Page 68 of Waiting For A Girl Like You (Haven House #4)

She nearly collapsed when she thought of Liam coming here. Her mind was starting to clear, and now running wild, showing her all the horrible things these people would do to him.

“No, no, no.” She scrubbed her skin raw, her bottom lip trembling. “I won’t let it happen.”

Getting control of herself, she finished cleaning up and got out.

From the choices of clothing available, she picked an oversized T-shirt—clearly one of Michael’s—and a pair of women’s sweatpants to wear.

Leaving her feet bare, she noted the pair of women’s tennis shoes at the bottom of the closet.

They looked like they would fit, and if she had the chance to run, she would need them.

Back in the bedroom, she found more lamps ablaze, revealing further details about the room. In the corner, close to the reading nook, there was a table with chairs for two where Michael stood waiting. He had also changed, wearing dark sweatpants and a T-shirt similar to the one she had on.

“Come and eat.”

Warily, she took the offered chair, eyeballing the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. “Do you always wear a weapon in your own home?”

He took the seat across from her. “No, I do not.”

That was it. No elaboration. No explanation. He just started eating, so she did the same. The soup had reached a decent temperature, and she paced herself, even though she was starving.

The silence dragged. Needing to distract herself, Jamison peered past him to the rows of books on the shelves. She expected war memoirs or thrillers, but was surprised when she recognized row after row of romances.

“She liked to read,” Michael said, his eyes still on his soup. “Rom-coms. After a long day with patients and dealing with her family, she always needed something light.”

Jamison set her spoon down. “Did you live here with her?”

“No.”

“But you built this for her. ”

Michael’s green and brown eyes ticked upward to meet hers.

“We designed it together. She loved her childhood home. When we talked about settling down, we started sketching out this place. I had the plans drawn up in 2018 after we found this area. In fact, I proposed to her here when we signed the papers to purchase the land.” He glanced at the balcony windows.

“Right out there, on the edge of the lake.”

His mouth curved slightly at the memory, softening his features. Michael Sinclair was already handsome, but like this, it was quite a shocking difference.

“She didn’t know I’d had the plans completed when she died,” he went on.

“Didn’t know I was already working with contractors to bring it to life.

Down the hall, there’s a huge library. Her library.

I filled it with every romantic comedy book I could find.

After I saw the one at Haven, I even considered adding a conservatory. ”

Ice trickled through her bloodstream. “You were at Haven House before the night you tried to take me?”

The easy smile on Michael’s lips slid into a thin line. “I’ve walked those trails for years and watched your family for just as long. Sometimes with Cecilia. Sometimes without her. I kept trying to figure out what made you all so special. What did you have that she thought was worth protecting?”

“Did you ever find the answer?”

“No.” He returned to his food. “None of you were worth her.”

Now she was getting somewhere. “Is that why you joined Zanmi? Because you blame us for CeCe’s death?”

“Cecilia.” Michael clenched his jaw as he stared at his soup. “Her name was Cecilia.”

Jamison shifted gears. She wouldn’t get anywhere with him if she acted contradictory. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember her. The only name I know is CeCe.”

“She remembered you,” he said quietly. “She remembered every single one of you, even after everyone forgot her.”

Forgot her?

CeCe Miller?

That was a comment she couldn’t let slide.

“Simone didn’t forget her. Neither did Annabeth.

I may not remember Cecilia, but they do.

They mourn her. We all do. I don’t think any of us knows how to exist without the weight of grief sitting heavy on our shoulders.

Mourning is our thing, and mourning CeCe is at the forefront,” she said, her voice rising as her anger snapped.

“You know, maybe instead of lurking outside Haven House and kidnapping people, you should have introduced yourself like a normal damn person. Simone would’ve welcomed you.

She would’ve asked about CeCe until your ears bled.

And she would’ve shown you the photos. They hang everywhere now.

We don’t have many, but each one Liam found hangs proudly in the main hall and library. ”

“Fine. They mourned her. But no one fought for her.”

“Yes, they did!”

He dropped his spoon into the bowl, the full force of his menacing glare striking her. “If they did, she never knew it. Cecilia lived her whole life thinking she was the one not worth saving.”

Jamison mimicked his move, her metal spoon clanging loudly against the ceramic. “My dad and Simone honestly thought Charlie had gotten his shit together and was giving them a good life.”

