He exhaled shakily. “Amber left the house.”
I looked at the papers spread across my kitchen table.
“Did she?”
“She took jewelry, cash, documents. She said she’s going to ruin me.”
I almost closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
Predators recognize weakness before victims do.
“¿Dónde estás?” Pregunté.
“In my car.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He hesitated. “Outside your gate.”
I stood and walked to the front window.
There he was.
Not the black SUV. Not the polished threat of Victor Hale.
Brandon’s silver sports car sat beyond the gate, angled badly, as if he had pulled in too fast and lost courage before pressing the intercom. Through the windshield, I could see him hunched over the steering wheel.
For a moment, I saw the boy again.
Then he lifted his head, and I saw the man who had split my lip.
Santos appeared from the side porch, watching the car.
