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I’m going to be on the Most Wanted list. I’m going to be thrown into jail for life. My mum is going to wonder where I’ve disappeared to. I could never tell her. I couldn’t divulge the shit that surrounds my life now. But I won’t have a choice, will I? Because it will be headline fucking news. Dad was right. All of this – the beauty, the history, the money – it’s all more hassle than it’s worth.
Yes, it’s all more hassle than it’s worth. But what about Becker? Is he more hassle than he’s worth? He promised no more secrets. And this is a fucking huge one. Oddly and quite crazily, that’s what hurts most.
I look up at him. Even my eyes are trembling, making my vision judder and Becker appear blurry. ‘Where is the ruby?’ I ask.
His face is still impassive, his eyes clear behind his glasses. I get nothing – no words or evidence of his mood. He takes a step forward, and then relaxes in his standing pose, watching me, obviously endeavouring to ascertain my frame of mind, his eyes never faltering as he pulls a hand from his pocket and reaches towards me.
At first, I’m slightly baffled by his actions, wondering what he’s doing. But then my eyes fall to his hand and his palm opens up.
And I’m blinded by shards of bright red light.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, my palm coming up slowly and covering my mouth. The Heart of Hell stares up at me, and my fucked-up, corrupt world stops spinning.
Just like it did when it was held protected by the glass cabinet, it holds me under a spell, and my mind blanks. The spell is strong, would probably give the one Becker has me under a run for its money. Now the gem is raw, though. There’s nothing keeping it contained, no glass protecting it. Or protecting me. There’s only air between us – me and that priceless stolen ruby. The power of its visual appeal is beyond description. The power of its presence is heart-stopping. It shares many of those qualities with Becker. It’s the precious stone equivalent to my Saint Sinner.
‘How?’ I murmur, ripping my eyes away from it to find him.
He clenches his teeth, keeping the gem held out to me. ‘Abra-fucking-cadabra, princess.’
An unexpected tear trickles down my cheek, catching me off guard, and I rush to wipe it away, annoyed for allowing my emotions to get the better of me. I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m crying. My mind is a big fat muddle of I-don’t-know-whats. I stand before the love of my life, a stolen priceless gem resting neatly in his palm, and stare. I just stare at it, my ability to do anything else abandoning me. He’s a thief, too? Is this one revelation too far?
‘Brent didn’t steal the O’Keeffe, did he?’ I ask, facing him.
He shakes his head.
I need to breathe. I need air. Forcing my sensibility to take over, I make to escape, needing space to process it all.
‘Eleanor,’ Becker calls, reaching to grab my arm.
I dodge his hand and skirt past him, making a beeline for the door. I can’t let him touch me. ‘Just leave me.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To think.’ I’m honest. I need to think really really hard.
‘Wait.’ He catches me as I reach the door, holding my hand on the handle. The inevitable happens. My body answers to him, lighting up, but my mind is fervently telling me to control it. To be sensible. To be wise and smart and vigilant. Just one of those things will do!
‘I need you to give me some space.’ I spell it out, forcing stability into my tone when all I want to do is crumble to the floor. I can’t show my weakness. The lights going out at Countryscape was part of his plan. But Brent trying to abduct me wasn’t.
This is why I’m better off alone.
‘I’m in love with you, Eleanor,’ he vows tightly, reluctantly releasing my hand. He says nothing more, because he doesn’t need to. Those words aren’t that complicated. They’re simple, albeit smothered by complexity.
‘I know you do,’ I say quietly. ‘But you can’t seem to stop yourself from hiding your wicked truths from me.’ I breathe strength into my dying legs and open the door, walking away from him. I follow my feet down the corridor, up the stone steps, until I find myself in his room, overlooking the Grand Hall.
And there I stand forever, staring down at the impressive space, being reminded of so many things. It’s all flooding into my mind – the first time I was here, the time I scaled the furniture, where Becker proposed, the endless times I’ve weaved through the treasure. I stare at the giant emerald decorating my finger. It doesn’t seem so big now. Then the revelations charge forward. Becker the deceiver. Becker the liar. Becker the conman. Becker the intruder. Becker the forger. Becker the thief. It’s all so very far-fetched. But it’s all so very true. I feel like I’ve been served the biggest dose of reality, and all I have to do is swallow it. Accept it. Becker the thief is just one more sinful thing to add to his list of sinful things. My sinful Saint Becker. The man I can’t help but love.
