Millie

The kitchen was empty, but the living area was not. I had spent little time there in the almost three days I'd spent in Lochlan's apartment, but it was much like the rest of the place. Cozy but not eclectic–I could spot the influence of an interior designer. There was an open book resting pages down on the espresso stained coffee table in front of a beige, oversized couch. A fireplace was the room's focal point, and the sofa and two armchairs were arranged so everyone could benefit from its warmth when in use.

Sprawled out on the couch with a chunky knit blanket covering his denim-clad legs was Alex Reed. His light hair fell across his forehead, shifting slightly with every deep exhale, and there was a smattering of stubble across his jaw that I couldn't quite decide if I liked. Not that it looked bad–stubble rarely did, especially on jaws chiseled from granite. It was more that it gave him an edge I wasn't sure suited him.

I cleared my throat. Alex twitched. Shaking my head, I bent down and shook his foot and almost burst into laughter when he snorted and bolted upright. Pillow creases ran down his left cheek, and the hair on that side of his head stuck out like broken straws on a broom.

"Millie," he greeted, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hello," I returned. Tugging on the hem of my sweater, I cocked my head to the side. "I wasn't expecting you to come back so soon."

He shoved a fist in his mouth to smother a yawn and then replied, "Lochlan asked me to come over. Said he had some errands to run."

Well, that saved me from asking where he'd gone off to. My cheeks heated, wondering if he'd made up the errands as an excuse to put some distance between us.

"Millie?"

"W-what?"

"I asked if you feel better after taking a shower."

Why would he be asking about my shower? The flush in my face deepened, and the twinge in my shoulder as I crossed my arms over my stomach and gripped my elbows reminded me of the bruise he had seen before leaving earlier. He had no reason to suspect anything else.

"Oh, yeah. A lot better, actually," I admitted.

"That water pressure is amazing, right?"

"Yep." The word was a single squeak. I hope he mistook it as difficulty speaking because of the hoarseness of my voice, and not embarrassment. "You really don't have to hang around and babysit me."

"What, you don't want to spend time with your big brother?"

"We don't know if I'm Marianne. Not yet."

"Hmm." Alex stood and pushed the sleeves of his dove gray henley up his forearms. The expression he leveled at me was unreadable. "If you were the con woman Lochlan thinks you are, wouldn't you be doing your best to convince me you're my sister?"

It didn't matter that Lochlan was right–his presumptions about me sent a prickle of irritation through my middle. "I suppose that's one way to look at it."

"So," Alex continued, going around me and grabbing a jacket hanging from a hook by the front door. "You're either a woman who really might be my sister, or–"

"There's a third option?" I interjected. He handed me a jacket. It was almost identical to the one I'd been wearing yesterday, but it was missing the rips down the sleeve. And the leather smelled genuine. When had they got me a new jacket?

"Yep. You're the best kind of con artist. The one who hides the lie in the middle of truth."

I held his green gaze for a long moment, my heart thundering so hard I wondered how he didn't hear it. But years of playing the game meant all the turmoil stayed internal, and my face gave nothing away.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and find out. Until then, you're coming with me."

Yesterday I was desperate to get out of this apartment. Today, panic held me in place as he opened the door. His eyebrows came together at a sharp point, and he reached over and took my hand.

"You're okay. I definitely fall under the 'looks like a cinnamon roll but could kill you,' category." The statement earned a weak laugh. "And you're pretty much grounded from crossing the street without someone holding your hand. "

Jacket on, I let him lead me into the hallway. I had to get it together. A bit of nervousness after an accident was normal, but since I'd sold the story that I'd stepped into the street rather than having been dragged into the street, I couldn't tell him I feared being attacked again. The Butcher was still out there. No doubt furious about losing one of his men.

"Where are we going?" I ran my tongue over my lips, trying to work moisture into my mouth as the floors dropped on the digital sign above the silver doors.

"Mom asked me to get started on her list for Thanksgiving."

"How is she doing?"

"She's going to sleep most of the day, and–" Alex hesitated. Tension tightened his shoulders, but finally, he said, "She called her therapist and set up some extra visits. She'll be okay."

"That's good. I'm sorry yesterday was so hard for her. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"My mom is a good woman, Millie. She liked picking up strays before Marianne disappeared, but this world isn't always kind to someone like her. Someone who wants to see the best in everyone and everything. It's really easy to get hurt."

I nodded, not meeting his eyes and taking his words as the warning they were. Where Lochlan might shout and pound his fists, Alex barely raised his voice, and his meaning came through loud and clear.

"So, where are we stopping first?" I asked.

"Invitation delivery." He put the key into the ignition of his car, turned it, then handed me an envelope.

"Roman Sloane?" I read the name off the front of the envelope. Was he related to Lochlan? "You know the postal service was invented so you don't have to hand deliver everything."

He tapped the top of my head with the invitation, then tossed it onto the dashboard. "For everyone else, that's true."

"But Roman Sloan gets special treatment? Who is he?"

"Lochlan's father."