Page 52 of The Villains We Make

He takes the card and nods.

I need to get to the house before she does. I want to burn the envelope that contains what was in Horatio Hart’s hidden box. I walk to the elevator and push the button and as I wait, I take my phone out and scroll to Sly’s number. Because there are still too many loose ends. If Chandler is taken care of, assuming he sticks to the bargain Carlisle-Bent is offering, that leaves Horatio, Ophelia’s grandfather, and me. We aren’t going to talk.

But what if Sly does know? What if he figured it out? He’s cunning enough to wait to use the evidence until it serves him. Ethan? He doesn’t know. He’s not as clever as Sly, nor is he as cunning. Besides, if I know Ethan, he wouldn’t go near Ophelia if he knew something like this about her.

I type out a text telling Sly we need to talk.

“Silas,” the old man says, and I pause, my thumb hovering over the send button. I turn to face him. “One way or another, we’ve all failed that girl. Do right by her. Don’t let her heart shatter.”

I study him, interrupted only by the arrival of the elevator carrying the trio of nurses in. They exit, and I step on. When the doors slide closed, I hit send, feeling a little calmer, a little more in control than I had when I walked out of that prison. I can tie up one more loose end. Sly Fox is as greedy as Chandler. I can give him what he wants.

Because if there is one thing I know for sure, one objective that replaces all the rest, it’s that Ophelia can never find out who her biological father is. Because Ophelia is my end game and for her, I will sacrifice everything.

18

OPHELIA

By the time Nigella and I wrap up, it’s evening. I’m tired and wondering where Silas is. He’s been gone all day and each time I tried to call him, the call went right to voicemail.

Now, sitting beside Hamish in the SUV, I swear there’s a more direct route to the house than the one he’s taking. When I ask him about it, though, he tells me there’s traffic.

I’m glad to see when we get to the house that a light is on downstairs and the SUV Silas took earlier is parked on the driveway. I hurry inside, shivering in the cold, cloudy night. The rain of earlier has become snow as the temperatures have dropped, and I watch fat flakes fall. It’s only supposed to be a dusting tonight, though.

“Silas?” I call out, shrugging off my coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. Apart from the light in the living room, the house is dark, and I wonder where he went to work. He doesn’t have an office in Boston, as far as I know.

I head into the living room and find Silas there, crouched in front of the fireplace.

“There you are,” I say. “Didn’t you hear me?”

He pokes a log with the poker and when he looks at me, his forehead is furrowed. I notice he’s still wearing his coat.

“Sorry, no.” He glances at the fire as he straightens, then takes me into his arms. “How did it go with Nigella?”

“Fine. Long.” His coat is still cold and damp from the snow. “Did you just get in?”

He draws back and studies me in the light of the fire. The only other light that’s on is one on a table across the room.

“Yeah, just a few minutes before you did.”

“And you started a fire without even taking off your coat?”

“Nice night for it, don’t you think?” he asks.

“I guess so.”

Hamish clears his throat from the hallway. Silas turns to him.

“Thanks for bringing her home. Take the night off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hamish nods. “You know where to find me if you need me sooner,” he says and leaves.

“Are you hungry?” Silas asks, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

“I could eat something. You?”

“Starved. Want to go out to get something?”

I shake my head. “Let’s stay in.”

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