Reaching up to my head, I rest the pads of my fingers on my forehead, perplexed by the fading ache. I’m suddenly calm. I’m suddenly thinking straight. I have no rose-tinted glasses on, and I’m not naïve. I’m sound-minded and resolute, and I’m asking myself the question Becker asked me one time – the time I discovered his secret room and the fact that he was quite a nifty sculptor.
Do I love him any less?
No. The answer is no.
And now I’m questioning if there is anything Becker Hunt can do that will be one step too far. I’ve requested space, a moment to think, but I’m under no illusion that I’ll be going anywhere after I’ve thought. I’m simply trying to wrap my mind around another smack to my ethics from left field.
If I have any ethics left. I’m as depraved as Becker is. He’s corrupted me in the worst way . . . and in the best way, too.
I turn blindly and walk towards one of the couches, settling on the edge. I stare across the room to the glass wall. I’m truly frightened by how much I love him and what I would do for him. I’ve known all along that I’m in deep. But right now, deep seems to be bottomless. Becker’s world is my world now. I should disregard the peace that engulfs me. I should try to find my conscience and my integrity. Yet I can’t.
A slight movement catches my attention, and I glance up, finding Becker at the doorway. ‘Just checking you hadn’t split.’ He looks sheepish as he backs away. ‘I’ll leave you now.’
‘No, you won’t,’ I reply surely, getting to my feet. ‘You’re going to give me answers.’
‘Okay,’ he agrees on a mild nod. ‘Anything.’
‘Does anyone know what you do?’ I ask, raising my chin in a show of strength.
‘Depends what you’re referring to.’
I give him an impatient look, and he smiles nervously. ‘I’m referring to you stealing things, Becker. Priceless things.’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s not true, is it? Lady Winchester knows.’
‘No, she doesn’t.’
‘You stole the gem for her, and she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m elusive, princess.’
‘Then how do people get hold of you? How do they know who to ask to steal the priceless object of their desire?’
‘They don’t. I get hold of them.’
I frown, not understanding him. ‘So you’re psychic, too, are you? Is that how you know they want something?’
He smiles at my sarcasm. ‘There’s not a lot I don’t know in this world, princess. You know that. I know what people want and I know how to get it for them.’
I laugh nervously, every one of my fingertips meeting my forehead. That headache I was missing has arrived. I was giving myself too much credit. This is suddenly way beyond my ability to wrap my mind around. ‘What about your granddad? How have you kept this from him?’
‘Oh,’ he chuckles, and then he shrugs. ‘When you asked if anyone else knows what I do,
I thought you meant in general. I didn’t think you meant family.’
I gawp at him. ‘Gramps knows?’
‘Of course he knows. Where do you think I get my talents from?’
My head recoils on my neck, remembering that file on Becker’s desk. His granddad tried to conceal it from me. ‘Gramps?’ This gets crazier. So the old man throws a wobbly when he finds out that his grandson has conned a man, but it’s perfectly cool for him to perform a heist of epic proportions?
‘And my dad,’ he adds quietly.
‘Shit.’ He comes from a long line of gentleman thieves? ‘What about Mrs Potts?’
He gives me an adorable smile. ‘Can you see her lock and loading a zip wire or abseiling down the Empire State Building?’
His sarcastic question goes way over my head. ‘You really did skydive off the Burj Khalifa, didn’t you?’ I laughed when he joked about it, just after he performed an expert roll across the bonnet of Gloria. Now it seems frighteningly possible.
‘Who exhibits a Fabergé egg at the top of the Burj Khalifa?’ he asks, completely exasperated.
‘God, I literally have no fucks left to fire.’ My eyes drop, and I stare at the floor. I’ve gone into shock. ‘Mrs Potts?’ I ask again.
