Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I’m ready, just as soon as the Nile Queen stops standing there looking flabbergasted and collects her prize. Some things never change.
What little Cleo wants, she gets, unless somebody stops her. She always comes ahead of staff like me.
“Whoa, Dad! This is just like those spy movies.” Kit exhales as we approach the second door of the vault—the one I never went past since the day it was finished.
Cleo looks at us, her full lips curling in a smile. Her cinnamon hair falls over her face with that obnoxious white stripe.
Go ahead and call me old-fashioned. Doesn’t surprise me one bit she’s grown into the punk look.
She’s grown up awfully fast, too, from a sulky girl with bad manners to a young woman who could look presentable—if she wanted.
The hair’s new, I suspect. I want to hate it.
I should hate it.
Nothing about her matches my preferences.
But she always was a little heathen, and I’m no stranger to how the artsy types look here in Portland or other cities.
For what she does, it suits her.
That white streak rips through thick chestnut locks like a shooting star. Pale, fresh face with smooth skin, more mature, the baby fat gone.
Violet-blue eyes like winter twilight.
Stranger than I remember. The purple was just a small hint in the blue field when she was younger, but now it’s bright enough to make a man stop and stare.
She’s dressed like she can’t decide if she’s about to meet with her fellow art snobs in some pretentious coffeehouse or she just wants to rock the raven girl look for a day to pay her dead grandfather some respect.
Short, yet colorful nails that still look weirdly sharp. They’re light blue with vivid pink accents, close to her eyes.
Not what I expected.
Not my concern.
Hell, I was there when she tried painting her nails the first time while Margot and her friend Hattie laughed. Small and sticklike, elbows always scabbed over from falling on hikes, sticking out at odd angles.
The girl was almost bony and coltish before.
Now, you’d never know it behind the subtle curves under that flowing black skirt. I should be grateful it’s not ripped or damnably short.
I’m surprised she’s not wearing makeup to go with those nails.
Those lively eyes dance at Kit.
“You’re right, total movie stuff,” she says. “We’re just waiting for the lasers next.”
“That would be so fire!” Kit laughs.
“Right?”
“Just like a diamond vault.” Kit grins. “Are we gonna go after it like that old guy?”
Cleo’s gaze flicks to me in question.
“Mission Impossible. One of our favorites,” I clip.
“Oh.” Cleo’s laugh fills the chill air. “I guess he is kind of old, huh? You’ve been bringing her up on the classics, Holden. Impressive.”
Classics. Fucking hell.
She wasn’t even born when the first reboot movie came out.
Holy fuck, I feel old when I’m around her.
I drag a hand through my hair.
“Can we move this along?” I snap.
Wilkes fires me a cool glance before placing her thumb in the sensor by the door. It opens with a click and a hiss.
“I need to make sure I’m following protocol,” she says. “You should know that better than anyone, Mr. Verity.”
“Exactly.” Cleo narrows her eyes at me. “I see someone never learned to relax.”
I bite my tongue.
Fine, yeah, I’m being an asshole, but I’m more impatient than usual. This has the uncomfortable distinction of being work and annoyingly personal.
Mainly because the odds of dealing with her keep spiking every minute.
Cleopatra Blackthorn, the art brat. The girl who turned my job into a frustrating chaperone gig in her teenage years.
I can’t decide if she was worse than Ethan—that boy and his shit almost killed me a few times—but I only had to deal with him for a few.
Judging by her attitude, she hasn’t matured all that much.
My blood curdles at the thought of having her in my life again. If old man Blackthorn made that a condition of continued employment, I’ll have to think about it carefully.
Then again, with my parents in the mix, I never need to think hard. Gotta pay the bills somehow when Mom’s incidental costs just keep accelerating. Medicare doesn’t cover enough with aging parents who need mobility specialists and basic memory care.
The small, stale inner chamber looks empty except for a set of drawers. I feel like there should be more in here.
Wilkes punches in a code. The top drawer clicks, unlocking, and she pulls it open.
“This is the only item left in this chamber,” she says. “The remainder of Mr. Blackthorn’s collection was cleared out months ago.” She carefully lifts an elegant red velvet box. “Here, Miss Blackthorn. Please be very careful. It’s delicate.”
The smirk melts off her face.
Cleo looks nervous as she accepts the gift, chewing on her bottom lip. Although she’s dressed like some kind of dark bohemian fairy, she suddenly looks younger, almost back to that kid I remember.