Page 60 of Searching for Hope

I need to see him.

Pulling myself off the ground, I run through the passageways of the Sanctuary, up the stairs and to his office. The door is closed, and I go to push it open, but it’s locked.

“Jericho?” I call out and press my ear to the door.

“So what lies did he spin to win you over?”

I turn around to find Gideon leaning against the wall. He’s got an apple in one hand, a knife in the other. He slices off a piece and pops it into his mouth.

“He must have given you one hell of a reason for not bothering to tell you he was married or you wouldn’t be here, banging on his door desperate to see him.” He knocks the wall with his fist. “Jericho,” he calls pathetically, attempting to mimic me. “Jericho.” He cuts off another slice of apple. “What I don’t get is how you can know so much about him and yet still trust him. He killed his own father for fuck’s sake.”

“He was a child.”

“That’s the excuse he gave you?” Gideon takes a step toward me. “He told you he was only a child, that he didn’t know what he was doing?” He cocks his head to the side and screws up his nose. “You haven’t really talked about it, have you? You’ve been too busy fucking. Obviously, dance isn’t your only talent.”

Heat floods my cheeks.

“Tell me what he said about his wife going missing—sorry—stolen,” he puts air brackets around the word, lifting both the knife and the apple, “while on the trip he both paid for and planned. Or the fact that he kidnapped her kid.” He waits for a moment. “No? Nothing? And now I hear you’re in for a big windfall from Daddy or something? Money that you plan on giving to my brother?”

“I’m not giving him anything.”

He smirks. “I believe you are, but let me rephrase, money you are going use to help him find his missing wife.”

“My father said no, anyway.”

Gideon looks up. Any of the youthful charm he used to exude is gone. There’s a weariness about him. A hardness. Even his curls have less bounce. “If you say so.”

“I thought you didn’t know about any of that?” I say as he walks away.

He turns, walking backward as he speaks. “I know a lot more than everyone thinks I do.” He points up the stairs. “He’s in his room if you’re looking for him.” He winks. “You know where it is.”

My eyes move to the staircase.

“Gideon?” I call out.

He waits.

“Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him,” he says. “I love him. He’s my brother. He gave me all this.” He twirls around slowly. “But he killed my father. And you just wait, he’ll kill yours too. You see, as much as we try, Jericho and I aren’t from this world. It’s all a pretense. And he certainly doesn’t belong with someone like you.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond as he slips down the hallway, disappearing into the bowels of the Sanctuary. I don’t know where he goes or if his rooms are even in that direction. He just vanishes into the night like a ghost. I shudder, suddenly cold in his wake.

Everything he said, Jericho himself has admitted as a fact.

He killed his father.

He kidnapped Ette.

He lied to me about Hope.

But he’s also spent all his time, all his fortune searching for her. He’s provided for Ette, looked after her, protected her.

I walk up the stairs quietly and knock on his door.

“Go away,” he mumbles.

Ignoring him, I push the door open. He’s sitting on the sofa, his shirt open at the collar, legs spread wide, and a glass of whiskey in his hand. His hair is messy, as though he’s dragged his hands through it one too many times. His jaw is hard set and covered in dark hair. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful he is.

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