Kade was tense and silent as we walked across the parking lot to my car. When we got inside, I turned to him. "What do you think?"

"I think your mother helped the robbery crew get into the house, and she used her professor to do it."

"But she felt guilty when your father was killed and sent your mother money."

"Blood money," he said coldly. "I'm sorry I sold her my art. I'm sorry I moved into her house. I'm sorry I ever met her."

I could understand where his anger was coming from, and I suddenly realized where this might all be going. Kade was done with my mom, and he might be done with me, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Let's go back to the city," Kade said. "I need to get to work."

I started the engine and pulled out of the lot. On the way back to San Francisco, I thought about what I could say to him that might make him feel better, but nothing came to mind. If my mom had helped that crew, then she was tied to the murder of Kade's father. And whatever she'd done to help Kade had come from a place of guilt.

I'd felt jealous of her interest in Kade's life, in her willingness to support a complete stranger over her own daughter. Now I just felt incredibly sorry that he'd been hurt again, that her actions had brought him more pain.

I should have gone home a long time ago. I wasn't the only one getting hurt, and Kade didn't deserve any of this.

While the thoughts spun around in my head, I couldn't get any words out. And Kade didn't seem interested in talking, his gaze turned out the window as we crossed over the Bay Bridge and headed back into the city.

When we got to the house, Kade followed me inside, then stopped in the entry. "Why don't you make sure everything is okay here?"

"And then what? What are you going to do?" I asked.

"I need to get some work done, Brynn."

"I get that, but do you want to talk about what we learned?"

"No. I'd rather not talk about any of it," he said harshly.

"You're upset."

"I'm pissed. I'm more angry than I've been in a long time, and I don't want to take that out on you."

"I appreciate that, but I think we should talk it out."

"I can't. I'm going downstairs and…" His lips tightened. "You know what? I'm not going to work. I'm going to pack up my things and find a hotel. I cannot stay in your mother's house."

A wave of disappointment ran through me. "Okay. I understand."