“Wow. That’s a big decision to make when you’re that young,” I observed.
“I haven’t changed my mind, so you can stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you pity me.”
I snorted. “I don’t pity you, you gigantic oaf. I’m just…surprised. I guess I always just assumed you were more calculating with your decisions. That seems like a knee-jerk reaction.”
“This conversation is annoying me. You should leave,” he announced.
“Lucian.” All the aggravation, the frustration that roiled inside me came out in those two syllables.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“Why do we keep getting on this roller coaster?” I asked.
“I always thought of it as more of a dance,” he countered.
“Roller coaster, dance, series of huge mistakes. What are we doing, Lucifer?”
He locked eyes with me, and I felt as if I was frozen to the spot.
“We’re holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore,” he said flatly.
I absorbed the blow and sighed out a breath.
“How do we let go of something that doesn’t exist?” I asked.
“If I figure it out, I’ll let you know…in a letter…from my attorney.”
My lips quirked. That was the magic of Lucian. I could hate him, and he could still make me smile. “Did you ever want a family?” I asked.
“Once. A long time ago,” he said, his voice low.
I bit my lip and tried to avoid the barrage of memories.
“You should go, Pix.”
“You don’t have to be like them,” I told him. “You’re already better. I mean, besides your terrible personality. You’d do it better than they did.”
He was already shaking his head. “I invest my time in what matters most. I don’t have any left over for a wife and kids. I’d only be putting them at risk.”
I straightened. “I talked to Nash about you working with the FBI—”
“Of course you did.”
The roller coaster was inching its way up that first hill.
“You told me not to worry. You didn’t say ‘don’t talk to your friend.’”
“You haven’t changed in the least,” he snapped.
Actually, I’d gone up a cup size since I was sixteen. But that didn’t feel relevant in this conversation.
“And you’re a completely different person than you used to be,” I pointed out.
“I have work to do, and you’re annoying me,” he said.
“I talked to Nash, your friend, and he isn’t too thrilled about you becoming BFFs with the FBI.” Nash’s exact words had been something along the lines of “it gives me fucking heartburn.”
“I don’t care.” Lucian’s tone was just flippant enough it made me want to march into the living room, pick up one of the scratchy pillows, and hurl it at him.
“We both couldn’t help but wonder if it was Anthony Hugo’s men who went after Holly,” I said.
“It’s none of your business. But if it was Hugo’s men, then I just proved my point. I do things that get people close to me hurt,” he snapped, that beautiful facade cracking just enough for me to catch a glimpse beneath.
“Lucian,” I said softly.
He held up his hand. “Don’t. I’d like you to go.”
I crossed my arms. “Not until you tell me where the investigation stands. Are you in danger? Are the rest of your employees taking precautions?”
“I’m not discussing this with you,” he said and headed out of the kitchen.
I followed him into the hall. “You said the guy who sold Hugo the list turned up dead. Felix Metzer, right?”
Lucian stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “How did you know that?”
“It’s not that hard to search the news for dead bodies pulled out of the Potomac.”
“The news didn’t identify him,” he countered.
“I’m a fucking librarian. I have literal resources.”
“You’re not getting involved in this, Sloane.”
His tone was icy and hard.
“I’m not asking to be involved. All I’m asking for is answers. Is the FBI close to making an arrest? Is Hugo going to retaliate again, and if so, are Lina and Nolan targets? If the guy who sold Duncan the list is dead, does that mean it’s a dead end? Is the FBI looking into financial crimes because those carry more charges? It’s not as sexy as convicting him for murdering people, but it’s usually easier to prove—”