“I’ve told myself to take Wendy’s story at face value, that if she’s been lying, she’s only trying to protect our family. Now?” I stopped, shaking my head.

“Do you trust me?”

I trusted him completely, but I didn’t trust that he had Wendy’s best interests in mind. When I didn’t answer, he folded his arms. “You’re going to have to decide, Ryan. Because, like I said, you’ve involved me already. I’m not risking my life or my dog’s life again by not being up to speed. Either you tell me everything you learn, so I can help, or you tell me nothing. We can call this relationship quits now, and you can leave Biz right here, with no hard feelings. Or you can take your chances with both of us.”

“Can’t we spend time together, even if I don’t share everything?”

“This thing with Wendy is too big a part of your life to shut me out. We can partner on this, and see where that leads. Or you can be completely on your own. I’m not going to push. You choose.”

“She’s my sister,” I said, for the third time that weekend. And maybe three really is a charm, because this time as the words escaped, I realized that sisterhood was no excuse.

I stepped closer and rested my fingertips on his arm. My hands felt like ice, but his skin was warm and pliant. “She’s my sister, but you’re the one who can help me get to the bottom of whatever’s going on. No more secrets. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Let’s get the girls and eat. I’m starving.”

The drama seemed to be finished, and I was grateful. “I brought chicken and a couple of salads. Nothing exciting.”

“The company’s not half bad.” He draped an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me close.

I looked up at him, deciding. Then I rose on tiptoe and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly. “The company’s stellar,” I said at last.

We walked to Janice and Harry’s house together, his hip brushing mine and my heart thumping in time to our footsteps.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I woke up on Monday morning resolved to unmask the real Wendy Gracey Wainwright. If I couldn’t do it face-to-face, maybe I could get a clearer picture from people who had known her. My Wendy was thoughtful and caring. The picture Ella had painted was much darker, but I recognized some of it. Wendy was determined to succeed, and had been from the time she was a small child, but at what price? If somebody got in her way, would she use any means to stop them? And what might that say about Vítor Calvo’s death in Santa Fe?

I couldn’t ask my parents if their older daughter was ruthless and destructive. In so many ways they had built their lives around Wendy’s perfection. But was that the real story?

After breakfast I went upstairs to shoo my nieces into the car and found Holly sitting on her bed, cell phone to her ear.