Jenn Bennett - Grim Shadows

“It’s the only way I can get him to accept any money. He’s stubborn. And that’s his prerogative.” He gave her a sad smile. “In the end, it doesn’t matter. They are still my family, whether she’s got my blood or Adam’s. I feel lucky to be in both their lives, and that’s enough.”

Hadley didn’t know what to say. Her feelings ran the gamut from jealousy and distress to pity and respect. And something more, she realized. Not only had he torn down the barrier she’d constructed around herself, he was dismantling bricks from his own wall—an invisible bulwark she hadn’t even known existed. He was right when he said he didn’t need to tell her any of this. If he hadn’t, she may never have been the wiser.

But now she did know. And what he’d revealed didn’t matter. She only cared that he’d wanted to share it with her. And her heart swelled with this new awareness.

“Do you think less of me now?” he asked softly. “Do you want me to go?”

She swirled tea leaves in the last bit of golden liquid at the bottom of her cup. “Awfully inconsiderate for you to leave now. Who would wash the dishes?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders relax as he blew out a long breath. A few moments later, his hand slid across the table to coax her fingers into his. “What would you say to a nice hot bath?” he asked in a hopeful voice. “I saw your tub earlier. Looks big enough for both of us.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“But it will be fun to try, ja?”

“Ja,” she repeated as a quiet joy warmed her chest. “I think it really might.”

LOWE WOULD’VE BEEN HAPPY to never leave Hadley’s bed, but his need for a change of clothes finally spurred him out of her apartment the next day. They’d made plans to regroup in the afternoon to hunt the third crossbar. But at this point, Lowe almost didn’t care if they were hunting rabbits, as long as he got to see her.

He rode Lulu down Mason like a madman, buzzing with bright satisfaction; when he came to a stop sign, he had to force himself not to stupidly grin at the passengers in the nearby car. A single night with Hadley and he was euphoric. Drunk on sex and the deep contentment of holding her in his arms. Nothing was better than feeling all her hard angles and sharp edges soften beneath his fingertips. Or collapsing on her breast after they’d come together and listening to her crazed heartbeat slow to a fierce, strong pulse that matched his. As if they were both sinking underwater, slowly drowning in pleasure.

But it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Her company. Her sharp wit. The way those dark eyes squinted when she smiled, with their upturned corners creating a shadowed line that seemed to go on forever. The way one slim brow lifted critically as she upbraided his wild ideas in that acerbic, posh accent of hers.

He had prepared himself for rebuke when he told her about Stella. He certainly wouldn’t have blamed her if it were too much for her to deal with. He’d never forget how his mother had wept uncontrollably when he told her. Disappointed in him, devastated by the impossible nature of the situation—no joy of grandchildren running around her home or even watching Stella from afar. Adam refused; he didn’t want to confuse the girl. And rightly so.

But Hadley accepted it. He’d watched her carefully later, sure that once she’d had time to think about it, she’d start pulling away from his touch again. But no. A small miracle. He’d never been so thankful.

As he urged Lulu toward Pacific Heights, the city became a blur, a little like the lazy thoughts streaming through his head. His world felt as if it had been tipped over, then righted. Like he hadn’t known how unbalanced he’d been until he experienced how much better it felt to be standing straight.

Every worry he’d had since he’d returned home seemed a little less hopeless. Every problem, fixable. His mind raced the motorcycle, churning out images of a shiny future with Hadley. A big house. A family. Her running the antiquities department. Him . . . well, he hadn’t figured that out yet. Traveling with his uncle wasn’t looking as exciting as it once did. Bad food, sweaty clothes, hard labor, illness, and no sleep. All of that was tolerable when you were running away from something. But not when you had something to run to. Or someone.

Maybe going back to dig in the wretched sun wouldn’t be so bad if she was at his side. He pictured her walking around the desert in a traditional Egyptian galabiya dress and smiled. Maybe she’d have an easier time than he did. Maybe it would be worth it to see the look on her face when she strolled around the temple ruins.

He was considering all this as he galloped up the side steps of his family home. And after swinging open the screen door, he nearly slammed into Winter, who stood unmoving and icier than a side of beef in a cooler.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“And a fine fucking day to you,” Lowe said, shouldering around him.

