Page 185 of Sinful Like Us

I stretch out my legs under the coffee table, and while Maximoff fights exhaustion beside Farrow on the couch, Jane and I sit side by side on the floor. Pillows beneath us.

Don’t touch her.

I hammer the thought in my brain.

Don’t touch her.

The shitbag is looking.

“It was professor plum, with a revolver, in the library,” Jane guesses.

Slyly, I reveal the revolver card in my hand to Jane, and she scratches the weapon off her list. Maximoff should be taking his turn.

I look across the table.

Exhaustion has won out. His eyes are shut, head on Farrow’s shoulder. Body slumped against him too.

Farrow holds him pretty tenderly. They’ve been on the edge of the seat together, and without waking him, he carefully draws Maximoff and himself further back against the couch.

He doesn’t stir. Still sleeping.

Jane has a pained expression, just seeing his sleep deprivation. “I’m afraid if we wake him, he’ll be upset he fell asleep and try harder not to.”

Farrow whispers back, “Which is why he’s staying like this.”

Their closeness makes me wish I could bridge the small gap between me and Jane. Just for a moment. A second.

Don’t touch her.

We’re about to scrapClueand play a round of poker. And then Charlie Cobalt walks past our table, favoring his right leg, a book in his grip. He looks disturbed, like a ghost trapped inside a haunted house.

Jane watches her younger brother carefully and whispers to me, “He’s bored and irritable.”

Charlie slows when he sees Maximoff sleeping against Farrow.

This isn’t good.

“Shh, Charlie.” Jane puts a finger to her lips. “We’re trying not to wake him.” She’s warning her brother.

Farrow is glaring at him to back off.

I’m about to stand up and guide him away.

“I can help with that.” Charlie pats the hardback on his palm, and then hehurlsthe book at Maximoff’s head.

Farrow catches the book midair, but the action jostles Maximoff. And his eyes snap open.

All hell breaks loose.

Farrow is on his feet, heat in his eyes, and I tower and have a hand on his chest so he won’t near Charlie. Because in my head, Charlie isn’t just a client. He’s Jane’s brother.

Protect him too, but he makes it hard.

“He’s been a saint to you,” Farrow sneers. “You couldn’t let him have one fucking second of peace—”

“He’s had a million seconds,” Charlie retorts. He leans on the antique TV hutch.

“Stop, Charlie,” Jane says hotly, standing off the floor-pillows. I leave Farrow to come to her side, and she looks up at me with a jolt of fear.