty chilled.
“You think I don’t know that? Of course, he will. What do you think he was doing those years we thought he was dead? He planned this, all of it.”
“Not all of it. There’s a part you don’t want to talk about.”
Emory rubbed his cheek that throbbed worse than before. At least his teeth weren’t broken.
“Say it then, Mirabelle. What is it?”
She hesitated and made herself small again. He hated how she did that—waxed when she pleased with pointed declarations then waned sheepishly in anticipation of his response.
“He’s found a vulnerability in you. As long as Amelia is here, she’s a risk.”
“To who? You and Jack?”
Emory barked a laugh, but Mirabelle shifted uncomfortably on her feet. He’d struck the lode and followed that vein to the crux of the matter.
“She figured it out, didn’t she? She knows about you two, saw it before I ever could, right? No wonder you both want her gone.”
Emory cantered off to fetch the dustpan from the kitchen. The questions still rang when he returned to the room. He didn’t need Mirabelle’s answer. The silence alone said what she couldn’t.
“How long have you two been sneaking around?” Emory asked.
He liked to think he knew. It’d become obvious earlier in the year when they couldn’t exist in the same room without tension that stifled. Around that time, Jack’s foul moods held a stunning correlation to the days Mirabelle wasn’t around.
Mirabelle cradled her elbows and blew out a hard breath. “Seven months. I was gonna tell you. I just didn’t know how.”
A volley of cutting remarks welled up inside Emory. He bit his tongue to ward them off. Despite his best effort, the hurt still masqueraded as anger.
“Don’t fucking talk to me about risks or keeping secrets. I’ll shoulder the blame if this goes south, but Amelia belongs with me. End of fucking story. I don’t wanna hear shit about it from them.” Emory ripped the brush from the dustpan and pointed the bristled end at Mirabelle. “And I certainly don’t wanna hear shit about it from you. I will walk away with her and leave this place in ashes if I have to.”
His threat echoed in the room and the foyer beyond.Good,he thought bitterly.Let them all hear.
Mirabelle lifted a hand to mollify. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you.”
Emory squatted with the dustpan in one hand and brush in the other. “This can’t be the thing that tears us apart, Miri.”
“It isn’t. You’re my brother, and I love you.”
“Then why do Jack’s bidding?” he asked and swept the vase’s broken pieces into the pan. “Why lie for him and keep his secrets?”
“Same reason you put your secrets into her,” Mirabelle said, awfully brave when he wasn’t looking.
“You love him?”
Mirabelle considered the question for far too long. Love was a litmus test. Yes or no, the answer immediate.
“I do,” she said but added on condition, “not when he drinks, though. He’s different then.”
Emory set the dustpan aside and sat on the floor. The fire warmed his back as he stared up at Mirabelle. She looked too sad for a woman in love and garnered no giddiness for having admitted it.
“I knew the day would come when I’d have to let you go,” Emory said. “I just never wanted it to come like this. We’re leaving tomorrow. You’ll go with Jack and Corey back to Vegas. Amelia and I will head for California.”
Mirabelle drew a long breath as if enduring a blow but didn’t protest.
“I told you not to get involved with a Moriarty man not because I want to meddle in your love life, but because they don’t make for good partners.”
“What does that say about you then?”
