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Bald Santa sighs. “Tell you what. Me and the boys will take a break while you sort out your differences with the owner.”
“And you’ll return the living room furniture and put back the window pane—along with everything else you’ve taken,” I snarl.
“Sure,” he mutters. “Whatever.”
The men pack their tools and file out via the living room and out of the window. I clench my teeth, wondering what the hell is wrong with Amethyst’s mother. Someone needs to inform her that twenty-four-year-old women are free to fuck whoever they please.
Leaning into Amethyst, I murmur, “What’s the name of your psychiatrist?”
“Why?” she asks.
“Your mother’s behavior isn’t adding up. A strict parent would have ordered you back home, but she’s gone from overprotective to casting you out without a cent.”
“Monica Saint. Her practice is on Main Street.”
“The one close to the Phoenix nightclub?” I ask.
She nods. “What are you going to do?”
“If I can’t question Dr. Saint personally, then we’ll download your files.” I pull out my phone and tap out instructions to Tyler, telling him to dredge up anything related to the Crowley family.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I glance down at her and frown. “For what?”
“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to access my records. I’ve seen Dr. Saint since before I can remember. She knows why I lost my memory.”
A knot forms in my gut at the amount of information I’m withholding. The letters and photos we’ve intercepted paint a picture of a child who was institutionalized and subjected to horrific abuse, along with electroconvulsive therapy.
I can’t share this with Amethyst until I can authenticate those pictures with other evidence. She already has enough issues trying to sift through reality. Adding fake images from the past, no matter how convincing, might shatter her fragile state.
“There’s only one way to deal with your mother,” I mutter.
She whirls around, her eyes widening. “What are you talking about?”
“I just want to talk to her. Find out why she’s so determined to control every aspect of your life or cast you out into the street.”
“Fine, but I lead.”
I grin.
“What?” she says.
“I love it when you take charge, little ghost.”
I guide her upstairs to pack her most precious items in case the removal company returns. As much as I want to post an army of sentries around her home, the most important thing I need to protect is Amethyst. That includes monitoring X-Cite Media, luring out the recruiter, and digging through their computer systems to trace who draws down all the funds.
Jynxson, Tyler, the Spring brothers, and their teams are all busy trying to locate the power behind the snuff movies. I also have multiple people working on getting operatives from the Moirai to defect, along with another team following every lead they can to locate Father and his facility of child assassins. I haven’t even considered the operatives who are bringing in money from assassination work–our manpower is stretched thin.
We continue upstairs, where Amethyst puts together her valuables for storage. I plan on buying the house for her when it goes up for auction, but I don’t want her to lose anything precious. An hour later, I carry her boxes down to the cupboard under the stairs and open the door to the space directly beneath her living room.
“What?” she whispers, her eyes wide. “This is just like my bedroom.”
She’s exaggerating. The walls are black, as is the four-poster that dominates the space, but that’s where the similarities end. I placed a black leather sofa beside the bed, for relaxing during the day, and a dining table large enough for two, where I took my meals.
“Your room is a boudoir. This is a lair.” I gesture at the skeleton in the corner. “Look at the bones of my victims.”
She giggles. “Then what are you doing with my cushions?”
