Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

Coral lipstick.

Hair pins.

“Jewelry?” I ask.

“Her wedding rings.” He extracts a white plastic container in the shape of a heart from his breast pocket, snaps it open and shakes out a simple solitaire diamond and gold band. “Oh, and coral nail polish. Of course.”

“Of course.” I jot that down too.

“Her earrings were simple gold hoops.” He gestures to the bag at his feet. “They’re in there too.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

He tilts his head and frowns, as if panic that he’s forgotten something is sinking in.

“Don’t worry,” I rush to assure him. “If you think of something later, you can always call or shoot me a text to let me know.”

His frown deepens into a suspicious squint. “Margot, I’m with someone now.”

Huh?

I blink and stare at him. “Okay?” My tone rises to an almost snotty-questioning lilt, unbecoming of my profession. He thinks I’m coming on to him?

Give him grace. He just lost his grandmother.

I wrangle my outrage and answer in the most cordial tone I can muster. “I tell all our clients to call me if they have any questions or remember something they want to add for their loved one.”

“Oh. Right.” He nods quickly. “I just don’t want this to be weird. Since we…you know.”

How dare he. “Daniel, that’s ancient history.” I flick my hand in the air as if our relationship is a distant—unpleasant—memory.

Never mind I’m so scarred from the experience I haven’t wanted to go to bed with another man since we broke up. I won’t let him know he hurt me so deeply. Or that I still question my desirability.

“Okay.” His voice wobbles as if he doesn’t trust me to control myself. I hate to break it to him, but he wasn’t exactly Eros in the sack himself.

“Is there anything else?” I stand, hating how rude I’m being but unable to sit here any longer when he’s acting like I’m about to jump in his lap and beg for his love sword to slay me. Whatever love or affection I had for him died when he compared me to a corpse.

“No, I went over music and flowers with your father.” He stands and picks up the bag, holding it out to me.

“Good.” Why does the room suddenly feel so small? “I’ll get started on the preparations.”

He reaches for me and shackles his hand around my wrist. My jaw drops at the sudden, desperate contact. “Just make sure she looks like herself. Like she’s at peace.”

Mrs. O’Leary died in her sleep. There hadn’t been a lot of restorative work that needed to be done. So, I feel confident answering, “Of course.”

The office door creaks open and my father fills the doorway. Daniel releases me and I resist the urge to rub my sore wrist.

“Perfect timing.” My father’s gaze swings between Daniel and me. “Don’t worry about a thing. Margot will take good care of Anne, Daniel.”

“I know she will.” Daniel flashes a quick smile at me, almost apologetic.

“I’ll walk you out,” my father offers.

Thank God. I mutter a few goodbyes, grab the bag of Mrs. O’Leary’s things and excuse myself. My father stops me in the hallway, leaning in close and lowering his voice. “I have that other appointment coming in soon. I’ll probably give them a quick tour.”

“Not upstairs, though, right?” I’m not in the mood to have these shady investors my father’s reeled in traipsing through my living quarters.

He scowls at the question. “Of course not.”