Page 106 of Barristers & Bones

Evelyn Cross, the woman who’d birthed me, gazed at me without emotion as I tried to process the strange sight of her sitting at Ezra’s dining room table.

Roman took my hand and squeezed. “What the hell is she doing here, Ezra?” he growled.

It didn’t surprise me he recognized her since we looked so much alike. His hard, warm presence helped ground me as I pushed back some of my dread.

Ezra stood. “She came to the mortuary a few days ago, looking for you. I asked her to leave, but she kept coming back. You can either kick her out now or listen to what she says, then make your own decisions.” He looked around the table at my adopted cousins, who were all scowling viciously at her. “I arranged the meeting here so you’d have plenty of family around.” I appreciated Ezra’s words more than he’d ever know.

Evelyn stood, rounded the table, and carefully moved toward me. “I didn’t know what Montgomery had done to you. At first, he said you wanted to spend your birthday with Sylvie. When I found out what really happened, it was too late.”

Too late? I didn’t know what that meant to her, but it was true for me. During the year following the attack, I believed this woman would come for me. I thought she would reach out and explain that maybe she didn’t know, or that she chose me instead of the monster who was my father. I finally let go of that vain hope when my birthday, and then the holidays, came and went and I didn’t hear a word from her. The ache of rejection and worthlessness lessened every year, and the Spade family–and now Roman–more than filled the void she’d left.

I’d been so young and lost, even before that hellish day. Roman squeezed my hand again, reminding me of his presence, and Sylvie came over to stand on my other side.

“I don’t care,” I answered quietly.

Evelyn stopped and lowered her hands. “What happened to you isn’t my fault, Luna. I was a victim too, and I’ve lived with that man for almost thirty years, putting up with his vicious mood swings and–”

“Why are you here?” I interrupted. “You didn’t come to apologize or try to make amends. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing there blaming him.”

She glanced at Roman, then looked down at our linked hands and let out a long, frustrated breath. My father might be a monster, but she’d chosen him, and his power and money, over her own child all those years ago. I thought that made her a monster too.

“Can we talk in private? I don’t know these people, but I know their reputation.” Her lip curled in faint disdain.

She hadn’t changed. “Really? What is it you’ve heard?”

She seemed to remember where she stood and glanced around. “Well, your father complained about you living with them often enough.”

“What did he say about them?” I asked mildly.

“That they’re thugs and criminals.”

“That’s interesting coming from someone like Montgomery Cross. And you. A cryptic scribbled note on the back of a salon card doesn’t compensate for years of neglect.”

Her head jerked back. “You’re still alive, and you look fine to me.”

I studied her contemptuously. “I wasa childwhen you threw me away like garbage, and you’re not stupid. There’s no way you could afford the three homes you have or all the clothes, cars, or vacations if your husband wasn’t as crooked as an intestinal tract. He’s a fuckingjudge, for God’s sake, and you know where the money comes from. Why are you here?”

Pride and anger rippled through her. “How dare you compare me to him, or these people–”

I stepped forward and slapped her across the face. Her eyes narrowed to slits, but she didn’t try to hit me back. “Shut. Up. One of ‘these people’ found me in my own blood and filth, dying in your fucking clothes closet. Then she and her family took me in, healed me, and showed me what a real family was. You’re no better than him, and at least he isn’t a hypocrite about what he is. Now,what do you want?” I asked again.

Her glassy eyes scoured my face, my handprint visible on her cheek. “I want your evidence against him. He’s gotten worse over the years, and I need a way out that won’t leave me destitute.”

Sylvie snorted. “What’s the matter, Evelyn? Or should I call you Mrs. Montgomery Cross? Weren’t you smart enough to collect your own insurance? Luna was eleven years old. Obviously, she didn’t get her intelligence from you.”

Evelyn turned and sneered at her. “Hello, Sylvie dear. I hear you’ve become a mortician, of all things. Was that your dream job growing up, and what do you think your mother would say if she hadn’t decided to hang herself?”

I wanted to scratch this bitch’s face, but Sylvie just rolled her eyes. “My mother knew what I wanted to do, and she supported me. Even with manic depression, that woman was a better mother than you’ll ever be. By the way, did you know your husband was screwing half your neighbors? He even hit on my mother, God rest her soul. She laughed in his face.”

Evelyn’s hands fisted. “I’m done talking to you.” She turned to me and sucked in a breath. “Well?”

“Does he know you’re in Las Vegas?” I asked.

“No. I told him I’m getting a little surgery done.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What?” She had the gall to sound affronted.

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