Winter held out a hand. “Out all night and you come in looking like this? What were you out doing? Whoring?”

Lowe angled his face inches away from his brother’s. “Say that again. I dare you.”

“Defensive about that curator, aren’t you?” Mismatched eyes narrowed over a dark, stilted smile. “Oh, yes. I know. Greta told me you brought the woman here.”

Damn the staff and their wagging tongues.

“Not the first time you’ve been keeping graveyard hours,” Winter said. “A week ago Jonte told me you rolled home inside the Packard in the dregs of the night. You with the curator then, too?”

“She’s none of your goddamn business.”

“She’s a gold heiress—a society girl. Dammit, Lowe. You want to see a woman like that, you do it properly. If everyone here is talking, don’t you think her people are talking, too?”

Lowe started to protest that she didn’t have a maid, but thought better of it. And Winter wasn’t wrong, exactly. Hadley seemed friendly with the elevator man, who gave Lowe a frigid look today during the trip downstairs. Not to mention all the other apartment tenants—they would definitely talk if they saw him skulking around at odd hours. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Antiquities business isn’t all that big in San Francisco. Word gets out you’re seeing her, everyone in that museum’s going to talk. Patrons, donors . . . You need to be careful you don’t hurt that lady’s reputation.”

“I’m careful.”

“And you’ve also got a habit of making promises you don’t keep and leaving by the bedroom window. Don’t salt the ground under her feet.”

“Always good to know the strength of your faith in me,” Lowe said sourly.

“Why were you bothering Velma?”

Was there anyone he could trust to keep their damn mouth shut? “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Hadley and I are working together on something for the museum. At the request of her father.”

Winter’s scarred brow lifted. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve Goldberg.”

“Of course not.” Well, not in Hadley’s eyes. Not in the way she believed, at least. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. Or ever. Jesus, it was hot in the house. Lowe loosened his necktie as sweat bloomed on his brow.

A tense pause stretched between them before Winter seemed to give up the fight, sighing heavily. “Lowe,” he pleaded, using the Old World pronunciation, Low-va. He continued in Swedish. “You can’t go on like this. I know you want to make your own way, but you can’t spend your life running around the globe with Uncle, or you’ll end up like him: alone.”

“I hate Egypt,” Lowe admitted angrily in Swedish. “I hate digging.”

“Then don’t! Come work for me. You can run the new warehouse. Wine and dine clients.”

“Nej.” Lowe shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m so close to a big break, if I can just . . .” He trailed off. “I don’t want to do it forever, but I have to see this last thing through.”

Winter stared at him for a long moment, as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. He switched back to English when he finally said, “The shipping company called. The crates you sent from Egypt will be delivered next week. Greta has the details.”

Lowe mumbled his thanks and sidled around his brother.

“You square things with Monk yet?”

For the love of God. Winter was worse than a mother. Lowe had to get out of this house before he went crazy. Maybe get an apartment downtown. It wasn’t part of his bigger plan, which was to buy a comfortable house and make sure Adam and Stella were taken care of. But that wasn’t going to happen tomorrow, and there were other things at the top of his to-do list. The most pressing of which was to secure enough cash to pay off Monk—sooner rather than later.

And the closest funding within his reach was tied up in the crossbars hunt, something that was turning out to be much more complicated than he’d originally hoped, what with Dr. Bacall’s health, Noel Irving, Oliver, magic . . . Hadley.

Hadley.

Lowe could get by without the flock of servants and all the luxuries. Better to live free and poor. But what he’d told Winter was true—the crossbars had to be his last forgery, and that’s all there was to it. Hadley would never tolerate it, not in a million years. And he wanted her more than the money. As long as Adam and Stella had what they needed, Lowe could take his share and retire, so to speak.

All he had to do was find the rest of the crossbars, sell the real amulet to Dr. Bacall, and hand off the forgery to Monk to pay for the crocodile statue forgery—he’d just talk Bacall into giving him the original bill of sale for the crossbars. Give Monk that along with his official documentation for the amulet base. Bacall didn’t care about reselling the damned thing. He wanted it to get rid of Noel Irving.