Page 59 of A Mistake of Identity
“When was the last time you acted like it?” Henri’s smile was painful to see. “No, Marc needs me. Really needs me. Nobody else has ever—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”
“Then help me understand.” Gabriel’s hands clenched at his sides. “I know I’ve been a terrible brother. I know I failed you. But let me fix it. Let me help you now.”
“Fix it?” Henri’s voice went soft, almost gentle. “There’s nothing to fix, Gabriel. This isn’t something you can throw money at or solve with your corporate connections. This is my life. Has been for twenty years.”
“Henri…”
But Henri was already backing toward the door, trying to pull his usual charming smile back into place. It looked grotesque now that Gabriel could see the pain behind it. “I should go. Marc’s waiting back at the penthouse. He doesn’t like it when I’m late.” He swallowed. “Besides, he’s been better lately. Really.” He paused in the doorway, and for a moment, the mask slipped completely, showing raw fear. “Just keep Jean safe? Please? He deserves better than—” He gestured vaguely at himself. “This.”
Then he was gone, leaving Gabriel alone with the morning sun, the crystal decanter, and twenty years of blind failure to protect his little brother.
Gabriel reached for his phone. His hands shook only slightly as he dialed. “Nika? Start digging into the Saint-Clairs. Everything. And Nika? I want them brought down.”
The phone slipped from his fingers onto the desk. Gabriel stared at the morning light spilling across polished wood, his pulse thundering in his ears. Everything was unraveling. His father’s legacy. His brother’s life. Ellis still missing. He grabbed the crystal decanter, not bothering with a glass, and took a long swallow.
How had he missed it? All those years watching Henri play the careless playboy while Marc... while their own father... Gabriel took another drink, his vision blurring at the edges. He’d been seventeen, already half-grown, when they’d effectively sold his little brother. He’d been so focused on following in Maximilien’s footsteps, on being the perfect heir, he’d failed to see what that same legacy had cost his baby brother.
The decanter hit the desk with more force than intended. Morning or not, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when his world was crumbling around him, one revelation at a time.
Charlotte Garten
The cat hours were winding down, dawn creeping over Porte du Coeur’s skyline as Lottie trudged toward home. Her feet ached, her makeup was probably a mess, and all she wanted was to fall into bed. Fifteen days. Fifteen days since Ellis disappeared, and a week since she’d started asking questions. At first, she’d been hopeful. Someone always knew something in their world, especially when she’d dropped Gabriel Rohan’s name. But the days had dragged on with nothing but dead ends and false leads.
Maybe Ellis had been moved out of PDC, as some were saying. Maybe she’d waited too long to start asking around. Maybe—
“Hey, beautiful.”
Lottie didn’t even break stride. “Not tonight, Gage.” Her last client had been particularly demanding, and she just wanted a hot shower and sleep.
“Aw, come on, baby. You’re looking fine tonight.” His footsteps quickened to catch up with her. “Let me buy you breakfast.”
“I said no.” She kept walking, not bothering to look at him. “Go home.”
“Don’t be like that. Been thinking about you all night.” He moved to block her path, that eager puppy smile on his face. “Just give me five minutes of your time.”
Lottie side-stepped him. “My time costs money, honey, and you can’t afford it. Now fuck off.”
“Maybe we could work something out?” He fell into step beside her again. “I got information you might want. Trade you for a drink?”
“Jesus Christ, Gage.” She said, running a hand over her face. “I’m exhausted. I’m not in the mood for your games. Either say what you need to say or leave me the hell alone.”
His smile turned sly. “Found your missing boy.”
That stopped her cold. She turned, ready to tell him exactly what she thought of his bullshit, but the words died in her throat. Gage held up his phone, and there was Ellis: handcuffed, face bruised, eyes glazed.
“Where?” Her voice came out sharp.
“South Affie’s warehouse.” Gage’s grin made her skin crawl. “Just got back from there myself. Wanted to show you I found your boy.” He leaned closer, like they were sharing a secret. “See? I can be useful. Maybe now you’ll—”
Everyone knew the South African’s, Don Haldeman’s, warehouse. Everyone knew to stay the hell away unless they wanted to disappear.
“What were you doing there?” She cut him off, stomach turning at the implication.
Gage shrugged. “Getting my kicks.”
“With Ellis?” Her hands curled into fists.
Another shrug, that sly smile still playing on his lips. “Maybe we could discuss it over—”
