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The corner of Sinclair's mouth quirked up. "Aye. You know the story, clever lass." He finished with the ointment and screwed the lid back on. His smile disappeared. "No one will act against me without worry of punishment, or one lives in fear that others will offend him or his name. For The Watch revenge. For Sokolov pride."

"I wonder why he chose it? He kept saying we were creating a piece of art."

"I don't know. We're trying to figure it out. Though looking at the masochism of it, I think the art for him was in the actual making of it. It's a glimpse at the inner workings of his mind. Either way, he won't get away with it. I'll make sure of it." He tore off a piece of the cling form and covered the crest, pressing the edges down to seal it. Then he pulled the nightgown down and helped her sit up. "Let's get something to eat."

She grabbed her matching robe and tied it loosely around her waist, following him into the other room. The lights from the city shone through the bay windows, casting the den in a warm and colorful glow. Sin pulled a tray of omelets he was keeping warm out of the oven and transferred them to plates. She sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen island.

"Wine?" he asked, opening up a bottle of red.

"Sure."

He set a plate in front of her along with a set of silverware and poured her a glass.

"I want to apologize for letting you believe I was a kidnapper," he said, sitting down next to her.

"You are a kidnapper. You took me against my will." She looked over at him.

"Aye, but if I hadn't taken you, Sokolov would have."

"You said you were going to slit my throat," she reminded him.

"I regret that." He eyes opened wide as what he said hit him. "Charlotte, I didn't kill those women. I wasn't thinking when I said that to you. You must believe me."

She let it sit for a moment, letting him stew. "I believe you. It's why I didn't say anything to the police."

"I know it sounds fleeting, but I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry."

"It's like I'm in this bad dream that I can't wake up from." She wasn't going to forgive him so easily. She owed him nothing.

"I can imagine." He finished his wine and set down the glass. "When this is over, and we get Imogen back, I'll help you in whatever way I can."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll set you up wherever you want to live. Hopefully in a year, Alex will trust both of us enough and you can go home, but until then I'll arrange for you to live anywhere in Scotland you want."

"Home." She didn't have a home to go to anymore.

He put his hand on top of hers. "What your father said to you."

The corner of her mouth began to tremble. "It wasn't the first time." She looked up, hoping to stop the tears. "I told you he wanted a son. When I was young, he put me in all sorts of sports. Unfortunately, I was never good at anything involving a ball. Just another disappointment. I did manage sailing, though, and a little of his praise went a long way. My sister is ten years older than I am. She chose the medical field, so my father decided I would study law and work at his firm. Tax law and federal regulation. I went to his alma mater, majoring in economics. I hated it. I never told my parents I changed my degree to art history. When my father found out, he was furious. He refused to pay for the remainder of my education. He disowned me then too." She looked at him. He continued to listen, his thumb silently rubbing the top of her hand. "My nan might have been the only one who understood me. She finished paying for my school, and when she passed, I was heartbroken. Then Michael and I started dating and he asked me to marry him. I was welcomed back into the family. My father had his son and someone to carry on his work legacy. There was one condition, though. I would give up the art field and go to work in the sales department of the golf club. My father considered it a real career and more lucrative."

"Christ, I'm sorry, Charlotte," he said sincerely. "I'll do whatever I can to help you. You just tell me what it is you want. Where you want to go."

There it was. Her first sign of hope, partial freedom, a place where maybe she could begin to heal. "Let's just find Imogen."

They finished their meal in silence, and when it was over, Charlotte stood up. "I'm tired."

"Aye, we've got a big day tomorrow. Best if we both turn in. The room is yours."

"I would rather sleep on the couch."

"I couldn't let you to do that," Sin said.

"I insist."

"Very well." He went to a closet and came back with an extra pillow and blanket. "Do you need anything for the pain? Forbes gave me something for you to take."

She shook her head. "No. I'll be fine."

"Very well then," he said. "Goodnight, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, Sin."

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