“We have the same one. Let’s hope he has the same interests.”

“In any case, I am honored you asked. I’ll get back to you soon.”

She hung up and shook her head, amazed at how this treasure map was revealing itself. And there, in the middle of it all, inside the chest weren’t gems or rubies, but the most precious gift of all—a real love. She was a lucky woman, and this could be her life, here in the Village in New York.

She returned to her people watching. A pretty woman in a little black dress and high heels yawned as she passed Julia, likely wearing last night’s clothes. She wondered how many of these people were neighbors, and if she’d soon get to know the gentleman who owned the cafe, or the guy across the street walking a pug, or this fellow in the black suit coming into view.

But when she looked up to see the face of the man strolling past her, her heart plummeted six feet underground. Then burrowed even farther when the man stopped, his muddy brown eyes on her, his dark hair freshly combed, his suit neatly pressed.

“Red. Fancy meeting you here.”

The voice was an icicle on her skin.

She swallowed back her fear. Nothing to be afraid of. She had his money. That’s all he wanted, anyway. Even if Clay wasn’t here to protect her. He’d be here any minute, and besides, she could handle this.

Charlie crooked his arm at a right angle and looked at his watch. “I am early for our pointless meeting, but I will join you anyway,” he said, pulling out the chair next to her.

“Pointless?”

“So pointless,” he said with a bored sigh. “Except for the handshake part.”

She kept her face stony and impassive, but her mind was whirring. She had no clue what he was hinting at. She didn’t plan on letting on, though. One more time with the poker face for Charlie, because he didn’t deserve her emotions.

She reached into her bra, and took out the bills. “I have what you wanted, and I believe this means we are through.”

He gave her a look as if she were an idiot child, and waved her off. “We are all good,” he said, raising his hand dismissively.

Her eyebrows shot up. Forget hiding her reaction now. “What do you mean?” she asked, as a cab screeched to a stop. “You suddenly decided to forgive my debt?”

He scoffed at her. “That is funny. But I am not a forgiving man. He paid me. Your lawyer. Good man. Better than that ex-boyfriend of yours,” Charlie said, stopping to scratch behind his ear. Julia’s jaw dropped. She was sure she was hearing things. He couldn’t possibly have said just that. “Dillon Whittaker always seemed a little shifty to me. I hear he’s peddling island real estate.”

But the words about Dillon didn’t register, because she was still reeling from the blow. It was as if she’d been punched out of nowhere. A jab to the right. A hit to the left. Her head was spinning, and she was seeing stars.

Then she was seeing Clay. Standing next to her, fists clenched at his sides, staring at Charlie. “We weren’t supposed to meet until eleven,” he said to Charlie through gritted teeth.

“I was out for a stroll since this is such a lovely neighborhood, and look who I ran into,” he said, gesturing to Julia. “Lucky me. I got to spend to spend a few minutes with her. She even tried to pay me. But I had to tell her the matter was already settled between men.”

It was as if a truck had slammed into her, smashing everything in her body.

Clay looked at Julia, and she saw it in his eyes. Guilt. He was cloaked in it. He reeked of it.

“Clay,” she began slowly, but her brain was quickly lining up the pieces, and she had a sickening feeling that she knew what he’d done. “Charlie says— ”

He cut her off. “I can explain,” he said, sitting next to her, reaching for both her hands and clasping them in his.

“What do you have to explain? The fact that you paid him already?” she said heavily, the words like tar in her mouth. She hoped she’d heard wrong. She prayed that Charlie was lying. He was a liar, right? That was a more likely explanation than that her man had lied to her.

He closed his eyes briefly, and the shame washed over his features. It was evident in his mouth, in his eyes, in his jaw. “It was all a fake? The game was rigged?”

Clay shook his head adamantly. “No, the game wasn’t rigged. It was all real. I swear.”

“Then why doesn’t he need the money I won? Is it true you paid him already?” Her heart, so full of hope and joy, was turning black, like it had been painted over with a brush, becoming dark and cold in seconds.

“I paid him yesterday,” he said, grasping her hand tighter. But she shook him off, tears threatening to spill down her face as that word—yesterday—rang in her ears. The only thing that stopped the waterworks was the presence of Charlie. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t cry in front of that man. “I did it because I love you. Because I needed you safe.”

