Page 18 of Shattered Fate

“She was in love with my brother.”

He stops and stares at me. His eyes are a hard brown, unforgiving. And not blind. Not anymore. He sees everything, assesses everything that could hurt his family. His girls.

“Max was patient, he cared about her, and according to the note and the last words he said to me, loved her, but Zarah was drugged up and confused. She met him just hours after I discharged her, and her mind was a muddled mess of emotions and feelings, not to mention fear. Fear of freedom, fear of Ash. Fuck, she knew it was my fault she ended up where she did, and she was afraid of me.”

“She wasn’t in love with Max?” I ask, and I hate I need the answer so badly.

“She probably did love Max, but she could have loved any man who showed her patience and kindness at that time in her life. I let them get close, and that was a mistake. She wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship he gave her, or wanted to give her.”

I want to take umbrage on Max’s behalf. He was a nice guy and any woman would have been lucky to have him, but I also understand what Zane is trying to say. That maybe Zarah thought herself in love because of the kind of man he was, not because she had truly fallen in love.

This is none of my business. I’m grasping at straws to keep Zarah in my life, but she doesn’t belong there. She was my brother’s lover, and that’s the only connection to her that I have. That’s not a real connection. Despite what Max’s letter said, there’s no reason for me to protect her. Max has been dead for a year, and Zarah’s been fine. Zane learned from his mistakes, and no one will hurt his sister ever again. I’m not needed. I have to put it away, stop following her, and live my own life. Ask Mom to set me up and find a woman who won’t care if Baby crawls into our bed every once in a while.

The thought curdles my stomach.

“I understand you’re concerned about her, but she should be focusing on healing and putting the past, maybe not behind her, but she’s going to need to learn how to live with what Ash did to her. And we were still processing our parents’ deaths when all this started. She has a lot to deal with. Maybe it’ll be easier as she’s weaned off that crap, but maybe it won’t. She doesn’t need any more obstacles.”

Don’t get in the way. I can read between Zane’s lines.

“You’re right.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do. I just don’t feel it’s necessary.”

I can’t argue when I agree, and I nod. “I’ll let her be.”

“I think it’s for the best.”

Another thing I can’t argue with. I hold out my hand. He shakes it in a firm grip, and I can read into that, too.Goodbye.

I whistle for Baby, and she reluctantly heads my way. I leave Zane standing in the middle of the yard, his shoulders weighed down by the past, and as I pass the house, curtains flutter on the top floor. Looking up, I meet Zarah’s eyes through the glass, and I raise my hand. Tears glisten on her cheeks as if she, too, knows we won’t see each other again. She lets the curtain fall, and I continue on to my truck.

Alone in my apartment, I burn Max’s note using an old book of matches I lifted from a bar a few years ago. The flames eat the paper, and when Max’s words are nothing but ashes, I rinse them and my budding feelings for the heiress down the drain.

Pop and I rent a little office space in a strip mall not quite on the wrong side of the tracks, but close enough we both belong there. It looks as seedy as it sounds, but we’re not glamorous PI agents and I don’t need any hands to count how many times I’ve needed a suit to work a job. Pop has a penchant fornoirdetective movies, and I don’t need any more hands to count the number of times a dame has walked into our office and said, “I’m in trouble.”

Mostly, we’re people’s last resort if the cops won’t help, but hey, we get plenty of business that way and we don’t complain. Their money spends just like the rest and we’re good enough at our jobs the cops don’t mind us sticking our noses into the cases they don’t want.

While I was wasting my time on Zarah Maddox, Pop traced a kid to Milwaukee. He wanted to get away from his violent old man, and Pop didn’t blame him. Said the trail ran cold, tookthe money for the billable hours, and left well enough alone. Sometimes we do that. Make a tough call. Milwaukee’s better than dead, a sure thing if Pop would have hauled his ass back to King’s Crossing. Lost a finder’s fee there, but he saved a life and sometimes losing is winning.

That’s the lesson I apply to Zarah. Lost her, but I won. Now there’s a dame who spells trouble.

Pop’s sitting behind our desk, a sleek Mac desktop taking up most of the surface. A Keurig sits behind him on a table that’s full of pods, fancy creamer, and swizzle sticks. We spring for the good stuff because sometimes we do have clients who will meet us here. Not everything can be conducted over email.

Baby curls up on her cushion in the corner, and I plop my ass down in a chair in front of the desk. “I’m off the case,” I say and try not to feel too shitty that a guy five years younger than me and a fucking bazillion dollars richer put me in my place.

“So there’s nothing to look into?” Pop hits a button to print something, and theschoot schoot schootas the paper runs through the printer interrupts my answer.

“I talked to Zane. Wanted to get a feel for what I should be looking for, but he told me there’s nothing. Max was paranoid. In no uncertain terms he told me to leave his sister alone and said ‘Don’t let the door hit ya.’”

“And that’s it?” Pop asks, stapling the papers together and shoving them into a manila envelope.

“There’s nothing else. It’s been a year and she’s been okay.”

He doesn’t say anything about my reluctance to tie up Max’s estate or clean out his apartment. Paying another couple months’ rent isn’t going to hurt anybody. The landlord sure doesn’t give a fuck as long as he gets his money.

“What’s next?” I need something so I don’t think about the fact I won’t be seeing Zarah again. She crawled under my skin like a rash. Prickly, uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be scratchingan itch with her, anyway. I already said she’s not my kind of woman, and I’m not her kind of man.

“Got a call today, but I’m not sure what to think of it.”

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