Free The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5) by Bec Linder

back home.”
    “I suppose not,” I said. “Well, I was hoping for some independent verification, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”
    “Independent verification of what?” she asked.
    “Wait here,” I said. “The papers are in my office.”
    I went into the other room to get the manila folder that contained my information on Renzo. When I went back out into the living room, Beth was inspecting the little terrarium my sister had given me for my birthday a few months ago. She had filled it with succulents and cactuses—cacti?—and told me to water it sparingly once a month. I had somehow, miraculously, managed not to kill it. “My pride and joy,” I said to Beth, and she looked up at me, a question on her face. “It’s still alive,” I explained. “I’m thinking about upgrading to something more ambitious, like a spider plant.”
    “Those are pretty easy,” she said. “Just make sure to let them dry out between waterings.”
    “I’ll need lots of help,” I said. “You’ll have to come over on a weekly basis to make sure my houseplants are still alive.”
    “I think you can manage,” she said, refusing to take the bait. “What did you find?”
    I sat down beside her and opened the folder. On top of the stack was a blurry photograph of a man wearing a baseball cap. The investigator had taken it from across the street, and I couldn’t be sure it was Renzo, but it certainly looked a lot like him.
    “I’m not sure,” Beth said, touching the picture, her fingertips brushing the man’s chin.
    “I told you I wasn’t certain,” I said. “But look.” I turned to the next page. “A report from his parole officer. He requested permission to move to California, and it was granted. They transferred jurisdiction.”
    “When was this?” Beth asked, scanning the page. “A year ago. Okay. So he’s out of prison, then. I’m glad.”
    “And working, I think,” I said. “My investigator followed him to a construction site. He’s working with a framing crew.”
    “Okay,” Beth said. “So what? Are you going to send him a letter? Why do you care? Renzo has his own life. If he wanted help, he would have gotten in touch with me. I think it’s best just to leave well enough alone.”
    Maybe she was right, but I couldn’t let things stand. Renzo and I had parted on bad terms, and I needed to atone for that. I wanted his forgiveness. I knew it was a selfish desire, and I had spent several years trying to talk myself out of it, but I couldn’t move on with my life until I had made amends. “He’s too proud to reach out,” I said. “Renzo working construction? He wouldn’t be doing that if he had any other options. And besides, don’t you miss him?”
    I wasn’t expecting her eyes to fill with tears. She covered her mouth with one hand and glanced to the side. “I do,” she said. “Oh, God. I miss him all the time.”
    “Beth,” I said, stricken. I touched her back, tentative, and when she didn’t pull away, I slid my arm around her waist and drew her against me, holding her tucked against my side. She was so warm and small. I wanted to protect her from the world. “Please don’t cry.”
    “I’m not crying,” she said. She lowered her hand and leaned away from me.
    I took the hint and released her. She was skittish as a cat, ready to flinch away from my touch if I approached her the wrong way. She sat back against the sofa and raised her hand to her hair, smoothing her palm over her braids. The message was clear: No Trespassing.
    I shuffled the papers back into place and closed the folder, giving her a moment to collect herself, and then tossed the folder onto the coffee table and considered my next move.
    More wine. Wine was always the answer. I drained my glass and reached for the bottle.
    “You’re going to be on the floor if you have any more of that,” Beth said.
    I chuckled. “I’m not seventeen anymore. Of all the things I’ve learned in the past eight years,