The Price of Winning: London Calling Book Four (8 page)

Sebastian leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked.
 

Madeleine lifted her chin, indicating the endless expanse of water ahead. “People don’t realize how massive Lake Michigan is. Lake Superior is even larger.”

He nodded, still watching her as if she were a puzzle he was solving. He spoke. “Not quite. The water isn’t dark enough, blue enough. It’s more blue-green. Like the Mediterranean.” Madeleine watched the muscles play in his neck as he tipped his head back to look at the sky. “The sky is brightening. The sun will be rising soon.”

Madeleine swallowed. It was almost time to say goodbye to the two people she loved most in the world, and who’d loved her most. She felt alone, even with Sebastian nearby and the boat crew milling about below.
 

It was hard to imagine she’d ever be loved again. Not like that anyway. For a while she’d mistaken the adoration and admiration of strangers to be some sort of love. And because of that mistake, she’d learned a very hard lesson.
 

To love, two people had to
know
one another. Not just the good, but the bad too. Love was an unconditional leap of faith, based on trust and knowledge. Otherwise, it was very much like acting.

 
She stood, stretched her arms overhead and breathed deeply. It didn’t smell like the sea, as there was no brine. But something about the Great Lakes called to her as no ocean ever had. Here, she felt stronger, more sure.

She placed her hands on the railing, looking outward toward the east. The sky was already brightening and, soon, the sun would rise. For the first time since she’d contemplated this moment, she understood that she could do this.

It was about honoring her parents’ wishes, and in doing so, finding some peace amidst the noise and violence of their passing.

She looked over her shoulder at Sebastian. “Will you join me?”

He rose to walk silently to her side then waited.

“Thank you, so much, for arranging everything.” Her throat felt clogged with a thousand emotions. “I can never tell you how much it’s meant to me.”

“You’re welcome.” He spoke in a low tone. “Would you like for me to bring them over?”

Madeleine was grateful he didn’t refer to the box, or the urns, or the ashes. He was so much more sensitive than she’d ever imagined. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d ever misunderstood one another.

“Yes, please.” She steeled herself as he moved away. When he returned with the crate, she squeezed her fingers around the railing before letting go to face him.
 

As usual he caught the movement. She felt like he was always watching, observing her for signs of how she felt or what she might be thinking. Nothing, it seemed, went unnoticed.

She glanced down at the urns. They were beautiful, like the people inside them had been. One was cobalt enamel with gold weaving through the pattern. The other was pale rose with silver accents. Madeleine’s vision blurred. Her breath hitched, thinking of what came next.

She felt Sebastian move. He came closer, but not close enough to touch her. One long finger reached under her chin to tip her face up. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll miss them. Always. But you will come through this, just as you’ve done in the past.” He glanced at the eastern horizon. “You’re a survivor, Madeleine. And that’s exactly what your parents would have wanted.”

He didn’t react when she grabbed at his hand, clutching it in her smaller one. “I’m having a hard time,” she sobbed. “I feel like saying goodbye, doing
this
,” she waved a hand that encompassed the two enamel urns and the expanse of the lake, “makes it all so
final
.”
 

He tilted his head, obvious sympathy pouring out of him. “I know, baby. But you have to do this for your parents.” He gently squeezed her hand. “And you have to do it for you. Your life will never be the same, but it does go on.” She flinched, but his grip on her hand held. “We honor those we lose by living more fully. They didn’t have that chance, so it’s up to you to make every one of your days count.”

 
Madeleine closed her eyes, taking in what Sebastian said. In the hospital she’d lain in her bed, unresponsive but letting his voice wash over her until the words and stories soaked in. Now, it was time to listen again.

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “You’re right.” Tossing her chin up, she breathed deeply and allowed a sense of calm and purposefulness flow into her. She looked to the east. The red ball of the sun peeked over the horizon, streaking the pale sky in shades of peach, coral, and orange.
 

It was time.

She barely had to tug before Sebastian released her hand. Kneeling, he carefully withdrew both urns from the crate and set them at her feet.

“Would you like to be alone?”

She shook her head, incapable of speech.
 

His hand hovered over the rose-colored vessel. Silently, she nodded, and he proceeded to carefully remove the top.

Madeleine reached down and took it between both her hands. Hoisting it high, she closed her eyes for one second then tipped the jar in an arc over the water. A breeze caught her mother’s ashes, spreading them wide and far.

She looked down to see Sebastian, still kneeling at her feet, steady and solid. Gravely, he looked back at her, and she was sure something like kindness radiated from his dark and beautiful eyes.
 

He held up the urn holding her father. She took it, her hands beginning to shake with reaction. Sternly, she blocked out the last memories she had of him in favor of better ones. Her arms felt heavy, and her breathing was slow as she lifted the urn, preparing to tip its contents.
 

The sun crested the horizon, casting the water in bright rays that glittered like diamonds. With slow and even breaths, Madeleine scattered his ashes to join her mother’s. She set down the vessel and raised a hand to her lips, blowing a kiss outward over the water and toward the burning sun.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And I’ll meet you both on the other side.”
 

She didn’t turn as Sebastian’s hand settled on her back, resting in stillness. Madeleine linked her hands and stood unmoving, watching the waves as the sun continued to raise farther into the sky.
 

Her parents were gone.
 

As the boat began its turn to go back to the pier in Chicago, she knew the life she’d been living was over. She could never go back. Not to the penthouse and not to the way she’d existed.

