Chapter Thirty-Two

New York City

October 20

M iles watched the time on his phone change from 4:47 a.m. to 4:48 a.m. Giving up on sleep, he made a mug of coffee and wandered up the spiral staircase to the trellised pavilion of the rooftop garden. Miles may have hated his insomnia, but he loved this time of day—dark with the promise of morning, the sounds of the city reduced to the white noise of traffic and distant rumblings.

His father liked to drink his morning coffee outside, even in winter. His dad had been a surgeon; he was Miles’s hero. Six months after their mother died from a brain tumor, their dad was T-boned by a drunk driver and killed instantly. The twins’ perfect world crumbled to ash.

In the predawn darkness, he rolled the mug between his palms. Usually, on the rare occasion when Miles thought about the past, it was with a malignant bitterness and cursing his fate. But this morning, the crisp fall air and his father’s familiar ritual brought comforting images of their dad. He showed his sons how to bait a hook and make pancakes shaped like mouse faces. He taught them to be kind.

The comforting smell of warm bread wafted around him, and Miles wondered if there was a new bakery in the neighborhood.

How disappointed his parents must be. Miles prayed for guidance in those early days, but heaven had turned a deaf ear. So Miles closed himself off to everyone. No one would ever leave him again because no one would ever get close.

After all those early lessons, all that parental effort, Miles had grown into a miscreant. He made sure that the rich and powerful escaped retribution. He silenced whistleblowers, paid off cops, and controlled the media. In many ways, Miles was worse than the offenders he protected. He lived his life alone to keep the stench from spreading.

Movement caught his eye, and Miles glanced over to see his brother’s cat slink out from behind the HVAC unit and hop onto the low brick wall surrounding the roof. With his head and tail held high, Loco patrolled the perimeter like a sentry. Woe betide the pigeon who landed here.

When the animal seemed satisfied that his domain was secure, he hopped down and padded over to the sitting area. Miles sipped his coffee and stared at the dark sky. The gentle push against his calf pulled his attention, and Miles looked down to see Loco moving beneath his dangling hand, letting his fingers run the length of the cat’s shiny black fur. Then, Loco hopped into Miles’s lap. After kneading his sweatpants with sharp claws, the cat curled up and rested his head on crossed paws.

Miles scratched Loco behind the ears. It seemed nobody wanted to be alone on this desolate morning.

A few minutes later, Loco turned a placid green-eyed face to Miles, then hopped down and sauntered away.

After finishing his coffee, Miles set the mug at his feet. He thought of Clara. Ever since he held her in his arms, bathed in her scent, lost himself in her body, she was never far. At this moment, however, his typical obsession, anger, and worry were replaced by an unfamiliar peace. Last night, Clara had been with her father. Tonight, she was home working on her dissertation. Not only was she safe, but she was happy.

Knowing he could never be the source of Clara’s contentment, it was a relief that she could find joy in life. She adored her father; school was fulfilling, and her little hobby brought obvious pleasure. Pleasure. An image flashed in his mind of fucking Clara in the middle of one of her heists—the adrenaline, the eroticism—Miles nearly passed out from the loss of blood to his brain.

Miles needed to purge Clara from his thoughts. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing, chasing off her dates. If she found someone, got married…

Out of habit, he logged in to Clara’s dating app.

Miles’s blood was already simmering with imagined jealousy. It boiled when he brought up Clara’s account. “Hondo” was an aspiring professional bodybuilder and fitness model. The oiled, fake-tanned photo showed this roided-out asshole sporting a speedo in a Mr. Universe pose.

If it was a joke, Miles was too blinded by jealousy to see it. “Goddammit!”

He was angry with himself for letting this woman provoke him. Miles didn’t get provoked. Only Clara had the ability to bring out this unhinged side. He wasn’t keen on self-reflection and didn’t do it now as he stormed to the shower.

His little Bluebird needed another lesson.