Page 71 of The Saint

“Sure.” His confident agreement had come before Beth or Esme could shoo him out the door—though Esme didn’t seem the type to shoo. She was more the type to say a command and expect it to be completed.

Esme eyed Amelia’s hold on his arm then met Amelia’s eye as though she were talented enough to read her most guarded thoughts. The corners of her mauve lips quirked, and Esme gestured toward the chairs. “I don’t mind if you stay.” She elegantly folded herself behind her desk. “This shouldn’t take long. Shall I call when we’re done?”

Even the way Esme spoke was sophisticated. Amelia heard a hint of an accent but couldn’t place it. Or maybe she was just picking up on the primness of proper grammar and perfect posture. She could match her: straight spine, shoulders back, chin up. But that would require Amelia to focus her mental energy on things that didn’t matter.

Beth stepped toward the dark hallway. “No need to call. I’ll be around when they walk out.”

So Beth would probably sit outside the office door.Why?Amelia assumed Beth knew what Esme was about to explain.Plausible deniability? Or an offer of privacy?Beth seemed like someone who appreciated discretion—a point in her favor.

The door shut with a stomach-churning click after Beth left. Amelia scanned Esme’s office. It was a far cry from a corporate office and didn’t match the outside of the warehouse. But it absolutely matched the inside. The rich, gothic vibes from the great room complimented her office’s wall color, which, she noted, feeling somewhat awestruck, matched the deep wine color of Esme’s lipstick. This woman rocked a seriously commanding—though sexy—aesthetic.

Amelia swallowed hard and focused on the computer monitor sitting alone on her dark desk instead of her penetrating gaze.

“Welcome,” Esme offered. “Please. Sit.”

Amelia realized she was still holding onto Camden’s arm. She released her iron grip and forced herself to sit on a plush chair. Their cushions were a deep purple and matched the main room’s drapes. Everything about this place was purposeful by design. Why did the exterior look like a decrepit old building?

“My condolences for Hailey and Jonathan.”

Amelia hated when people offered sympathies and grievances as though voicing respects was a societal checklist item that had to be acknowledged before further conversation could take place. “Thank you.” She couldn’t help herself and added, “Though there’s no proof that Hailey’s dead also.”

The corners of Esme’s lips rose with uncommitted understanding. “No, I suppose there’s not.”

Would Esme know otherwise?Or was that just the way prim, proper people responded to Amelia’s hope? She waited for the litany of reasons people offered as proof that Hailey had been murdered the same night as Jonathan. Hailey’s bank accounts hadn’t been touched. Her social media and emails hadn’t been accessed. No evidence existed that Hailey had contacted anyone she’d ever met. Not to mention, Amelia had been arrested for murder. That was enough to convince any logical person of Hailey’s death.

“This is your…” Amelia tried not to fidget. “Facility?”

Esme’s bright eyes danced beneath the feathery cape of her mile-long black lashes. “Beth hasn’t told you much?”

“Beth hasn’t told me anything except that I shouldn’t be here nor talk to you because I will regret it.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Amelia pointed toward the door where Beth was likely hovering and said, “One.” She then pointed at Camden. “Two.” Finally, she pointed at Esme. “Three. I’ve heard that three times, but I’m not changing my mind if it helps find Hailey.”

“I’d want to know too,” Esme admitted. “But I already live in this world.”

This world? The world of the CIA? Or Titan Group? Or another world that was uniquely Esme Van Alstyn?

“It called to me,” Esme continued, “and I wouldn’t change it. But I’m somewhat immune to it now, if I’m being honest.”

That sounded more like the CIA than Titan Group. “Immune to what?”

Esme leaned back in her chair and brushed her beautiful dark hair behind her squared shoulders. “That’s a complicated question.”

Their conversation was a gameequally annoying and stomach-churning.Amelia fought the urge to run away or roll her eyes. She offered a different question. “How do you know my sister?”

Esme offered an unguarded smile. Its authenticity pulled Amelia closer before she said, “There are very few people in this world that could hold a candle to her and Jonathan.”

The high praise stilled her roiling stomach. Curiosity slowly replaced her annoyance. “You knew them well?”

Esme nodded. “Very.”

“Very,” Amelia repeated. How had she never heard this woman’s name?

Clearly, Esme VanAlstyn was someone worth discussing between sisters who supposedly shared everything.

“Very… considering the worlds that we operate in.” Esme raised her sharp chin and stared at the ceiling for long enough that Amelia’s heart thudded in anticipation. “Let’s see. What can I share about your sister?”

---