She’d thought she was safe. She’d believed she was in control.
 

A flock of birds, flying in V formation, soared across the sky, heading west with the sun behind them. With a long exhale, she turned around to look up and into Sebastian’s eyes. She briskly rubbed her arms, absently soothing their tingling. She licked her lips, a low flutter in her belly.

And still he waited, steady and patient, while his dark eyes gleamed with consideration and compassion.
 

Her decision was made.

“I’ll come with you. To London.”

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
TABLES
WERE
beginning to fill up as Sebastian strolled across the gaming floor of Club Hobart. He made his way to the staircase, nodding and smiling at patrons as he went along, hoping no one stopped him.
 

The new bartender Natalie hired last week was already mixing cocktails, despite the pre-dinner hour. He seemed to be working out well, even though everyone missed Ruby.
 

She’d signed off, excusing herself for a new opportunity in Monte Carlo.
 

Everyone else was familiar. Casinos experienced notorious turnovers in employment. The exclusivity and wealth of Club Hobart’s members provided more stability for staff. Plus, Natalie Enfeld did one hell of a job scouting the best talent and making sure they stayed once she found them.

Sebastian headed up the stairs, his watchful gaze taking in the ornate walnut carvings and the crimson carpet running up the center of the steps. Everything was polished and spotless.
 

As it should be in a business of this caliber. Sebastian knew that in a place like Club Hobart, the devil was in the details.
 

He paused outside the closed door to his office, looking both ways down the hallway. It was still fairly quiet, the hour too early for serious gambling to have started. He inserted his key into the lock.

Only in the past month or so had he taken to locking the door. Natalie used to come and go at will. But since she reunited with Dominic Martin, an Internet security expert and rumored hacker, Sebastian became more careful.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. Quite the opposite, really. But he’d be lying if he said he was sure of Martin, despite the work he did for Angeline.

Sebastian kept his distance. But Angeline provided periodic updates, and it was evident that Martin had quickly become a vital component to their operations.
 

Maybe someday he’d like the other man.

Sebastian turned and shut the door behind him. Dominating the room was an antique mahogany partners desk with brass fittings. Taking a seat, he tossed his keys on the tooled leather top then bent down to access his safe. Sometime in the twentieth century a carpenter had removed two of the drawers to replace them with a cupboard space. The door used the fronts of the missing drawers so the desk retained its symmetry. In fact, with the false front, most people would never detect it had been altered.

The piece would have been worth a mint except for the changes made to it. Sebastian couldn’t be bothered to care too much, since he had more use for the safe ensconced in the cupboard than for cash.
 

He swung the door open and reached inside to the miniature vault. It had the appearance of a plain metal box but was, in fact, made of heavy-duty steel and came equipped with a biometric scanner for access. Sebastian pressed his left index finger into the small indention on top of the safe. The door swung open to reveal its contents.

Sebastian didn’t store things like money and valuables in his safe. His family’s wealth had afforded him a high degree of privilege his entire life. But the events of his childhood taught him that objects weren’t what needed protection in the world. People were.

And, of course, there were no guns. No weapons of any kind.
 

Sebastian didn’t believe in guns. He didn’t need to.

Instead there were files. Sturdy pressboard folders in blue, black, and gray, stacked according to color on top of opaque poly envelope files, which were neatly secured by elastic loops. On top of everything were two Moleskine notebooks, both black, but one faded and worn.
 

Sebastian chose the newer one and brought it out to rest on the desk. He flipped it open to where an attached ribbon bookmarked his last entry. Moving it aside, he read over his notes regarding his upcoming meeting with the Russians.

They would arrive here, at Club Hobart, in late July. Both penthouse rooms would be prepared for a private poker tournament with a maximum of twenty invitees. The last thing Sebastian needed was to get careless with the guest list. It would be exclusively populated by moneyed and affluent businessmen, most based in Moscow and all Russian citizens.
 

They should see that as the defining commonality between them. If Sebastian made one mistake, invited the wrong person or too many, someone might see the other shared trait running through the group.

All of them were involved in child trafficking, to some degree at least.

He frowned, absently picking up a pen. It was too obvious. He’d have to strike some of the guests, replace them with other elite members of Russia’s finance district who had no connection to the shadows of the illegal sex trade. And he’d add some well-known Russian actors and models.
 

That would help keep the mood light with the focus on Club Hobart rather than the man behind it. Sebastian couldn’t afford for anyone to examine his motives in setting up a round of games where he would be the likely loser. After all, it wouldn’t do to fleece the targets.

The door opened.
 

Sebastian’s head shot up, his muscles tense. He’d forgotten to lock the door.

“So you do work in here.” Dominic Martin strolled across the room to flop into one of the French Regency lounge chairs sitting opposite the desk.
 

“Please come in.” Sebastian’s lip curled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dominic blithely ignored him, instead leaning forward to run a hand over the carved front of Sebastian’s desk. “Nice. Nineteenth century partners desk.” He cocked his brow. “Ever consider actually taking on one?”

Their distrust of each other was equivocal. Sebastian was aware he came off as remote, even indifferent at times. He wasn’t, but he felt no need to justify himself to Martin. “I have a partner. Angeline.”

Dominic crossed his arms, his eyes straying to the notebook on Sebastian’s desk. “She’s my partner too. I guess that makes us like distant relations in a very dysfunctional family.”