‘That sweet old lady is the original Miss Moneypenny, princess.’
My legs lose some stability, and my arse drops to his couch on a gasp. ‘I thought the Hunt Corporation was a legit company.’ My voice is getting higher, and I look up at him, revealing my confusion, my shock, my disbelief. Then my hands go into my hair and hold my head, expecting it to explode at any moment.
‘It is.’ He inches closer to me, and I give no sign of it being a problem. No sign that I’m going to rebuff him. In fact, I could do with some help rubbing away this headache. ‘We cater for both, princess. Always have.’ He reaches me and crouches before me, taking my hands from my head, holding them as he scans my stunned face. ‘Not that anyone knows except us, of course. There are people who buy legit, there are people who do not. If it’s not for sale and someone wants it, I get it for them.’
‘Who are you?’ I ask, laughing nervously. ‘Robin Hood? Steal from the rich and give to the poor?’
I’m hit with a half-smile. ‘No, princess.’ He reaches up and kisses the tip of my nose. ‘I steal from the rich and sell to the richer.’
I blow out my disbelief. There’s no shame or signs of a conscience. Does he have one?
‘Jesus,’ I go all floppy, my brain hurting. He knew I had found his secret hiding place, yet he didn’t remove the leather-bound book. He actually added to it, putting the blue file in there, too. He wanted me to know this. He wanted me to find out. Then why didn’t he just tell me? I frown to myself. Yes, because I can imagine that cropping up in general conversation. Oh, princess, by the way, I’m a gentleman thief.
‘The other treasures in the folder.’ I look at him, crouched before me. He looks like the world has been lifted from his shoulders. He looks relieved. I’m happy for him. For Christ’s sake. ‘You stole them all?’
‘I can’t take the credit for all of it. Dad and Gramps contributed, too.’
My eyes widen. ‘Fuck . . . me,’ I breathe out my stunned words.
‘Oh, good. You’ve found some more fucks.’ Becker rises and gives me a light tug, pulling me up and positioning me in front of him, my back to his chest, his arms curled around my waist, his chin on my shoulder. He walks us to the glass wall and stops at the foot, like he wants to remind me of the beauty we’re immersed in. Releasing me, he leaves my wobbly form to hold itself up and admire the view.
‘Look down there, Eleanor,’ he orders softly. ‘Take it all in, and then look at me.’
I follow his instruction, despite being unsure of his point, taking in the treasure. It doesn’t take me long. Besides, everything down there is imprinted on my mind, branded there. A bit like Becker. Since the moment I stepped foot in this place, I was placed under a spell. I felt like an enchanted child discovering excitement and adventure. I craved it, willed it on, begged for it to lure me in and blow my mind. Then I met Becker Hunt, and I found myself following a similar pattern. I wanted him. As much, if not more, than I wanted to be immersed in The Haven and its spectacular history. Everything he had, everything he wanted to throw at me, I willed it all on. I wanted him. Now I have him. Every part, every secret, every lie, every tiny piece – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the illegal.
‘Are you okay?’ Becker breaks into my hectic thoughts.
‘Yes.’ I frown, my lips pouting. I’m not going anywhere. That I just have to accept. I look up at him, seeing peace and calm glowing back at me.
He smiles. ‘This is my legacy, princess. It’s written for me. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather. It’s inbuilt. It’s my destiny. It’s who I am, and I so want to share it with you.’
My skin prickles with tiny stabs of love, fierce loyalty and . . . exhilaration.
‘All or nothing, baby.’
My teeth grit, like my mind is forbidding me to say it. But nothing isn’t an option. Being without him isn’t an option. My God, what’s happened to me? ‘All.’ I nod as I speak, in case the forbidden word doesn’t make it past my clenched teeth.
‘All?’ he asks, taking my hand and feeling my ring.
‘All,’ I confirm again, watching as his lips slowly stretch into a bright smile, his eyes glimmering madly behind his glasses in wonder.
‘Come here, my beautiful corrupt little witch.’
I don’t waste a moment. I dive into my shady, criminal of a fiancé’s arms. ‘Tell me that’s it. Tell me there’s no more for me to find out about you.’
