The London Deception. Addison Fox
“Abby going to take lessons?” She kept the question casual as she pulled a fresh magazine from her pocket.
“She’s not interested. And I’m only here to keep Kensington off my back.” Campbell grimaced before adopting a high tone meant to mimic their sister. “All those who work for the House of Steele are trained with the highest degree of security and protection skills.”
“So we are.”
“I’m surprised to see you, actually. I thought you were headed to evaluate that Egyptian collection coming into the new museum in Seattle.”
“Kenzi’s got a different assignment she wants me to take on.”
Campbell’s eyebrows lifted over a speculative blue gaze. “I thought Seattle was a pretty lucrative gig.”
“Apparently whoever she’s got dangling is willing to triple the usual fees.”
“Which is code for run far, run fast.” Campbell’s mouth slid into a frown. “Kenzi knows better than that. You look at the file?”
“Not yet.”
“Whatever it is, there’s no way it’s worth it.”
Rowan didn’t completely agree with Campbell—they took on the hard jobs others weren’t capable of—but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Her brother had a right to be a bit raw after recent events. She heard the protective instincts that threaded through his words.
Campbell would bounce back, and in the meantime, she’d keep her own council on the new opportunity. The House of Steele stood out as a resource because they did take on the hard jobs. And they had very few peers because no one had their combination of connections, skills and bankroll to get it done.
It still didn’t mean triple their already-exorbitant fee didn’t ring a few bells.
“You get what you pay for.”
“You always do.” Campbell moved into the stall next to hers and removed his gun from a protective case. “Just remember you get what you take, too. You don’t have to take this job.”
“I know.”
Although Kensington managed the majority of the jobs they took on, no one had to work on anything. Her sister did know how to force the issue—and had done so on more than one occasion—but at the end of the day they all had an equal vote.
Pushing aside the imagined contents of what awaited her when she finally got around to her email, Rowan resumed her stance and spent the next twenty minutes in companionable silence with Campbell.
She loved all her siblings and knew she was fortunate for the relationship she had with each of them, but what she had with Campbell was special.
Kensington took her position as oldest female sibling seriously, pushing the matriarch role even when it wasn’t necessary. And Liam used his status as oldest sibling and oldest brother to get away with whatever he chose whenever he chose.
But Campbell.
They understood each other.
Each was the youngest of their sex and both had made some dodgy choices in their youth. Although neither spoke of those times, she knew between the two of them they’d contributed to the majority of their grandfather’s gray hairs.
Maybe it was the companionable silence or a weird melancholy she hadn’t been able to shake since learning of Campbell’s near miss in Paris, but as they wrapped up their things, she wasn’t ready to end the evening. “You up for a cup of coffee or a drink?”
“I’d love to.”
The breath she’d been holding came out on a rush. “Great.”
“We’re not far from Meatpacking. How about that new bar that opened. Johansen’s?”
“Sure.”
The high-tech glass-and-chrome interior of the bar welcomed them a half hour later after a brisk walk in the late October air and Rowan settled into her back-lit booth seat.
Campbell waited a beat until their waitress was out of earshot before leaning forward. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure about that?”
“Can’t I have a drink with my brother?”
“Of course you can. Doesn’t change the fact I want to know what put the shadows under your eyes.”
“It’s nothing. It’s just been a busy few weeks, that’s all.”
“No, that’s not all and it’s not nothing. Why aren’t you sleeping? Is it the dreams?”
She briefly toyed with brazening her way through a bluff, but the blue eyes that bore into hers saw too much and knew too much for it to be worth the effort.
“Yes, I’ve been having the dreams again. They started up after you got home. After we understood what really happened in Paris.”
“I’m fine, Ro.” Campbell reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Abby and I are both fine. And it’s behind us.”
“You killed her brother, Campbell.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t just go away, so don’t act like you’re all fine with it.”
“I know it’s not that easy. And I am working on it. We both are.” He looked up from their joined hands. “So why the hell are you the one having bad dreams?”
The urge to tell him about that long-ago night rose up, clamping her throat in a tight grip. With stoic determination, she pushed down on the urge. For nearly half her life, she’d kept the secrets of what she used to do.
The stealing. The deliberate and purposeful removal of prized possessions from others. Even the emotional void that she’d lived with for so long and which she still sunk into from time to time if she wasn’t vigilant.
But underneath it all were the images of that horrible night.
The twisted body as it lay along the base of the house, unmoving. The gunshots directed at her that she’d barely missed. The lingering hunt through newspapers, police files, internet searches—whatever she could get her hands on—to find out if someone had been murdered outside the Warringtons’ Knightsbridge home that spring night in London.
Rowan had always carried the slim hope that the boy who was barely a man had escaped with his life. She and Bethany had stayed friends, and the ensuing excitement and rampant sympathy at school for the traumatized house she and her family came home to had sparked endless rounds of discussion and speculation. On several occasions, Rowan probed if they’d found anyone, or any blood, or if anyone had gotten away.
The answer was always no.
Despite the hope she carried that he was all right, Rowan simply couldn’t erase the images of that last night. And even now, she could feel his lips on hers if she closed her eyes.
Could remember the distinguished lilt of his voice when he spoke, his lips pressed to her ear.
Could feel the moment her heart had begun beating once more with a passion for life that had lay dormant since the death of her parents.
“Have you considered a vacation?”
Rowan zoned back into Campbell’s words as their waitress laid down their drinks. “I’m taking part in that dig in the Valley of the Queens next spring.”
“That’s work, Ro. Not vacation.”
She smiled at the endearment as she picked up her wine. “I love what I do, which makes it a vacation every day. Besides, who wouldn’t want to get their hands on the new cache that was found this past spring?”
Campbell shook his head but