“He tried. Charlie did giv—”

Michael sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as he closed his eyes and rubbed his left temple. The look of pain on his face had goosebumps breaking out across her arms, and she lowered them from the table so he wouldn’t see.

There was more going on here.

“Charlie did give them a good life in the beginning,” Michael said, regaining control of whatever pain had seized him. “They were happy.”

“So, what happened?”

“Bryan,” he bit out. “He’s one of those individuals who can’t stand not to own everything.

Land. People. He needled his way into their lives and used his daughter to gain the upper hand.

The villa Charlie lived in with the kids was next door to Bryan Carroll’s place, and being greedy, he wanted to expand. ”

Since he was willing to talk, she pushed. “Toby said Cecilia helped him kill Charlie.”

“Not true.” Michael leaned back in his chair, his expression now devoid of pain. “But by the end, Charlie had it coming. He was using again. Drinking himself into oblivion after losing everything to Bryan. It made him violent. ”

“Did Cecilia help Toby kill the others?”

“Some she did.” His voice dropped lower. “But not how you’re thinking. She wasn’t there when the murders happened, but she cleaned up after him.”

Jamison tried to mask her revulsion. “Where do you come in?”

Michael paused, then turned toward one of the bookshelves, staring at the spines like they held the answer. “Miami. I met her at a coffee shop. And I just… knew.”

“You just knew what?”

She expected him to say he just knew he wanted her because she was beautiful or that he just knew she would accept his work because he could sense something in her. Or perhaps that he knew Cecilia Miller held the same warped sense of life and death as he did.

But Michael Sinclair didn’t say any of that.

“I knew she was the other half of my soul,” he exhaled.

“Just standing there in front of me in a coffee shop line. It was the strangest thing. Like a scene in a movie playing out.” He released a short laugh.

“And once I saw her, I did the most bizarre things to gain her attention. I played the part of a lovesick fool, but it wasn’t an act.

It was real. I would’ve done anything to have her. ”

Jamison kept silent. The first thing Liam ever taught her was that it was easy to gain information when a person was left to wander through their thoughts and memories.

Half the time, the world was too loud, and humans—the selfish beings that they are—were forever too concerned with themselves to stop and listen.

“I didn’t know about Toby at first. But when I met him…” Michael shook his head. “I felt it. Evil. He’s evil as hell, and Taylor’s worse. It took me forever to convince Cecilia to leave them.”

“Why wouldn’t she leave them?”

“She thought she was protecting your family.” Michael’s face scrunched in pain once more, but only for a second.

“Toby wanted to go back to Haven House right after college. But Cecilia and Taylor talked him into doing the Miami internship with his friends. Cecilia did it to keep him away from all of you. Taylor did it because she was tired of the islands and thought Miami would be the place where she might finally be discovered .”

Jamison snorted. “Taylor thinks very highly of herself. ”

He shared a small smile with her. “That she does.”

There was a knock at the door, and Michael rose to answer. He cracked it an inch, but it was enough for Jamison to hear Bruce speaking, although she couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Eugene and the last six arrive tomorrow,” Michael said. “So, it’ll work. And if it doesn’t, we’ll leave the hard way. Tell Smitty and Paul, then get back to Kris. I don’t want one of these assholes trying to wander into her room tonight.”

The door clicked closed, and Jamison folded her hands into her lap, waiting patiently. The information he’d been willing to share was invaluable, and she needed him to continue. It would matter one day.

As he turned back to her, Michael paused, the color draining from his face. Staring past her for a long minute, his throat worked as he swallowed.

“Are you…” Jamison didn’t exactly care, but reflex had her asking anyway, “okay?”

“Sometimes I see her.”

Oh, shit . The ice already seizing her internal organs crystallized into a hard freeze, stopping her heart. Not only was Michael Sinclair a raging terrorist who was currently holding her hostage, but he also had some sort of misfiring happening in his brain.

“Do you see her now?” she asked cautiously.

He blinked a few times, the moisture gathering in his eyes receding. “Not anymore.”

“Do you see Cecilia often?” She kept her voice soft, trying to find her inner Bernie. “Does she talk to you?”

“Yeah.” Michael went to one of the bedside tables. “Give me a sec.”