Page 39 of Stealing Blinds

I didn’t expect to be so captivated by getting another piece of her. Maybe I should have. I’ve been obsessed with every version—cat burglar, motorcycle stunt rider, elegant party guest, and city girl. But this? Relaxing at home with a glass of wine, her hair half up, casual attire, and bare feet? I’m ruined.

Seconds after I help Sylvie back to her chair because my promise to destroy our friendship with orgasmic bliss made her lightheaded—a good fucking sign—Sterling emerges with my drink.

“Better pull it together, Sly,” I whisper with a wink, and her lashes flutter with her annoyance.

“Here you go, Cash.” Sterling hands me a three-quarters-filled rocks glass. “I have the guest room all set for you too.”

“Thank you.” I ignore the heat of Sylvie’s gaze on me—a telepathic plea for me to declare that I’ll be leaving. “I apologize for dropping in unannounced. I don’t want to be a bother. I knew Sylvie had hurt her ankle, and I was worried.”

“Well, as Sylvie said earlier, that’s ridiculous.” She brandishes a crooked smile, a tad mocking. “But it’s also kind of sweet.” Then she glances at her daughter, her lips scrunching playfully. “Oh my. Have you had too much …” She trails off, bending to tap Sylvie’s glass, but it’s clearly a code.

“Too much wine,” Sylvie finally fills in, not so slyly. “I think I have. Maybe I’ll take a shower.” She follows that up with a barely audible and hissed, “Be good.”

I stifle a chuckle and nearly offer to help, but that likely wouldn’t be well received, so I relish the Pappy Van Winkle and keep my mouth shut.

Once Sylvie heads to the shower with only a slight hobble to her gait, Sterling plucks her wine from a side table, struts to a door on the other side of the lanai, and barks an order over her shoulder, “C’mon. The breeze is dying down, so the no-see-ums will be bursting through that screen.”

We filter into an office. The same wood ceiling from the lanai carries in here, but the beachy blues are replaced with slate on the walls and shelves, immediately lending a heaviness. I have a hunch I’m about to be interrogated.

She points to a sleek silver armchair. “Sit.”

I do.

Taking a seat at the desk, she doesn’t hesitate to dive in. “You’re tracking my daughter. Or having her followed?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” she bellows, pulling what looks to be an antique gold cigarette case out of her desk drawer. “I missed how obstinate and elusive people in the business are. Care to tell me why?”

She waves the open case at me, and while I’m not a regular smoker, I indulge on very rare occasions. I move to take one, setting my glass on the desk in front of her so I can pluck one out. When she goes to grab the lighter that she pulled out of the drawer, she glances from the empty spot left in its wake to the flame in my hand, and a smile illuminates her face.

She leans forward to light her cigarette. “You distracted me with your glass.”

I light mine, return the lighter, grab my glass, and internally pump my fist because I just pulled a trick on one of the most legendary cons. “Yes.”

“Well, now I know to keep both eyes on you at all times.” She puffs away and studies me as I resume my seat. “There’s an ashtray in that end table drawer.” She gestures beside me, and while I grab it, she goes on. “The sleight of hand wasn’t enough distraction for me to forget about you tracking Sylvie.”

“My reasoning is twofold,” I begin, inhaling the hit of nicotine and slowly releasing it. “The first being that after our initial meeting, she promised me I could buy her dinner if I figured out her name. I spent weeks working to do just that, only for her not to make good on her promise. So, I needed to know where she was headed.”

“Your need to know where she was headed was after San Francisco,” she says, revealing how much her daughter divulges to her.

That’s good. Maybe I can get some answers.

“Yes. And the second reason is that I’ve been concerned about her. I just want to know she’s safe.”

She pecks the stem of her wineglass with her nail, pondering something. “Her father was her hero, her knight in shining armor. It was tragic how it all went down. Despicable. Sylvie had a rough time for a while after he was killed, but she’s the strongest person I know. Even stronger than her sister, and Flora, well …” She shakes her head. “My daughters are both warriors, but strength comes in various forms. Some find it in an effort to overcome a weakness. Others become it so those around them don’t have to.”

“And Sylvie’s the latter?”

“Yes,” she breathes, as if that pains her. “She’s always been everyone’s anchor, but even anchors need something to grip.”

“So, you’re saying she’s drifting,” I surmise.

“Sylvie doesn’t drift.” She raises her palm to refute the notion of her daughter struggling, but conflict still wars in her eyes. “She’s in a damn storm though. She would’ve been fine. She was finding her way. But then that prick … God, he fucked her over.”

“Danny Gordon?” I ask, and when she dips her chin, I hold my breath, hoping she’ll fill in some of the missing pieces. “She hasn’t told me what happened.”

“I assumed she hadn’t.” Her brows knit into a line as she scrutinizes me through another puff of her cigarette. “When she does, you can’t kill him.”