Page 21 of Miles

And the girl photographed with a tall, stately looking man in what had to be a two-thousand-dollar suit and dark sunglasses was definitely the girl I’d just dropped off in her room.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

She was dressed up for some sort of event, her hair pulled into a twist, diamonds at her ears and throat, wearing a sleek dress and looking like a wealthy, pampered princess.

“So she’s this monster’s daughter,” Gate confirmed. “And we’re harboring her here. Great. I’m sure he won’t come looking for her or anything.”

“If they had a falling out, he wouldn’t,” I suggested, though even I knew I was reaching at that point.

Men of the sort Mary described didn’t let go of what was theirs. I was sure of it, because I was that sort of man, too.

“She would be the one to ask about that,” Mary reminded me. “If he’s going to come for her, we need to know. We have to be prepared.”

“We can just tell him she isn’t here.”

“Naturally—and we would, if he were to appear at our door today,” she assured me. “I don’t know what the truth is behind why the girl tried to kill herself, but something tells me her relationship with him couldn’t possibly be a positive influence in her life. I wouldn’t send her back to him. Even so, if he finds out we lied…”

“You would have to leave the island.”

“Oh, most definitely—granted, we’d have to leave and go back to home base at some point, regardless, but I would rather do that on my own terms. When I’m ready to go.”

“You must talk to her, find out the circumstances under which you found her.” Gate winced a little as he spoke, showing me how hard he was trying to be diplomatic. “The time for coddling her is long since passed.”

The dragon roared within me. “Don’t you think I know that? I just tried to talk to her, to level with her for once. She shut me down.”

“Now that she’ll know we know something about her, it might not be so easy for her to do that again,” Mary suggested. “We know her name. We know that her mother passed away under mysterious circumstances when the girl was only eight years old.”

“Mysterious?” I grimaced. Not the word one would want to hear when it came to one’s mother’s passing.

Mary nodded. “Yes, it looks as though a rival had her killed—or killed her instead of her husband. She was driving his car the night it mysteriously exploded.”

“Wow.” I tried to imagine how devastating that must’ve been for a little girl. “And she was left with him as the default parent. What a prize.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’s been through quite a lot.” She sighed, leaning back on her palms with her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “To do what she did, or tried to do, took a lot of guts. Suicide isn’t the coward’s way out that so many people like to believe it is. I can only guess how tightly he controlled her life, or tried to. She may have decided she’d had enough, or she could’ve found out just what Daddy does for a living and decided she couldn’t live with the knowledge. This isn’t a case of a kid acting out. She was crying out. Determined to affect change in her own life, by any means necessary. And now, she’s afraid to tell us anything. Push too hard, and she’ll clam up even tighter.”

She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already considered as I sat there, trying to put the pieces together.

Savannah.

She didn’t look like a Savannah.

What did a Savannah look like, though? What did a criminal’s daughter look like? I never would’ve guessed it.

The girl in the photo was who I would’ve expected—sleek, sophisticated, high-maintenance. In control of herself, commanding the respect of those around her. The girl in the bed was someone completely different. Natural, fresh, in the light, cotton dresses the others had loaned her from their shopping trip with Martina when we’d first brought them to the island. With her hair down and not so much as a touch of makeup, she could’ve been any girl who made her home on the islands.

“What are you going to do?”

They were both looking at me, waiting for some sign that I hadn’t entirely shut down at the information I’d just been presented with.

“Why does this fall squarely on my shoulders?” I asked, though I knew it was a stupid question before it was even out of my mouth.

She was mine. We were meant to be.

Even Mary felt that I had a special responsibility in this.

Neither of them bothered to answer.

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