“Camilla, would you like to go and check on Sara—”
“Camilla, don’t you move,” I snap. “I don’t want to be alone with your lyingsnakeof abrother.”
Camilla stays where she is.
Declan spreads his hands. “Okay, fair. I admit there are… some things… that I haven’t told you.”
“Like your real name?”
He winces. “Yes, like that.”
“Why do you have two names?”
“It’s… uh…”
“What else, Declan?” I cut across him, not wanting to hear more lies, yet still needing to know. “That woman in your apartment? The house in San Fran? Were you even in the fucking Marines?”
“Yes…” he says slowly. He takes a breath. Lets it out. Closes his eyes and then opens them again. “And then I joined the FBI.”
“Pardon?” Of all the things I expected him to say. “What?”
“I’m an undercover agent for the FBI.” He grimaces. “Was, anyway.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You’re a fuckingFBIagent?” I can’t believe this. It has to be a sick joke. Glance at his sister to see if she’s laughing.
She’s not.
Her hand is over her mouth, just like it was when she first opened the door. When I said I was here about Declan.
Fuck.
She didn’t think I was here as theother woman, she thought I was here in an official capacity. It wasn’t guilt, it was shock.
A stranger, on her doorstep, dropping the name of herFBI brother.
The blood draining from her face. The glance at the street outside.
She thought I was here to tell her he’s dead.
He’s not joking, he fucking means it.
Does Kurt know? Shit.
“What do you mean ‘was’?” I ask urgently, slipping off my stool, needing to be on my feet. “Exactly how long ago is ‘was’?”
“Uh… exactly? An hour and twenty minutes?” He grimaces. “I suppose technically I still am. Still need to do the paperwork for it to be… official.”
Holy. Shit.
“You bastard.” Declan’s seen everything. Palm Springs. Rodeo Drive. Meridian Pacific. All the crew. “You utter. Fucking.Bastard!” My voice has risen to a yell.
He raises his hands in placation. “I understand you’re angry.”
“Angry?” I take a pace toward him. Heretreats. “Angry doesn’t evenbeginto describe it.” I can’t even think straight. “When were you going to tell me?” I ask, then answer my own question. “You weren’t, were you? You’re only telling me now because I found this damn house.”
“I was coming to tell you,” he says quietly. “I was driving back from San Fran specifically to—”
“Very fucking convenient,” I say sarcastically. “And just more lies. What are you planning to do? Turn us all in?”
