“Why did you love him?” I ask her. “You saw what he was. What good could you possibly have found in him? I watched how he treated you for years and you always found a way to see past how he controlled you and used you. I mean, he probably brought other women to this very room! Why? Why were you in the car that night? Why did you let him drive? You knew! Why is this all I have left of you?” I wave my hand wildly around the hotel suite, forgetting my glass and sending champagne spilling across the desk. “Shit.”
I slide open the drawer of the end table, looking for something to wipe it off with. All I find is a stack of paper and some pens. I try the next drawer, only to discover it’s locked or stuck. For some reason, this puts me over the edge. The tears I’ve been fighting break loose and fall down my cheeks. I yank on the desk drawer, determined to get it open, but it won’t budge. Definitely locked. It’s not like it will have what I need anyway. I wind up grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom to soak up the mess.
“Don’t cry over spilled champagne,” I order myself.
But I’m not crying over it. I’m crying for my mom and the life I thought I would have. The life I will never have. I’m crying because I want to know the answers to those questions, because maybe if I did, I could figure out why I’m stuck—just like that stupid drawer—repeating mistakes, holding onto the past, never learning. Opening the top drawer, I reach to the back, feeling around for a key, but only find dust. It’s the story of my life: there’s always a missing key.
6
Sterling
Her phone goes straight to voicemail when I call, which means it’s dead or she turned the ringer off to avoid me. I’m past being angry at her for jumping to conclusions, and now I’m in full-blown panic mode. If I can find her, if I can explain…
But I don’t know where to start. Scrolling through my contact list, I stumble on Cyrus’s name. He gave me his number weeks ago to set up a lunch date or whatever these rich fucks do to fill their meaningless days. Cyrus, for better or for worse, lives with Poppy. Poppy is Adair’s best friend. It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to put it together.
He answers after a few rings.
“Cyrus, it’s Sterling,” I cut him off mid-hello.
“I was wondering if you’d ever get around to calling me. We still need to get together. Charity galas aren’t exactly—”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I don’t have time for idle chit-chat. “Listen, is Adair at your place? I’m trying to track her down. I thought she might be with Poppy.”
“She’s not here. I can ask Poppy,” he offers.
“No, don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. The last thing I need is to spook her any more or to get all her friends involved. I doubt Poppy will take my side on this one. “Let’s make sure we get together.”
I hang up before I can waste more time on a dead end. Zeus wanders over and sits at my feet, staring up at me while I stare at my phone.
I call Jack because I can’t think and he’s pretty good at it. “Weird question,” I say when he answers, “Have you seen Adair?”
“Misplace her?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Cute,” I say curtly. “Seriously, she took off, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Did something happen?” Jack’s tone switches to all business. That’s the other upside of calling him for help. Luca would still have three more quips on deck before he started taking things seriously.
“Doesn’t it always?” I mutter. “She saw a text on my phone.”
“So?”
“It was from Sutton. I think she got the wrong idea.”
“I take it she doesn’t know that Sutton is your sister?” He lets out a whistle. “You’re in trouble. Look, I haven’t seen her, but I’ll keep an eye out. You might want to call Luca.”
Calling him is the last thing I want to do. True, a hitman is pretty good at tracking people down, especially ones who are trying to hide, but their targets have a disturbing tendency to stop living. “I’d rather find her alive,” I say dryly. “I’m just trying to figure out where she’d go.”
“Um, home?” Jack suggests.
It’s stupid that didn’t occur to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never really had a home to run to. Maybe it’s because Adair’s always running from hers. “She had a fight with her brother. It’s doubtful that she’s there now.”
“That place is the size of Versailles. If she wants she can avoid her brother for months. Look, if it was me and some guy screwed me over, I’d wind up at home.” He makes a good point, but he’s getting the wrong idea.
“I didn’t…” I stop. Why bother trying to explain that we’d both screwed up? Right now, I need to be fixing things. “Thanks.”
“So, I take it you’ve crossed her off your list?” Jack asks.
“You could say that.”
“Where does that leave us?” Trust him to be direct. It’s how we operate. There wasn’t time on an operation for being passive aggressive.
I think about Malcolm and how he hurt her, about her father and how he used her. There’s something rotten in Valmont, and it needs to be weeded out as much for me as for her. “Nothing else changes. Not until I talk to Malcolm MacLaine.”
Jack doesn’t try to argue the point. “I’ll let you know if I see her,” he says before we hang up.
Going to Windfall is a long shot by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe a home is a place you run to no matter how much pain you’ve experienced there. I wouldn’t know.
“Well, buddy, wish me luck. I’m going to track her down and make her listen to what I need to say.” I lean down and stroke Zeus’s head. He whimpers like he’s hoping I have a better plan than that. Even a dog recognizes what sets Adair MacLaine apart. She has champagne taste and a whiskey temper—and I’m on the wrong side of both.
The sultry summer day begins to fade as I drive out of the city. The sun is beginning to set, purple seeping across the horizon, when I reach Valmont. Stopping at the gates of Windfall, I wait for the security guard to put down his sandwich. He steps out of the gatehouse, clipboard in hand, and motions for me to roll down the window.
“Name?” he says in a bored tone.
“Sterling Ford.” I tap the Aston’s steering wheel as his finger trails down his list. I wait for him to ask me why I’m here or call up for permission. Not that he or anyone else is going to stop me from getting to Adair if she’s in there. It would be nice to do this the easy way, though.
Instead, he nods. “Thank you, Mr. Ford. One moment.”
I made the guest permission list. That must mean that I’m still on Malcolm’s good side. He’s not the MacLaine I want keeping me around. I tear down the drive, swerving around to the back. Since I’m not here to see Malcolm, there’s no need to walk through the front door.
No matter how much time passes, I remember every detail of this house. It’s a bit like the ninth circle of hell—not a place that you forget if you make it out alive. I wasn’t welcome here five years ago. I certainly never made a guest list. But I’ve been here plenty of times—each instance more memorable than the last. If Jack is right and Adair came home, she didn’t bother with the front door. That’s the first trick to surviving Windfall, keep a low profile. She would have gone around back, straight to the kitchen. I’ll bet she’s crying to Felix over a batch of cookies. The back entrance also has the benefit of being close to the servant’s staircase. I can use it to get to Adair’s wing of the house with little chance of running into anyone that I don’t want to see.