“When? When yesterday did you pay him?”

His jaw tensed. “Last night.”

“But when last night?”

“During the game.”

“When?” she asked once more time. Biting out the word. “It. Matters. When?”

“He called earlier in the day, and said he needed it by midnight,” Clay said. Julia was used to Charlie’s capriciousness, to the way he changed up times and dates and deadlines to suit himself. This was Charlie’s M.O. “And you were losing, and I didn’t know if you were going to pull it off,” he said, and his words cut her to the quick. “So I wired him the money.”

“Answer the question, Clay. When exactly did you wire him the money?”

Clay looked as if stones were in his mouth. “Around eleven-thirty.”

“After I told you I loved you?”

He nodded.

“After our conversation about Michele?”

Another nod, followed by a heavy sigh.

“After you told me you were texting Flynn about the Pinkertons?”

“Yes.”

“Were you texting Flynn or Charlie?”

He looked down, and in his silence she knew his answer, and it ripped through her body like a painful tear, like invisible hands were shredding her to pieces.

A loud scraping sound met her ears. Charlie had pushed back his chair. “As fascinating as it is to witness a lover’s quarrel, I have business matters to attend to. Mr. Nichols, I thank you very kindly for securing the transaction last night so that I could get on my flight to Miami. I have business to attend to there. I believe the final term of our deal was a handshake,” he said offering his hand to Clay. The two men shook and Julia wanted to bite both of their fingers, leaving teeth marks, and making them both yelp. Charlie patted Julia on the shoulder. “And that means, Red, you are free and clear. It has been a pleasure working with you. You made it entertaining for me, and I will miss my top ringer. But I will surely find someone else who owes me soon. Enjoy Cubic Z. I will not be drinking there again,” he said. That was what she wanted, what she’d been fighting for, and she somehow knew Charlie meant every word. There was honor among thieves. His word was good on this matter.

He walked off, leaving Julia alone with the man who’d played her. “I don’t understand. You think this is okay because you did it for love?”

“No. Yes,” he said, his voice wobbly as he shoved his hand through his hair. “Yes. Julia, I didn’t want anything to happen to you, so I got him the money.”

She softened for a moment, because she understood some part of his actions. Deeply and truly. “I get that. I honestly do. I understand you wanted to protect me, and I don’t fault you for that. Because I’d have done the same for you, and I’m okay with that,” she said, dropping her hand on top of his. Relief flooded his eyes when she made contact. But it was short-lived because she took her hand away, placing them both in her lap. Her anger stole all the softness, replacing it with only the sharp, cruel betrayal she felt. “But I don’t understand why the hell you didn’t tell me. It’s been twelve hours since you sent him the money. You had so many chances to tell me that the rules of the game had changed.”

She watched him swallow hard, a terribly pained look in his eyes. “I wanted to tell you.”

“But you didn’t. You let me play the end of the game thinking it mattered. I was losing, and you told me to go back in there and kick ass, knowing it didn’t matter how I played. You sent me back to play a game that was, for all intents and purposes, rigged. Because it didn’t matter what I did,” she said, her voice threatening to break. “That’s the moment, Clay. Then. There. On the street. After you told me you loved me. That’s when you needed to tell me about Charlie’s new deadline. I’d have understood completely if you pulled me aside and said, ‘Hey gorgeous, bad news,’” she said, dropping her voice to imitate a man’s deeper tones, “‘Charlie called and we need to get him the money now.’ That’s all you had to say. That’s it.”

“I know. I should have. But you were happy and determined, and I wanted you . . .” He let his voice trail off.

“You wanted me to believe I could do it,” she supplied.

“Yes,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“You wanted me to think I’d pulled it off myself. But I only wanted one thing. To not be played. And you took that away from me. You, of all people, should know better. You hate lies and you hate liars, and you lied to me by not telling me. You patted me on the ass and sent me into a game that didn’t matter, but you led me to believe it did. Then I won and I practically danced down the street afterwards, and you kissed me and told me you were proud of me. I thanked you for making it possible for me to win on my own terms. And that was another moment that you could have told me.”