She steps into the lobby, and I watch her leave, a woman with too much pep in her step, especially for someone who just flew across the world and managed to meddle in her family’s business before breakfast.

Maybe that’s what bombs feel like when they explode.

I think I’ve had her all wrong too.

Right now, I’m too muddled to know for sure. Muddled, a little shaky inside, and a lot numb. I guess I’m not sure how I feel about everything she just dropped on me. My phone is buzzing madly in my pocket, the screen filled with texts from my mother, who’s upstairs, worrying about what Grandma has said and wanting updates.

I’m okay, but we need to talk.

That’s all I text back.

I don’t know how else to explain what just happened. I walk around Marblecliff’s porch in a daze, trying to sort through it all, looking down at my grandmother’s white condo building.

Another text buzzes my phone. For the love of Pete. Give me a minute to catch my breath, Mom. But when I glance at the screen, it’s not her. In fact, it’s not any number I have in my contacts. Unknown. And all the text says is: Low move, even for a Saint-Martin.

I stare at the screen, confused. Then I type a quick response: Who is this?

The reply comes almost immediately: Just the person who is now being hung out to dry by my father because you hid behind your grandmother. Low fucking move.

Oh my God.

Adrian.

Adrian is texting me. How he got my number, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to. I try to decide if I want to engage with him or not, and curiosity gets the better of me.…

Me: What do you want?

Adrian: Nothing from you. Evie’s blocked my number, so I want you to tell her I’m backing off for now, but I still love her.

Adrian: Tell her I love her, and that I’m sorry.

Adrian: And that when she’s ready to talk, I’ll be waiting.

Me: I’m not telling her that. You plastered that photo on our shop door, you maniac.

Several seconds tick by, and I start to think that could be it. But just when I’m about to do what Evie did and block his number, he sends one last text.

Adrian: Just FYI, the person who first sent me that photo was your little grease monkey.

Chapter 23

LUCKY 13: Black cat decal on sides of motorcycle helmet and matching compartment on back of Superhawk parked in alley near Nick’s Boatyard. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 23

Adrian’s lying.