Page 6 of Love, Hate, Love

My phone lit up, my brother’s name flashing on the screen. The only thing surprising about the call was that he’d waited this long. I’d expected him to start rapid redialing hours ago, before she arrived.

“How’d it go?” Alec asked the second I answered.

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your life than caring about this?” I certainly wished I didn’t. Why had I done this to myself? Nothing good came from feeling bad for others. I was positive of that right now.

It was too late to get out of it, though. Even if there were a chance to renege, could I really send her to prison? The Devious Debutante probably belonged there, but Leah wasn’t justthatwoman, no matter how much I’d hoped that was who would show up. Little Leah had also come. No matter how much she’d tried to hide her, I’d seen her just beneath the surface, andthatperson I could never send to prison. I couldn’t even evict her from my heart completely, as I’d learned tonight. She was still in there, with a grip so tight I could feel her nails biting inside of me.

“Someone is awfully testy. I guess all those denials of feelings aren’t holding up?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I hated when Alec was right. Worse, he was laughing as he spoke. If he were here, I’d be punching him in the face already.

“I want to know every single detail. I’m still trying to figure out how this deal came to be. You’ve never really explained that, no matter how many times I ask.”

He’d asked at least fifty time and I still wouldn’t tell him if he asked fifty more.

“It doesn’t matter how it happened. Monroe needed me and I helped out because I could. There’s nothing else to say.”

“Where’s little Leah now?”

Unfortunately, he knew this place almost as well as anyone, and I was going to sound like the biggest dick going. “She’s settled in a cabin.”

“Cabin? Which one? I thought Missy was in the only livable cabin.”

“Elijah fixed up the other one for her.”

Alec groaned. “There was no fixing up that dump. The only thing that could fix that scenario was a dumpster. I can’t believe you?—”

“It was fine. She’s fine. It’s better than a cell.” It wasn’t like she couldn’t spend her free time at the bunkhouse.

With the guys.

I needed another drink. I needed to rewind the clock a month, back before I’d agreed to this.

“Oh, I get what’s going on. You didn’t want her too close toyou, so the house wouldn’t work. But you were always a jealous fuck, so you weren’t going to put her in the bunkhouse with the guys, either.”

“I’ve never been jealous in my life.” That was usually a true statement.

“Maybe not with other women, but no one could go near Leah, even though you weren’t even banging her. Were you even kissing her?”

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that? She was a baby, and I wasn’t jealous; I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her.”

“You’re trying to tell me you were only protecting her? She was sixteen and you were nineteen. Not exactly robbing the cradle.”

“I think it’s time you found a hobby.” I was resisting a third whiskey, but he wasn’t making it easy.

“There’s nothing as interesting as this. Is she as hot as she used to be? She looks even hotter if you go by her mug shot. She looked better in that than the covers of those mags on the newsstand.”

If he only knew. The pictures I’d seen of her through the years, the memory of the shy teen, none of it did anything to prepare me for the stunning woman who’d arrived tonight. It had taken everything to act cold and aloof, and it was only because I couldn’t let her know how she undid me.

My mind flashed back to her standing inside the cabin, giving me one last look, every line of her body stiff, her eyes flashing rage. She was such a force to be reckoned with that my dick stiffened just at the thought of her.

I had to stop thinking of her like that.

“Whoever she was, it isn’t who she is now. Who steals a painting like that? It wasn’t just the money. It was a priceless religious painting that’s been missing since WWII. You realize how morally bankrupt you have to be in order to do that?” I’d have to keep repeating this to myself every time I softened.

“I don’t care what the news says. There’s more to this story. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m telling you, she didn’t steal that fucking painting. You weren’t the only one who knew her.”

“She’s not the girl we grew up with. She was a kid then. She’s different. I don’t know if it was the money that got to her or?—”

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