Page 36 of Heart of a Devil

“No,” Sam says firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t take responsibility for that. I know that’s how he’s made you feel, but it’s not your fault. Will she help, Dad, this Irina?”

“Apparently she will. She and her husband. We’ll need to plan the timings, but I have a guy who is liaising with them.”

Samantha thinks about this for a moment, then a dazzling smile breaks out on her face. “Let me guess. Your guy is Sasha Stepanov.”

I have no clue who that is, but Seb winks at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Yep. One of your biggest fans, Sam.”

“He better not be too big a fan,” Gabriel grumbles. “Or he might not live to liaise another day.”

The news that she’s not quite as isolated as she thought seems to bolster Caroline’s spirits, and she agrees that the next time he’s away for a significant amount of time, she will allow us to proceed. The timing will be key, but with Irina and Vladimir’s help, we can make sure she isn’t stuck at home with him ever again once he finds out she’s filing for divorce. We warn her that she must be careful, that she mustn’t give any indication she knows she has an ally, and then we call Nick to tell him we’redone. I’m locking the jewels in the office safe when the Nicks saunter back in, still sucking milkshakes through straws.

“Thank you,” Caroline says from the doorway. “I know I’ve said it before, but every single one of you is so kind and so brave. You give me hope.” Nick looks embarrassed and offers to drive them back to Mayfair, where they’ll meet up with Beth and whatever expensive crap she’s bought. I notice the way Nick looks at her and wonder if he has more than purely professional feelings toward our lovely client. That, I decide, is his business—I am not in a position to comment on anybody else’s love life.

A heavy silence falls over the meeting room once they’re gone. Finally, Gabriel stands up and cracks his knuckles. “Fuck me. I’m half hoping the legal path fails. I’d love to give that fucker a taste of his own medicine.”

Seb nods, as do I. Samantha is the only one who looks even vaguely distressed at the idea.

Seb smooths down his suit jacket and makes to leave. “See you all later?”

Tonight, everyone is invited to a soiree at the nearest branch of the McIverson gastro-pub chain Archangel recently acquired. It’s a big deal for them, and whatever my personal feelings toward Seb, I must concede that they are a huge asset to the firm. I offer a noncommittal shrug, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking as though he’s about to say something else but changes his mind and leaves.

I hate this. The distance between us, the polite way we deal with each other, the pretense that we’re nothing but colleagues. It’s like nothing ever happened between us at all. Like it was a figment of my imagination.

“Right,” says Sam, standing up and stretching. “Come on, woman. Let’s make a move. Gabriel’s aunt and uncle are staying overnight, so I have childcare for once. Let’s get ourselves dolledup and head to the pub. Something about taking on Russian crime bosses leaves me parched.”

Gabriel grabs hold of her as she heads to the door, pulling her effortlessly against him and holding her ass with one big hand. “Get your paws off me, you Neanderthal,” she says, playfully swatting him on the chest.

“No way. You love it, Mrs. Sullivan. And I’m looking forward to getting you back to our hotel room later and showing you exactly how much of a caveman I am.”

She slips out of his grip and squeals when he slaps her backside as she skips past him. I have to laugh. These two still act like horny teenagers. They didn’t get much of a honeymoon when they got married because Sam was heavily pregnant, but before her maternity leave is up, they’re planning a proper trip to Italy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t leave the hotel room once.

“You’re so lucky,” I tell her on our way to the ladies’ room.

“Oh, believe me, I know.” She gives me a sly grin that quickly fades. “Are you okay, Lauren? You’ve seemed a bit down this last week. Not quite your normal self. Anything I can help with?”

I raise one eyebrow, and she nods. “Ah. He’s messed up already, has he? I’m sorry. Please don’t take it personally. The old cliché really is true—it’s not you, it’s him. I’ll set aside the fact that I’m biologically related to him and say the same thing I would to any woman—screw him. Move on.”

“That’s exactly the plan. In fact, I’ve got a date tonight.”

“Not the cellist again, is it?”

I shake my head. “No. That one felt doomed after I blew him off and went out with your dad. This guy’s a math teacher who runs ultramarathons and breeds prize-winning guinea pigs in his spare time.”

The look she gives me is completely deadpan.

“Seriously. It’s a wild world out there, Sam.”

Shuddering, she grabs her makeup bag from the shelf. “Clearly. You’re welcome to it. Is he… Is he safe? I mean, with everything that’s been happening with your family, are you sure a random guy you met online is a good bet?”

“He is who he says he is. I found him on a few running websites, and I actually called the school where he works too, just to make sure. I’m not being reckless, I promise.”

“Okay, good. Anything else going on?”

I shake my head firmly, but I am hiding a few things from her—mainly because they might be nothing. I got an email confirming my subscription for a magazine called Labrador Lover, which might of course be spam, and I got a delivery of dead flowers at my apartment yesterday morning. The courier who dropped them off seemed normal enough and was probably innocent, but when I opened the box, all I found were rotting lilies. Funeral flowers.

I told Jax and Alejandro about it, but I’m trying not to freak out. If Torres is behind these pranks, then that’s exactly what he wants, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I should probably tell Seb, but I’m not going to run to Daddy every time some asshole tries to mess with my head. Especially when Daddy is such a manwhore.

“Look,” Samantha says as she brushes her long dark hair, “this isn’t my business, but I have to say it. Bringing a date to this thing tonight might not be such a good idea. My dear old dad… Well, he’s got a temper, as I’m sure you know. I have no clue what happened with you two—please don’t tell me—but try not to push his buttons, all right? It’s supposed to be a celebration, not a punch up.”

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