Chapter 40

Poppy

"I'm ready," I admit as I step into the small living room, which screams 'not Harper' in every nook and cranny. It's decked out with old furniture that looks like it's seen better days—a periwinkle couch and two armchairs in plaid, a pattern I'm pretty sure Harper wouldn't be caught dead in. I'm baffled by the decor, but I guess if it's her safe house, disguise over style is her motto.

Yet, something feels off about this place, like it ' s tweaking Harper's vibes in ways I can't pin down.

Harper reaches for the remote and mutes the TV with the urgency of someone silencing a bomb. Julian and she exchange one of those looks that could mean 'the apocalypse is nigh.'

Julian's phone, clutched in his hand, illuminates his face with the glow of an ongoing text saga.

" What ' s happening?" I demand. They both have that ‘ just got punched in the gut ' look—yeah, even Harper, because let ' s face it, she ' s more badass than any dude I ' ve met.

I make myself at home in the ancient plaid chair, bracing for whatever news they ' re about to drop like it's hot wax about to be ripped off my bikini line.

The TV screen, now muted, shows an aerial shot of a mansion swarmed by FBI and police cars. The headline reads,

Oliver Sinclair Found Dead.

" Come again?" I blurt out, all pretense of cool gone. " Dead?"

Silence blankets us.

"He's dead," I repeat, utterly shocked.

" Yes," Julian finally says, but there is a tightness in his voice that makes me uncomfortable, like how I feel when I wear Spanx but then decide to eat a second slice of cake. Just because you ' re holding it all in doesn ' t mean it looks nice.

What are he and Harper not telling me?

My mind races. " Did either of you see this coming?"

When they said they were handling the Sinclairs, was a body count part of the plan?

" No. It wasn ' t supposed to go down like this," Julian states, his tone flat. " Agents were supposed to arrest him and Andrew this morning."

" So, he took Hitler ' s way out," I snap, anger flaring. Oliver took the coward's exit, robbing us of the satisfaction of seeing him dragged through the mud.

Harper can only snort at that.

" No," Julian corrects me, " Not exactly."

I glance back at the screen, a knot forming in my stomach. " They got Andrew, right?"

Silence again.

" Hello!" My patience snaps as I stand. " Don ' t go all vow-of-silence nun on me now." I fix Harper with a glare. " Andrew ' s been arrested, hasn ' t he?"

Nothing. Great.

" He's dead too?"

Harper cringes, a sure sign of bad news. " No," she finally says, and I nearly implode.

For my sanity, could you possibly string a few words together?

" What the news hasn ' t caught wind of yet..." Julian looks at Harper again like they are besties who have formed a pinky swearing friendship. "Oliver Sinclair was found murdered, and the top suspect is his son Andrew."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Now I understand the silence. We thought we had this situation figured out, but Andrew turned the tables in the most shocking way.

Hearing 'murderer' and 'Andrew' in the same sentence shouldn't surprise me, given what I know he's capable of, but it does. I feel myself crumble, legs giving way beneath me as I collapse back into the old plaid chair.

" You know," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, " Peter confronted me one day. I was in the library studying. He told me he didn ' t like Andrew. He warned me. If I had listened to him that day, none of us would be here right now." I admit. " Part of that statement makes me feel…" I shake my head, " awful because I never would have met you, Julian." I roll my lips. " Peter would have liked you. I think," I snort, " he was my older brother, so he ' d never fully like any guy I was dating. But I'd like to think in this fucked up mess that Peter sent me you."

Harper suddenly stands, tears streaming down her face. " I just need a minute," she chokes out before rushing from the room.

As I start to follow, Julian blocks my path. " Give her a moment," he urges, guiding me to the couch. " There ' s more you need to know."

I nod, steeling myself. " Just lay it on me."

" We don ' t have Andrew in custody."

Bomb dropped.

It ' s nuclear, speeding a sickness of fear that consumes me.

" What do you mean?"

" We had a team on him, but when they heard the gunshot, they entered the premises and... Andrew got away."

Got away. Somehow, I knew it was too good to last.

" We ' re going to find him," Julian vows, trying to quell the storm brewing inside me. You can't stop a storm; you have to withstand it until it's finished with you.

Oh, Julian, always the knight. But even knights can't always slay every dragon.

Instead of crumbling, I let the fear and anger calcify, turning it into a cold resolve.

Andrew is on the run, scared. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the terror he ' s inflicted.

" One issue at a time," I say, my voice steady. It might sound adult of me like I'm handling this shocking news level-headed. In reality, it's just shock. All I can handle is one step at a time.

Julian ' s eyes watch me closely as if I ' m going to combust, and he ' s got to catch all my broken pieces to make me whole again.

" Let ' s go see my brother," I say.

One step at a time, one page at a time, before I face the next chapter of this twisted story that is my life.