Page 229 of The First Taste

Burn actually laughs in surprise. "No. No way. There is absolutely no way in hell that he will agree to meet you.”

I cross my arms and give him a tiny glare. "I thought that you had a good relationship with him."

"You inferred that incorrectly. Remy Morgan has a good relationship with his money. That’s about the end of that story right there."

My lips bunch up.

He waves a hand in the air, silencing me before I say a word. "When it comes down to making a decision, I have to ask, what’s in it for me? So if I tell Remy your tale of woe, what’s in it for me?"

Before he can get out another word, a woman screams a word across the gardens.

"Dare? Dare, where are you?"

He goes rigid at the sound of her voice. Whipping his body around, he looks toward the back of the house, where the voice came from.

"Shit. Just… Just give me a minute. I have to deal with this. Don’t move."

He doesn’t actually look back at me, though. I have the feeling that I am once again like a ghost to him, an idea more than a person. As Burn hurries out of the enclosure and ducks through the hedges, I already know what I have to do.

Leaving is the only reasonable solution. Especially since I doubt Burn intends to reveal anything to his grandfather. If I am not going to meet him, there is no way to know whether Burn will live up to his promise.

Ducking through the gap in the hedge, I flee toward the front of the house. I find my friend Olivia in her beat up blue Honda, parked along the driveway not very far from the large front turnabout. Glancing back at the mansion, I have the feeling that I am leaving behind centuries of criminality and angst. It has the semblance of a mobster’s mansion, for sure.

When Olivia finally looks up, I am already pulling open the door to her car. "Let’s go!"

She pales and starts the engine hurriedly, looking at me with wide eyes. "Well? Did you find Remy Morgan?"

I give a little laugh, shaking my head. "Definitely not. I have no idea what is going on with that family, but my best bet is to retreat and try some other tactic."

Olivia pulls out of the driveway, heading down the sloped driveway toward Harwicke. She glances at me, barely able to contain her curiosity. I wave her off though; I'm not ready to talk about it just yet. There is so much that I am still trying to come to terms with.

"Just take me back to the bookstore. Then I can tell you what happened."

"You got it." Olivia puts her foot on the gas.

I lower the visor on my side, looking at the receding house behind me. I glimpse a lone silhouette standing and waving an arm, trying to catch my attention. But I press my lips together and flip the advisor back up, not saying another word.

Seven

Dare

Iclench my teeth and stare out the window of the Windsor hotel, irritated by the phone cradled to my ear. "Yes, hello? This is the third time I’ve tried to call down to the concierge."

I listen for a minute, nonplussed by the answer. I’m annoyed, and not just by this hotel's lack of service.

"When I say that I want an omelet with something green in it and a kale and apple juice smoothie, I don’t understand why you have sent the wrong items for two days now. And besides that, my wake-up call for 6 AM this morning didn’t ever come through. What are you doing? Don’t you know who I am? I could put you out of a job!"

I pace in front of the window of the bedroom, my movements tense. Behind me, the bed is unmade. And out the window, there is a beautiful view of downtown Harwicke, mountains sprouting up in the far distance.

After a few more seconds of assurances from the concierge, I hang up my phone with a snarl. “Idiot.”

I stride out into the living room, tossing it onto the bed. I, of course, have the best room that the Monteleone has to offer. The room is large and airy; it has a dining room and sitting area and a huge office in addition to my bedroom. But honestly, it is not anywhere near living up to my standards.

I open my laptop, the web browser still pulled up for Talia Chance. Another failure, coupled with the woman’s disappearance last night and the annoyances at the hotel this morning. I rub the bridge of my nose, annoyed beyond reason.

There is a knock at the door. I look up, and the door opens unceremoniously, against my expressed wishes. Climbing to my feet, I am all ready to vent my frustration at the cleaning lady for being foolish enough to ignore my Do Not Disturb sign. But in the next second, my friend Tristen pops his blonde head in, his easy-going grin readily available.

"Knock, knock," he says. He straightens up and enters my room, and I am very glad to see him.