Page 92 of Westin

Her eyes dart over the table. I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing.

“So my husband paid Jack Russell to kill someone?”

“You don’t get a calling card unless Jack gives it to you,” I say. “He had a deal. Looks like it didn’t pan out. Stroke of good luck for the bastard he paid to kill that he happened to die first.”

Her eyes narrow. “I know Gerard killed Clint and forged the will.”

It’s right then that I decide it isn’t my fucking business to keep Sovereign’s secrets anymore. Whatever she knows, it’s far more than I thought. Sovereign went to go see Jack Russell, which means Clint was going to have someone killed.

My eyes fall on the woman sitting before me.

My stomach goes ice cold. I keep my body relaxed, my face impassive. I’ve spent enough time lying with my mouth; I can do it with everything else at this point.

If I had to guess, Clint was going to ask Jack to kill his wife, which begs the question—is Diane as safe as I thought?

My ears roar. Keira’s asking me something about Gerard, and suddenly, I’m spilling everything onto the table. About his first fiancée, how she was cheating with Clint, the man who may well have been responsible for her death. About his mother dying, his father drinking himself to sleep in a ditch and never waking up.

It all floods out, ugly, like an open wound. All the secrets we hide at Sovereign Mountain.

All except mine. She doesn’t ask about mine because nobody does.

Through it all, my knuckles are white, but I keep my fucking composure, because that’s what I do best. I sit down, I shut up, I clean up other people’s messes. I sit with their crying women while my own heart is breaking.

If the Garrisons were willing to try to kill Keira, what will they do to Diane?

A door slams, and boots crunch over gravel outside. I jerk my head up.

“He’s back.”

Keira goes pale, nodding. I stand, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Just…trust Sovereign. You’ll be safe.”

I don’t mean to sound dismissive, but I have places to be tonight. The knob turns and the door swings in. Sovereign enters, bringing in the cold on his coat. At his heels is a tall, broad shouldered man with black hair beneath his cowboy hat. His clothes are dark, a gun strapped to his thigh. When he lifts his head, two green eyes glitter back at me.

Jack Russell.

He hangs back. Sovereign’s eyes rake over Keira, drunk, at the table. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Her lip quivers. “I came to talk to Westin.”

Sovereign’s jaw grits. He jerks his head to the corner, and I step aside with him.

“You let her drink?” he says.

Right now, I’m pissed, and I don’t have a good reason. Nobody in this room knows about Diane, but I’m still so fucking angry that they’re all wrapped up in their problems without a thought for mine. I know it’s not rational, but I want to put my fist into Sovereign’s face.

“She was fucked up already,” I say pointedly. “She knows everything.”

Sovereign’s shoulders hunch. “I need to talk to her alone.”

“She’s hurting,” I say. “I hope you don’t contribute to that.”

He gives me a confused look, stepping away to take Keira by the elbow. They move upstairs, and I’m left with Jack Russell. I swing around, facing him.

“You were going to kill Keira?” I say.

He takes his hat off, running a hand over his hair. “No. I don’t kill women or kids, you know that.”

“So why give Clint the fucking calling card?” I spit.

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