“Arthur almost lost his whole family the night of that fire.” Ben paused and rubbed his eyes, “He made an escape route in case anything happened and he couldn’t save them. I can’t say I blame him for his choices.”

“Your family has quite an interesting history,” she sighed.

“Only certain parts.” Ben nodded. “There’s no ending in any of my family’s stories where someone doesn’t die. The same is true for Arthur and Leyda.”

“What happened to Arthur?” Remi asked.

“Naturally, as is tradition in our family,” Ben started as he lifted his head and eyed her with a great deal of attention, focusing intently on the way her hair covered her chest. He licked his lips. “Arthur was shot down in the street. One day before his birthday, according to his death records. He was murdered by a man named Pattrin Gilliam. No one had ever heard of him, but it was rumored that he’d been looking for Arthur for over a decade—seeking vengeance of some kind.”

Remi gasped. “What for?”

“Money, maybe.” Ben shrugged. “But we’ll never know. Pattrin was hanged shortly after.”

“That’s terrible,” Remi said. “About Arthur, I mean.”

“He was rumored to be a scoundrel, too,” Ben winked. “Runs in our blood.”

“What about the rest of your family?” Remi asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Misfortune followed them throughout the years.” He shifted and rested his head back again. “They all passed away in some brutal event or another. My own grandfather died at sea shortly after my father was born.”

Remi was quiet for a moment.

“I do know one thing about Arthur that was never mentioned in any of the official family registers,” Ben said conspiratorially.

Remi sat up a little straighter, leaning into him until she was practically on top of him. He peered at her from under his lashes and smirked.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Arthur was a thief,” he whispered just loud enough for Remi to hear. “He amassed a fortune. That’s how he started the family home, and what he didn’t use, he saved. That’s the treasure, but it’s been well-hidden to this day. No one in my family has ever discovered its whereabouts.”

“Except perhaps your father,” Remi said quickly, but added, “but if it really was lost, why would he make a point to mention it in his will?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Would he have done that if he didn’t know where it was?” She looked into his dark eyes, holding his gaze with her own.

“He was clever, there’s no doubt about that.” Ben ran a hand through his hair and grasped it at the back of his neck. “If we intend to find anything, we’ll need to be more clever.”

“But?”

He groaned. “That leaves us in a bit of a predicament, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps he’s left us clues somewhere?” she offered. “Only, we haven’t found them yet.”

“Clues would be useful, yes.” He bobbed his head and paused, thinking before he spoke again. “But you must understand. Even my sister, who was twice the man my father was, couldn’t find it.”

“That is, if it exists?” Remi asked, echoing his previous skepticism. She knew there were few things he believed in, save for the string of tragedies that followed him and his family.

He chuckled. “Yes, if it exists.”

“I’ll help you find it.” Remi stood, taking the bedsheet with her.

“Of course you will.” His eyes roamed over her body as he stood to put his hands around her waist. He guided her gently to sit in his lap and folded her to his chest. “But we can worry about that later. There are more important things I want to attend to first.”

Remi gasped when he flipped her to her back, caging her between his arms and broad chest. She ran her hands up his arms to his neck, prompting him to bend lower. Their lips met with a feverish need for each other. As she deepened the kiss, Ben wrapped her up in his embrace, trapping her beneath him. Soon enough, they were tangled in the sheets and duvet, breathless.

FIRE

BEN

Ben had taken to watching a sliver of Remi’s hair flutter as she breathed, still sound asleep. The hypnotic push and pull had convinced him to stay longer, to see it gently touch the tip of her nose and dance away—over and over again. Eventually, he smoothed it back behind her ear and forced himself to leave the bed before he fell asleep again. Jacques had caught him in the hall earlier to let him know he’d successfully delivered Leith’s body to the cellar.

Ben extracted himself from Remi as gently as he could, hoping not to disturb her.

He located his trousers near the foot of the bed and dressed himself, sneaking from the room and closing the door. Jacques waited patiently near the steps, wearing a disapproving look that already tried Ben’s patience.

He wasn’t sure how to say it aloud, but Remi would not be like the others.

“Sleep well?” Jacques raised a thin brow.

“I did.” Ben grinned. “And so did she.”

“Madame has earned a lifetime of rest, in my opinion.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ben said, stopping at the base of the last step. Jacques unlocked the cellar, and the two descended into the dim lantern light. Leith’s body had replaced his father’s, which had been moved to another corner on a smaller table. They would have to find time to return both bodies once he had completed his study.

“It was difficult to bring him here.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Jacques grumbled. “Had to wrap him in a sheet and pull him from the cart into the cellar like a child with a wagon.”

“That’s crude.”

Jacques blinked slowly. “It’s the truth.”

“Let’s just get on with it.” Ben approached the head of the table, all the while reminding himself that it isn’t a violation if it’s for the right reason. It wasn’t as though he delighted in the act of exhumation; he liked it even less when it was a person he knew. Leith was a victim like his father and if his death was in fact murder like his father’s, then he needed to be certain of the cause.

I’m sorry for this. Truly.

Ben unbuttoned the collar of Leith’s shirt. The marks on his neck and wrists that Ben had seen at the dock were still evident. Ben ran his fingers along the bruises to feel the impressions.

“Write down what I observe,” he bid Jacques, and the other man reached for one of Ben’s notebooks. Without waiting, Ben explained in detail the size of the markings and the distinctive impressions.

“A rope no thicker than nine millimeters in diameter,” he hypothesized. “The blue color of his lips suggests strangulation, which could be mistaken for drowning. The tips of his fingers are raw, and the debris beneath his fingernails includes flecks of dried blood.”

Ben reached for his scalpel, prepared for Leith’s chest to be as botched as his father’s, and sighed at how poorly stitched up it was. It almost felt wrong to conduct an autopsy on a man Remi had grown up with, especially one she’d been intimate with. He couldn’t help thinking that if he’d stayed on the island, then he would have been with Remi, not Leith. The possible scenarios of their life together had played over in his mind on a perpetual, torturous loop.