Page 63 of Eternal Surrender

“It’s not me walking away.”

“All those whom I’ve been close to have been irrevocably damaged.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t want to.”

“So you’re shutting everyone out?”

I nudged the book back toward him. “Chapman and Hall published this in 1859. It’s a well-loved copy.”

“It’s flawless.” Sebastian’s rested his fingers on the illustrated cover. “A first edition, and with it you’re bribing me to go away?” He tucked the envelope back inside the book. “This you can keep. As soon as the tides out, I’ll go.” He reached into his back pocket and held up a Centurion credit card. “I found this in the jeans you gave me.” He slid it across the countertop. “This belongs to Daumia Velde. Do you know him?”

“I’ll make sure it gets back to him.” My thumb caressed the name on the titanium charge card. “Finish your tea, and I’ll show you the guest room.”

“Does it have a lock?” He offered a smile, seemingly not wanting to offend.

“I believe so.”

“This place is like a haunted mansion.”

I marveled at his perspective and how close he was to suspecting that it was indeed haunted.

But not by ghosts.

Chapter Thirteen

The following evening, I detected Sebastian was still here.

He wasn’t alone.

Watching from the balcony with a good view of the foyer, just left of the central staircase, I listened in on his conversation with Ingrid Jansen and Sergeant Blake. The awkward silence of initial introductions still lingering.

Trailing my left hand down the banister, I descended the flight of stairs, and despite the tension rising in my gut, I forced a smile.

Sebastian caught sight of me. “You have visitors.”

Ingrid’s expression changed, and she quickly turned away as though gathering her thoughts before facing me again, reflecting nothing but a stony-faced demeanor. She was dressed elegantly in classic black trousers, a white ruffled shirt and a simple jacket. A far cry from the sultry attire I’d last seen her in.

She turned and my breath caught.

Her auburn hair caught the light of the chandelier above, in her eyes a quiet inquisitiveness, the sense of a memory hovering just beyond reach, half-known, half forgotten. She carried an air that made her the central feature within the foyer without effort.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone sounded controlled.

I hesitated. “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Sebastian.”

“We met you at Belshazzar’s?” Blake asked, and he wasn’t looking well.

After a few more seconds of awkwardness, Ingrid shook off whatever thoughts were impeding her and turned to face Sebastian. “We were talking about Alexander?” she asked.

Sebastian inclined his head toward me as though hoping for guidance. “Haven’t seen him.”

Ingrid caught it and said, “How about Jadeon Artimas?”

“Who?” Sebastian asked.

Ingrid stepped toward me. “Where is he?”