Page 52 of The Sinner's Bargain

But I hoped Malcolm was living in the peaceful knowledge that I was safely at my new apartment, starting my new life. No matter how everything ended, I never wanted him to find out the truth. I never wanted him to think he’d failed because he hadn’t. He’d done everything right. I had made a mess of things.

“Miss Smith?”

I dragged my tattered thoughts back to the present and the man waiting for a response. But I couldn’t give him one.

A yes would open me up to more questions about my brother.

A no would be denying Malcolm’s existence and I refused to do that.

“Why were there graves back there?” I asked instead.

If Cyrus recognized my attempts to change the topic, he was kind enough to keep it to himself.

“It’s supposed to be a warning to people coming onto the property.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “A little weird for my taste, but everyone has a fear tactic.”

“Everyone?” I said without thinking.

“I think so,” he mused. “At least everyone I’ve known.”

I considered that a moment before asking, “Even Mr. Lacroix?”

The corners of Cyrus’s mouth bowed. “He’s different. Mr. Lacroix isn’t showy and doesn’t need theatrics to prove a point. His reputation stands for itself.”

He just kills them, I thought to myself.

“What does Mr. Lacroix do?” I asked instead.

Cyrus hesitated. “I think that’s a question to ask him.”

I let the matter drop. He was right of course. It wasn’t his place to discuss his employer’s business.

I blew out a breath and looked to the house again. If it weren’t for the thin swatches of light barely filtering in through the opaque overcast, I would never have known a house even existed there. There wasn’t a light on anywhere and the wet gray of the stones practically blended in with the dense gray around it.

I tried not to shift.

The cabin was too quiet and every squeak of leather, every rustle of clothing seemed like a bomb going off. Mother was always quick to point out that a woman’s job was to be silent in all aspects. She should never be a distraction or draw attention to herself. She would make me sit still for hours on a cold, wooden chair in the kitchen until I learned the art of perfect stillness, yet I felt restless.

I wanted to get out and pace.

I wanted to jiggle my leg, a habit Mother had successfully abolished with a pliable bamboo stick. The skin of my legs prickled with the reminder.

So, I sat still and waited.

“There he is.”

I jumped visibly and violently at the unexpected explosion of words from the man behind the wheel. My startled heart galloped even as my head jerked up to scan the mist.

Lacroix moved down a set of stairs. His long, dark coat twisted around the dominating strides of his toned legs across the pathway. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until he was folding all that muscle into his seat once more.

It shouldn’t have been but the overwhelming joy I felt at the sight of him tore through me with a vengeance.

His head turned the moment he was in place and our eyes locked. “Hello love.”

Heart pounding for reasons unknown, I whispered, “Hi.”

He held our connection for what felt like seconds and eons. Until my skin felt flushed and my throat was dry. Only when my cheeks prickled with heat did he finally turn to his guard.

“Mariposa’s?”

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