“Whatever. Fine. And you’ll cut your honeymoon short?”

It wasn’t like Sparrow and I were enjoying the sun, alcohol and the deluxe king-size bed the hotel had to offer. And I fucking hated Miami anyway. Too lively for my taste.

“I’ll be on my way as soon as I can. I have to take care of one minor matter first.”

I heard him lighting up one of his rancid cigars. “Some lucky wife, you got yourself.”

“Leave my wife out of this. I don’t want you mentioning her or even thinking about her. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist.”

“Ah, so he has a soft spot after all.” Van Horn said.

I almost gave a mocking laugh, but I tightened my jaw, clamping hard on the toothpick between my teeth. “I’ll have my business associate Brock Greystone send you the new payment terms by tomorrow morning.”

Click, and the line went dead, and so did any good thought I had about George Van Horn.

RED WASN’T THERE when I got back to the hotel suite. Not that it surprised me. She was more independent than I pegged her to be. She was also a pain in the ass, and from what I’d noticed, hadn’t touched my credit card even once. Consequently, Red was broke as hell. I had no idea how she managed to walk around without spending a penny, but she did it and hadn’t complained about it even once.

She was stirring some very fucking strange shit in me—shit I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not when I still had to find the missing person on my list, my impending revenge hovering over our lives like a black cloud of suffocating smoke. I took the crumpled note out of my pocket again just to remind myself I had a goal in life, something bigger. Something that didn’t involve money or ass.

1 – Billy Crupti

2 – Father McGregor

3 – The asshole who hired Billy?

I kicked off my shoes and walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and taking off my clothes. The heat and humidity killed me. Summer was my idea of hell. I was dark, cold person who enjoyed dark, cold weather. That’s why Boston was my kingdom, my home. The unseasonable cold in the city this June suited me perfectly.

But the weather was the least of my worries after meeting with Paddy.

The important thing was that tomorrow morning Paddy’s lawyer showed up with a check for Sparrow. Then I was going to get the fuck away from this place and back home to deal with the George Van Horn problem. Sparrow would enjoy a fat payment for her suffering all those years ago, and maybe she’d feel a little less reluctant to spend the bastard’s money than she did mine. Though this money wasn’t only for Sparrow, I kept reminding myself.

It was also for my dad.

I took a quick shower and by the time I got out, my wife was back. I was always hypersensitive to the presence of other people. Especially when I couldn’t see them. A survival instinct I’d inherited from my father, I guessed, though it had failed him in the end. She didn’t make much noise—she never did—but I heard her shuffling about, and the sound of her soft footfalls on the carpeted hallway filled the quiet presidential suite.

I walked out with the towel wrapped around my waist, not thinking much of it. She already seen me in my underwear dozens of times and didn’t seem to mind. Most of the time, she even sent hungry looks my way. Leaning my hip against the doorframe of the double doors leading from the bedroom to the suite’s foyer, I watched her intently.

Of course, she was still wearing the same pair of baggy jeans and tight blue-and-white striped tee she’d worn on the plane. I knew her play. She wasn’t going to wear anything special tonight just to spite me. Red was standing on the balcony, her back to me, staring out at the turquoise ocean and tall palm trees. It was late, the sun was setting, and pink, orange and yellow hues smeared the sky like a perfect painting.

“Your resistance is growing old, you know that?” I spoke softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward the balcony’s sliding door. There was a beat of silence before she answered.

“Then do us both a favor and let me go.”

Stopping a few inches from her back, I placed my hands on the railing she was leaning against, caging her with my arms, my chin on top of her head. “That’s not what you said when I was eating you like a seven course meal at an Italian wedding.”

She twisted out of my touch and spun around, facing me, anger written all over her face. For the first time since I married her, she looked genuinely disgusted by my touch. This wasn’t pretense or shyness. She really didn’t want me anywhere near her. I took a step back.