Page 72 of Widow's Walk

I nod slowly, understanding her more in these last few moments than I have over the last year she’s been upheaving my life.

I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to disappear anymore. That she’s safe here. That she can now feel like she’s home. But I don’t.

I let the words hang in the attic, hoping she’ll one day discover them for herself.

When she’s ready.

Chapter thirty-three

Sinclair

I’m sprawled out on the velvety chaise in one of the sitting rooms of the obnoxiously perfect house.

From the colors to the textures, everything in this place is perfect. Whoever designed this place nailed it on the head. Dark, seducing, warm, intense. I love it all.

“So, how come I never see your wife or your kids?” I ask over my wine glass.

“You think I would let you anywhere near them?” Harlan responds with slight amusement.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I should’ve poisoned your drink.”

He grins. “You’d miss me too much,Lady Lobotomy.”

“I’d have to care for you to miss you.”

“Lies. I’m the only one you don’t want to kill.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Well, Blackwell and I.”

I reach down and pet Blender, who’s curled up against the nook of my bent legs. “That right is reserved only for Blender.”She’s never been so content since I’ve met her. When she sleeps, she doesn’t leave one eye open and snap awake at every noise. Doesn’t startle if I touch her.

“Bullshit,” he teases.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He chuckles, causing me to grin. There’s a sibling-like comfortability between the two of us. I wouldn’t turn my back on him, though. And I don’t think he actually trusts me, but he would definitely have to provoke me to snap on him. Most people don’t need much to get me to spill blood.

I gaze over at Blender again, letting her silky fur slide between my fingers. “He wouldn’t stop looking, you know.”

I blink, but I can’t look at him. “What?”

“The cat,” he says. “Blackwell wouldn’t pull his men off the job until it was found.”

“She,” I correct him.

“Sure.She,” he says dismissively. “He wouldn’t let it go.”

I scoff, pretending that doesn’t strike somewhere raw. “He sent some of his disposable henchmen, it’s not like he—”

“He did more than that,” Harlan interrupts, tone suddenly serious. “He obsessed.” I glance up. “Had surveillance around the clock and sent your fucking dirty clothes to put in all the traps. Dane and I thought he had just about lost his goddamn mind.” I stiffen and have to look away. “When the wily beast was finally caught, he flew out there himself to retrieve her. Took her to a vet and had her flown here on a private jet like goddamn royalty.”

“Harlan,” I growl in warning. I can’t hear any more of this. I won’t let him get inside my head with these false hopes.

“Look around, Sinclair.” He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice soft but sharp. “This entire estate? He built it all for you. Every inch. Every thread. Every detail screamsyou.”

“An interior decorator did all this,” I argue.