Page 92 of Thief of Night
“He wanted you to have birthday cake,” Charlie said. “And when he was dying, he gave you everything that was left of him. He knew you couldn’t save him, but you could save yourself.”
28Unusual Selves
Solaluna had a gate along its entrance, with a call box on the left hand side. Past that, all you could see were trees—no buildings at all. A low fence ran in either direction from the gate, but if the security was as lax as it seemed, Charlie could have just jumped over it with no one the wiser.
“Welcome to Solaluna,” came a voice from the box.
Charlie looked at Red and nodded toward the speaker.
“This is Remy Carver,” he said, acid in his voice. “Checking in.”
As the gate lifted, he raised the car window. “Pretending to be him feels like spitting on his grave.”
That was Charlie Hall, using everyone around her. She could blame her upbringing or Rand, but whatever the reason, it had become her nature to look for an angle. And Red was full of angles.
“But you’re right. This is what he wanted for me,” Red went on, surprising her. “To live. To have everything I could take. And throwing that gift away would be worse than anything I could do to his memory.”
She gave him a stunned look. “So you’re taking the money?”
“When this is over,” Red said. “I am taking everything.”
The road led up a hill to a large white building full of windows. As she drove up, she spotted a waving man in a navy jacket and a pink baseball cap withSOLALUNAwritten across it in white type.
Beside her, Red had put on sunglasses, which made him look appropriately hungover and had the added bonus of hiding his eyes if they started to smolder unexpectedly.
“We can park your car for you,” the man said, when Charlie rolled down her window.
She got out, thankful for the Porsche so she wasn’t asking the attendant to drive a beat-up white van.
Charlie had done her best to prepare for this venture in the short time she’d had—a little black dress, hair slicked tightly back, natural makeup, tights, and Adeline’s Prada boots on her feet. She hadn’t had an appropriate coat so she just hadn’t brought one.
Her tattoos peeked out over the neckline.Bad for business,Rand had told her, when they’d come across another criminal who had them.Too memorable.
But that had been the reason she’d ended up getting them. Charlie had transformed herself so many times she’d stopped knowing who she was. She’d needed something to hold her in place. Something to ground her. Something that said this is Charlie Hall’s leg, marked with stars. This is Charlie Hall’s throat, inked with scarabs.
The attendant took their one small suitcase out of the back of the Porsche. They followed him inside.
Red was in dark pants, black shoes, and a fine cashmere sweater. Over it, he had on a wool peacoat. He looked as though he belonged, and not just because of the clothing.
The scents of rosemary and eucalyptus filled the lobby like the inside of a high-end spa. A huge rose quartz lamp sat near a small seating area with nubby-looking cream chairs.
A woman smiled at them from behind a hotel desk of light wood. “Remy Carver?” He had broad shoulders and a lot of money. Who wouldn’t smile? “I just need a form of identification and—would you like to use the card on file?”
Charlie opened her mouth to spin a story.
“Can I see your phone?” Red asked the receptionist, before Charlie could speak.
“Mr. Carver?” she asked, obviously confused.
“Please,” he said, putting out his hand.
She took it out of her pocket, unlocked it, and placed it in his palm.
He pulled up an article about being found in his father’s basement when everyone had thought he was dead, then handed her phone back to her. “I don’t have a driver’s license right at the moment, but there’s a photo of me in this article.”
Oh, that was clever.
The woman behind the desk looked flustered. “I guess that is all we need.”
