Page 55 of His

“What?”

“And I’m going to kill Valerie.”

Cillian’s hands fly up. “Hold the fuck on?—”

“I’m getting him out of here,” I say quickly. “He’ll call you on the way to the airport.”

Thirty-Five

Sabine

Astor settles into the seat next to me and drops his head back as the jet lifts into the air. It will be a short, one-hour flight to Palm Springs, where Astor owns several buildings, including a small, exclusive five-star retreat. Astor stayed mostly quiet on the ride to the airport, stewing in the passenger seat. I wouldn’t let him drive. The stress of the recent months has spun him into a constant state of fight or flight, and no one can remain in that kind of headspace without a release. And history suggests Astor’s release is violence.

How long can this go on? How long until he breaks?

His personal life is in shambles, his business is up in the air. If Astor snaps, he has everything to lose, and I can’t let that happen.

It won’t. Not with me in his life. I’m hoping this getaway will recalibrate and recenter him—and me, for that matter.

I slide my hand over his, careful not to touch his bloodied knuckles, now bandaged.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already apologized for yelling at me, and I’ve already accepted it. Let it go.”

“Thank you, Sabine. You’re my anchor. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

“You wouldn’t have killed your wife, Astor. Stop thinking like that. You are stronger than you think you are.”

He swallows deeply, and looks away. He’s not so sure.

“I’ve replayed the first month of mine and Valerie’s relationship over and over in my head,” he says. “I can count at least three times Valerie snuck out on her own, without security. I remember because we got in a huge argument after she returned each time, me trying to make her understand why she needed security, and she demanding freedom to live her own life. She must have met Carlos those times, and that’s when she got pregnant. And then she stayed with me for money.” He laughs a humorless laugh. “Little does she know, the moment I found out I was going to have a baby, I made Chloe—not her—my beneficiary.”

“That was your instinct guiding you. You didn’t trust her from the start.”

“I didn’t even love her. I loved my child.” He squeezes my hand. “Do you want to know what’s crazy? Knowing that Chloe wasn’t mine doesn’t take an ounce of the pain away. I loved that little girl so much and the fact that she wasn’t my blood doesn’t make a damn difference.”

I stroke his arm as he struggles to compose himself.

“Can you imagine watching your husband cry over the death of his child, secretly knowing it wasn’t his? Keeping that kind of secret from me that whole time? Deceiving me. All for money?”

“So you divorce her, Astor, and forget her.”

He sighs and nods unconvincingly. I understand Astor has built an entire career around the notion of “an eye for an eye.” Hitmen don’t believe in moving on until revenge is dealt and a body is cold. Hell, they’re paid not to. But this time, Astor is going to have to accept it, and move on. I will not allow him to have Valerie killed.

I need to redirect his focus.

I turn his chin to me, forcing his attention on me and me only. “We know that the DNA results for the paternity test won’t be in for two days, so until then, I am going to do everything in my power to make you relax. Let’s decompress, talk, and make a plan, okay?”

“Okay . . . but we have to do one thing first, and then, I promise, I’ll push it all aside for two days.”

Thirty-Six

Sabine

“Detective Thomas.” Astor stretches out his hand as a short, balding man rises from the booth.

“Call me Ben, Astor, geez.” The man rolls his eyes with a laugh.

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