Helen looks a little guilty at being called out like this. “I text you, sometimes. We coordinated Mom’s Christmas gift a few months ago.”
“Come on, sis. Any text from you after nine p.m. is a huge red flag. Aren’t you usually in bed by now?”
The blush climbing up Helen’s cheeks confirms this to be true. She darts a quick glance at me, then looks away. “I stay out after that sometimes.”
This whole thing is confusing. Have they coordinated some kind of brother-sister game to make me think Helen is some spinster who sits at home on Friday nights knitting? Either she really doesn’t know anything about where Dean is, or they’re trying just a little too hard to throw me off the scent.
But the blush. A person can’t fake that, can they?
“So who are you?” Now Dean is speaking to me. “FBI? Or one of Cadorna’s guys?”
It’s my turn to feel a little embarrassed. I resist the urge to look at Helen. “Um. Bounty hunter.”
“Jesus Christ. Whoops—uh, sorry, Helen.” Why is Dean apologizing to Helen for saying that? Before I can ponder it too much, the younger man continues, “Look, you’re in way over your head, man. Leave this to the big dogs. And leave my sister out of it.”
I’m going to lose him if I don’t act quick. “That’s pretty rich advice coming from you, Dean. I’m not the one who’s in over my head. Jumping bond is the least of your worries, from what I’ve heard.”
Helen gasps, her face paling. “What?” She looks at the phone, aghast. “Dean, what have you gotten into?”
Dean goes on as if he hasn’t heard either of us: “Look, asshole, my sister’s a nice girl. She doesn’t need to get mixed up in this.”
Helen goes from horrified to affronted. “I’m older than you. Don’t act like I’m some innocent who can’t understand that you’re in serious trouble.”
Dean’s voice turns petulant, the way only a sibling’s can. “You might technically be older, but you’re younger in the ways of the world?—”
Helen rolls her eyes. “That is such bullarky?—”
Bullarky? What is she, thirteen? As if realizing her blunder, Helen corrects herself: “Bullshit.” But it sounds weird coming out of her mouth, like someone trying to pronounce a word in a foreign language who hasn’t quite gotten the accent right.
Dean laughs, not nicely. “It’s not a bad thing, Hel, but some of us were living out in the real world while you were hiding behind Jesus in that convent.”
What…?
I blink at Helen, whose face has gone tomato red. If I needed any confirmation that Dean is speaking literally, not metaphorically, I guess I have it. Helen was in a convent? “Like a nun or something?” I hear myself asking out loud, furrowing my brow at her quizzically.
Was I just making out with a nun?
It doesn’t fit with the whole sexy-librarian vibe. But it does put her giggling fit into new perspective. Oh, God. The realization falls down on me like a cold deluge. She was nervous because she’s not used to kissing people. Maybe hasneverkissed anyone. Same with the wine spilling. Everything I took as a seduction tactic was actually just ineptitude.
I stare at her, perplexed. I’ve been so focused on finding Dean that I figured Helen was just a means to getting to her brother. Turns out, she’s maybe even more of a mystery. Just who is this woman, anyway?
Whatever is on my face makes Helen look away, unable to make eye contact. Over the speaker, Dean continues, “Yeah, like a nun. She’s a good girl, not mixed up in any of this, so let’s keep it that way.”
“Fine,” I agree. “Tell me where you are, and we can meet up, make a plan?—”
But Dean’s already hung up.
For a moment, silence stretches out between us. Helen stares at the ground, refusing to look up, so I take the opportunity to study her. I made so many assumptions about her, most of them not very good. On the one hand, I wouldn’t have minded playing hardboiled detective to her femme fatale; on the other, I’m honestly relieved she isn’t some kind of master manipulator, and that the sunny, sweet thing isn’t an act. There are no mind games. She’s agoodperson—and an inexperienced one who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. This isn’t some film noir, I’m just a douchebag who tried to cop a feel on a nun (ex-nun?) because I thought she was leading me on a merry chase.
Dean is right. She really shouldn’t be involved in any of this.
I clear my throat. “Guess that’s a dead end. Sorry I wasted your time.”
Helen reacts like the words were a hit, turning her face away from me, but not before I see her electric-blue eyes flooding with tears. Shit. I take an instinctive step toward her, surprising myself, before holding myself back. What would be the point? She probably should think I’m an asshole, for her sake. I wasn’t exaggerating before when I said Dean was in a lot of trouble, and there’s no need to drag her into it, especially now that it’s obvious she doesn’t know anything.
Still feeling like a piece of shit, I back toward the door. “Thanks,” I say. Then realizing how stupid that sounds, I figure it’s better to just leave. So I do.
Chapter 11
