“Henry,” he said, too softly, “perhaps it’s you who needs to see.”
He didn’t want to stick around to hear it; instead he marched back into her shop. “Dammit, Ms. Ashton,” he said, making her turn in surprise. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
She stood behind the counter, close to the doorway of the kitchen, and folded her arms. “You came back just to ask why I’m stubborn, Mr. Clayton?”
He took four giant steps toward her and she stood her ground, craning her neck to meet his eyes while the magnetism between them pulled more forcefully than it ever had. “You don’t know what you’re doing to yourself. I’m trying to prevent you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“It’s not your job to prevent me from making mistakes. And I do know. I know what can come out of this, what already has. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“Then why?”
“As far as I can see, I’m the only one with any sense around here. And if I lose my job and my friends and the place I love just for that, then so be it.”
“He’s worth all that?”
“Yes.”
God, how his chest hurt. How it ached with the hottest of fires. He wanted to crumble at her feet, but with a sharp exhalation, he clenched his hand into a fist. “You’re infuriating. And too…”
“Too what, Mr. Clayton?”
“Too damn perfect!” His shallow breath came quickly, and she unfolded her arms. He wanted to run, hide from what he tried so hard to keep from her, but instead added, “You don’t do anything like a normal person. It’s human nature to protect yourself, Ms. Ashton, to protect your livelihood. But you’re too damn good to care about your own life, because you’re caring about everyone else’s. You’ve probably never done a thing wrong in your life, have you?”
The look in her eyes made him regret it immediately. “You mean aside from nearly chasing after Brian with a broken piece of glass?” He shook his head, but she went on, “You want to know why I ran from California, Mr. Clayton?” She swallowed. “I suppose this is as good a time as any.”
After a brief look of resolve, a certain deadness came over her, her eyes staring at the floor and nothing at the same time. In the short seconds that followed, it seemed she’d surrendered. To what, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t believe he was about to hear what he’d been digging for since the day she’d come into town. “I deserve this,” she admitted.
He huffed.
“I stole.”
His eyes forgot how to blink.
“That money, the money I’m using to pay for this place, the money I bought my house with. I stole it from Mr. Vanderzee.”
“Is this your idea of a joke, Ms. Ashton?”
The way her brows pulled together suggested great pain, her façade beginning to slide down like melting snow on a rooftop. He waited for the words…“It’s no joke.”
His chest closed in on him, the disappointment leaving him breathless. It all made sense. “You lied,” was all he could manage.
“I never lied. Legally, that money is mine. And legally, I can use it. I have to.” Before he could question her, she sighed and leaned against the wall, as though the revelation of her secret had released a burden. Her eyes were glassy as she began explaining, about her brother and his addiction and his lies, and how Mr. Vanderzee hated the way she always helped him. She’d turned something off inside her, something that allowed her to disconnect from the situation she explained.
Then she said, with a hint of the emotion she fought against, “He…was going to die. He came to me and said if he didn’t pay off one of his debtors, they would kill him. And at first I denied it. But…then I saw it in his eyes: he was dead.” Her brows scrunched together and she stared so intently to the side she appeared to be examining her own thoughts. “There was something in him, something that said his life was over. And I was…desperate. I never planned on it. But one of Mr. Vanderzee’s accounts had no purpose…”
Henry wiped a hand down his face and grasped the counter.
“He hated Willem, hated what he did to me. And I knew he would never agree to it. I had only hours to decide if I wanted him to live, and I thought if I could just save his life, maybe that would be the one thing that could bring him back. Because it would all be worth it—going to prison, paying for what I did—if Willem would just…come back.”
Slowly, gradually, a breath seeped through her lips. Her face—beautiful even in shame—darkened a shade. “I knew what would become of me, Mr. Clayton. But I had nothing without Willem because every second, I lived for him. Without him, my life had no purpose. I also had a promise to live up to, the promise to my father that I would never give up on my brother.” She met his eyes, and it was the first time Henry had ever seen tears welling in hers. “I told him I would never give up. So how could I…how could I let him die?”
It seemed she didn’t want him to answer, for she already asked him another question. “And you know what happened instead?”
Again he didn’t answer.
“Willem got shot anyway, right in front of me.” A tear weaseled its way down her cheek, subtle and trying to sneak out unnoticed. “I had the money, all one-hundred-thousand, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough for them, for him or his killer, and I knew then I should have always known. I was a fool, and have been since I began taking care of him. Everything I did was wrong, Mr. Clayton. Everything.”
Her breaths turned shallow, as though suffocation threatened her, and she held the pendant of her locket, staring at it. “I gave up my integrity to save him and he died anyway.” With the knitting of her brow, more tears fled her eyes, racing to join the first. Henry’s presence seemed forgotten, her confession only to herself.
“The money…” he urged.
“I tried to give it back to Mr. Vanderzee. Before Willem was shot, I knew he and I were both dead, and there was no way the killer was going to take our lives and Mr. Vanderzee’s money—not if I could help it. The cops came, just in time, just before…he could shoot me.” The look in her eyes said it alclass="underline" that part of her wished he had.
“Mr. Vanderzee showed up at the hospital after they proclaimed my brother dead. And I thought I was going to prison. I wanted it.” She met Henry’s eyes. “But he wanted something worse.”
A smile born of irony lifted the corner of her mouth. “And it turns out that account wasn’t so pointless after all. Turns out it was for me. He was building it up for me, so that someday, when I decided to rid my life of my brother and start living one for myself, I would have something to start it with.” She shook her head, her voice an uneven, off-pitch song. “So I stole from a man who was trying to give me everything.”
She straightened, sniffing, trying to brush it aside. “He wouldn’t take it back, told me I had to keep it, because he knew making me use it would be a worse punishment than prison. He told me I could never come back to L.A., and wherever I went, I had to make a life for myself. And if I refused, or if he ever found out I gave it away or spent it on anyone else, he wouldn’t just have me thrown in prison for stealing, but he would put me away as an accomplice for Willem’s murder.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Not for him. And maybe I shouldn’t have accepted the money. Maybe I should have just taken whatever punishment he would have inflicted on me if I refused. I suppose that makes me a worse person.” She wouldn’t even glance at him now, as though the floor was the only thing deserving of her gaze. “That was why he was so insistent on me buying your house. He had to make sure I lived up to my end of the deal.” Finally, she looked at him, and it seemed to take a lot of willpower. “You said before I’m not a monster, Mr. Clayton, but I am.”
“Ms. Ashton,” he began, short-fused. “Nothing short of murdering your brother—”