Page 39 of By Sin To Atone

“What arrangement?”

“You have information that could hurt me, hurt those I care about. And I have something you need.”

“What’s that?”

“Protection.” He must see my confusion. “From your father.”

I blink, not quite understanding. “I need protection from you if anyone.”

He smiles. “Isn’t your father up for parole soon?”

My throat goes dry, and I clutch my stomach. “They won’t let him out.”

“How can you be sure?”

I shake my head. I can’t be sure, but I have a plan if that happens. “Why would you want to help me?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess I have a damsel in distress complex.”

“I don’t need some knight in shining armor to save me. I can save myself.”

“Well, that’s questionable. And the only knight I am is dark.”

“Again, why would you help me?”

He shrugs his shoulder again. “I have selfish motives. You coming? You can stay here and starve, of course. Your choice.”

I weigh my options. It’s a quick decision because I have no options really. If I don’t hear him out, I get locked back in and what? Nothing. Or I go with him, maybe make some deal. Some arrangement. He hasn’t hurt me yet, not really. And if my father manages to get paroled, and he knows where I live, I’m going to need Zeke’s protection. He just doesn’t really know exactly what he’ll be up against.

12

Ezekiel

I lead the way downstairs, stopping in the study to drop off the laptop and the gun before heading into the kitchen. Cynthia is taking a casserole out of the oven as we enter the kitchen. When I smell the gnocchi in her signature sauce, my stomach growls.

“Cynthia, you remembered,” I say, and she smiles. It’s one of my favorite dishes.

“Of course I did. It’s good to see you back, Mr. St. James.”

She glances at Blue, giving her a polite smile before setting the casserole down on the counter.

“Would you like me to set a table?” she asks.

“No, that’s all right. I’m sure my brother is anxious to have you back.”

“I’ll come in the morning then. Salad is in the refrigerator and don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of it all tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Cynthia.”

“Goodnight.”

“Am I invisible?” Blue asks once she’s gone.

I gesture for her to take a seat at the counter where two plates are stacked.

“Cynthia understands the need for discretion.” I find a serving spoon and heap some of the gnocchi onto one of the plates and Blue’s stomach growls when I set it in front of her. “When was the last time you ate?” I ask as she digs in.

“Careful. I might think you care,” she says, shoveling food into her mouth.

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