‘I do drug-running in my spare time.’
‘Not funny.’ I nudge him, and he laughs, forcing himself free from my vice hold.
‘I’m so lucky to have found you,’ he whispers, grabbing my cheeks. ‘So fucking lucky.’
I smile mildly through my squeezed cheeks, and he mirrors it, searching my eyes before hauling me into him for a cuddle. ‘I didn’t get to tell you earlier.’
‘Tell me what?’ I ask, settling into him.
‘You needn’t have the keys to your dad’s store delivered to the agent.’
My forehead bunches. ‘But they’ll—’
‘I bought it.’
I dive out of his arms. ‘What?’
‘I bought your dad’s store.’ The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘I know it’s hurting you, the thought of saying goodbye to it, and I know your mum needs the money.’ He shrugs. ‘Everyone wins.’
I stare at him. Just stare at him. Cash buyer. Paying full asking price. Can move quickly. ‘I . . .’ I can’t believe he’s done this for me. I don’t know what to say.
‘Anything, Eleanor,’ he whispers. ‘Absolutely anything.’
Oh God. I move into him fast, sliding my arms around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely. ‘Thanks for not stealing it from me,’ I say mindlessly, and he laughs. But the sound of a heavy thud brings our moment to an abrupt halt, Becker freezing with me still in his arms. He looks towards the door.
‘What was that?’ I ask as he pulls cautiously away and looks down to the Grand Hall.
‘I don’t know.’ He paces to the door, wariness leaking from his body like a broken dam. He takes the handle and opens, but his movements are measured and thoughtful, like he’s trying to be quiet.
‘What do you—’
‘Shhhh.’ His shush is harsh and edged with anger, and his wary persona starts soaking into me, getting me worked up. I want to know what he’s thinking but I fear asking – not only because I’ll be cut short again, but because I’m worried about the answer. He’s wound up, stressed and hyper alert.
‘Winston?’ I have to put his name out there, maybe just to remind Becker that his burly pet is roaming The Haven and the sound was likely him.
Becker shakes his head, poo-pooing my reasonable explanation. Then the barking starts, like Winston himself is answering my question. ‘Shit,’ Becker curses, the sound of his dog going spare not seeming to rush him along. Instead, it makes him more cautious as he takes the stairs. ‘Wait there,’ he tells me, not looking back to check if I’m listening. I laugh sarcastically to myself. No way. I follow on my tiptoes, wincing each time Winston yaps. If there were intruders, surely Winston would have scared them off? What am I thinking? There’s not a chance anyone could get into The Haven.
Becker creeps down the stone steps, never checking to see if I’ve done as I’m told, but he does reach into a hidden nook and pull something free. A cricket bat? Or . . . a weapon. I’m certain that if I was to touch him, I’d have a sharp shock. He looks super-charged with energy, hyped up on anger. The sound of Winston barking rings on, and Becker follows it, edging down the corridor close to the wall before pushing the door to his office open cautiously with the bat, looking past it. When he carefully breaches the threshold, I know something is terribly wrong the moment the cricket bat lands on the floor with a crack.
‘God, no.’ Becker rockets forward, leaving me to catch the door before it slams in my face. I see him throw himself to the floor, and in a numb haze of unknowing, I step forward.
Then I see the cause of his distress.
Old Mr H is lying front down on the carpet by the bookcase to the secret room, the disguised door is open, and Winston is circling and barking by his side.
My hands come up to my face, cupping my cheeks, and my mind goes blank on me. There are a million instructions charging at me, but my muscles refuse to act on them. All I seem to be able to do is stare, feeling numb and useless while Becker shouts angrily at his unconscious grandfather.
‘Wake up, you old fool,’ he yells, but he doesn’t touch him or nudge him. He’s just kneeling at his grandfather’s side, his eyes darting up and down his body, like he’s looking for any sign of life, too scared to touch him. ‘Gramps!’ When his demands go unanswered, Becker collapses to his arse and his hands delve into his hair, his face pure dread. ‘Please,’ he murmurs, his bottom lip quivering.