The Losing Game Read Online Free Page A

don’t assume that means I’m weak.” Nothing about him had hinted he was shopping for a homicide.
    Could Dante be blamed for not thinking to ask?
    He’d let Lucas into his private office because Avery had sent him. Because during the last week, the bright flaming thrill of successfully burgling Rashid Khan’s home had burned out, dull as ashes, into a stultifying ennui. Because he hated the winter. Because….
    Dante tried for an air of calm. He was in control of this meeting. He could terminate it whenever he liked. Except—of all things—what Dante liked was the rose-pink blush running from Lucas’s cheeks to his neck. The way it disappeared inside the collar of his shirt.
    He probably could have used more conviction when he said, “I think we’re done here.”
    “Please. Let me tell you my story, and then you can decide.”
    Out of the ridiculous sheepskin coat, Lucas’s lithe limbs pulled against his shirt and trousers. His wrist bones stuck out from his cuffs like invitations to explore.
    He was handsome in a strange, ethereal way. His hair closer to white than blond, his eyes more gray than blue, his skin as pale as porcelain. He had high cheekbones, a narrow face, and full, sensual lips. Dante suspected Lucas had become better-looking as he’d grown from boy to man, certainly less conventional and more striking.
    The clock on the mantel ticked hypnotically. Very few clocks ticked anymore. Very few people owned clocks anymore. Kit and Lois had been fascinated by it as children. How the years had flown.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Dante noticed Lois cross her legs. She bounced her elevated foot impatiently, mirroring his own position. He could guess what she was thinking. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare give this poor man a glimmer of hope.
    But Dante wanted to dare. “I’ll hear your story. That’s all.”
    Lois sucked in a breath.
    Lucas’s refilled teacup rattled against his saucer as he lifted, sipped, and set it down again. “At the end of April, my sister Grace was knocked off her bicycle by a hit-and-run driver. She suffered horrific head injuries and died three days later.”
    Lois clamped her hand to her mouth, then lowered it enough to say, “Oh God. That’s awful.”
    Lucas clenched his fists against his thighs. “She’d been wearing a high-visibility jacket and a helmet. If the driver had been paying attention to the road, he would have seen her, but even if he hadn’t, the auto-driver should have stopped his car, which means he must have turned it off. If that wasn’t bad enough, after he hit her, he drove away and left her on the side of the road. Probably because he was on his way home from a lunchtime drink at the pub.” Lucas dropped his gaze to his lap. “If he’d stayed and called an ambulance, she might have survived.”
    Unquestionably Dante had expected a tragedy. At no point had Lucas struck him as the type of man to murder for personal gain. Thus, Dante had braced himself—as ineffectually as the New Year’s Day swimsuit-clad bathers who ran into the sea on Roseport beach. And just like those naked, naïve, boneheaded thrill-seekers, his blood froze.
    “He was caught?” Dante asked.
    “Yes.” Lucas cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “One of the houses on the road had a security camera pointing into the street. It captured his registration number and the exact time he hit her.”
    “Surely the case went to court?” Lois said.
    “Yes. It did. And for killing my sister, Richard Shaw earned himself a six-month prison term, suspended for a year. Plus, two hundred hours of community service and a one thousand pound fine. He’s currently enjoying his freedom without a dent in his comfort.”
    Lucas hunched over and pinched his forefinger and thumb over his eyes. Helplessly, Dante looked to Lois. Each tick of the clock seemed to become increasingly louder as he struggled to think of what to say.
    “That’s unbelievable.” Lois hugged herself, like she