Page 8 of Sins of Leo

“Because how am I supposed to explain how I disappeared?”

“At your next meeting, you will tell her you chased after the intruder,” Sage murmured. “And as proof, you’ll return the picture.”

“What?” Leo wasn’t the only one to shout.

Aries shook his head. “We can’t hand it over. I think the image the thief took might be a clue to where we can find the next missing relic.”

“There’s another one?” Leo stated with a frown.

On Sage’s advice—which also constituted an order—Scorpio had recently located a mysterious orb in Antarctica. The discovery devolved into a clusterfuck as some corporation named Cetus, which was supposedly in the business of studying climate change, stole it from them. They also kidnapped Scorpio. Hence why they’d destroyed Cetus headquarters after beaming to the rescue. Unfortunately, the orb ended up being lost in transition.

“There are three, in total,” Sage stated. “And that image is a clue to the next. But to solve that mystery, you’ll need the journal.”

Leo stiffened. “You mean the book the thief couldn’t locate. I take it the shrink has it?”

“Oh yes. It was her father’s.” Sage canted her head and her eyes closed as she murmured, “There are forces stirring, and they want the next piece to be found. However, it must not fall into the wrong hands. The thief was but the first attempt to steal the journal. Ruth is in danger, and only Leo can protect her.”

“Me?” Leo almost fell off the dining chair. “I am the last person anyone should rely on.”

“This is your quest, Leo,” Sage whispered, staring at him with her uncanny eyes. “You must not fail, or all is lost.”

With that kind of warning, Leo wanted nothing more than to get royally drunk. What kind of idiot would put that kind of pressure on a failure of a man and a drunk?

Apparently, the stars had a sense of humor—or hated humanity. Whatever the case, it resulted in Leo having the shakes because, for the first time in years, he didn’t dare drink his grief away.

Couldn’t.

The world—and his shrink—depended on him.

CHAPTER 3

Despite the damagedone to her home, Ruth didn’t call the police. Why bother when it appeared the only thing taken was a drawing by her father? He’d mailed it to her more than two decades ago from somewhere in South America, as if sending a picture with a postcard sayingMiss youcould make up for the fact he was rarely home.

In the movies, archeologists tended to be portrayed as cool dudes discovering epic things from the past. The reality being, they made absent parents who showed more interest in things long dead and buried than their only living daughter.

Yes, she remained somewhat bitter, but she’d come to terms with her father’s absence during pivotal moments in her life.

Mostly.

Part of healing and moving past it was not pretending the man didn’t exist, hence why she’d framed the last drawing she ever got from him. He’d disappeared shortly after, the assumption being he’d gone wandering somewhere he shouldn’t have. The jungle could be a dangerous place. Not that she’d know. She’d never really left the city.

The first thing she did before righting the mess in her home? Closed the window that accessed the fire escape and, for goodmeasure, nailed it shut. If a fire broke out, she’d smash the pane to escape. At least the next thief who attempted to enter wouldn’t find it easy. She’d never thought to check the lock on it because she’d assumed the metal staircase bolted outside hung high enough off the ground to deter. It was built to be used from above, not below.

She spent her evening checking locks—more than once, despite knowing they remained secure—tidying up the mess—couldn’t they have stolen without destroying?—and having some wine because she remained shaken.

Someone had invaded her private space. She didn’t like it one bit. She also remained perturbed by her missing client. Leo must have chased after the robber. She doubted she’d see him again. He’d been rather reluctant to divulge anything, his prerogative of course, but it made her job pretty much impossible. She needed open and honest communication as well as a willingness to fix what ailed. Leo didn’t appear ready.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but dawn arrived at its usual time despite her fatigue. Given how sluggishly Ruth pulled herself from bed, she debated cancelling her appointments for the day. She didn’t in the end, because, honestly, what would she do other than dwell and mope?

After a breakfast of peanut butter and banana slices on toast with a strong cup of espresso, she headed down to her office, unlocking the door to the street before sitting behind her desk.

She stared blankly at her computer screen. Turned out she could have laid around a while longer as her eight a.m. had cancelled overnight. Apparently, Harriet, who’d been seeing her because of her impulsive relationship issues, had eloped. Again. For the sixth time.

Ruth shook her head. Might be time to refer Harriet to someone else since the therapy didn’t seem to be working. Harriet’s need to be a wife baffled. Ruth had no interest inmarriage. She’d seen how it affected her mother growing up. The way it sent her into rages. The sadness in her gaze at her absent husband. The way she struggled to be there for Ruth. The way she lit up when Dad did come home, only to fly into rages that forced him to leave. A cycle that led to her mom crashing hard when he left.

Before Ruth even became a psychologist, she knew too much about depression. Her mother had been bipolar, and her depressive episodes had been severe. Not bathing for days. Letting the food she’d cooked while happy sit on the stove rotting because Dad had left on another adventure. How Mom would scream or just as quickly cry, no matter what Ruth did.

Straight A’s. Why was it 98% and not 100%?

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