“From what?”
“From you.”
Silence filled the conservatory.
I stood near the locked door, suddenly wishing I had never gotten involved.
Emilio noticed.
“Etta, you can leave.”
I reached for the lock.
Then I stopped.
Something about Rafe’s expression bothered me.
He wasn’t looking at Emilio.
He was looking at me.
“You,” Rafe said.
I turned.
“Me?”
“You’ve been here nineteen months.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow your little sachets make my brother feel better.”
“I never said that.”
“But you implied it.”
“No. I noticed something.”
Rafe stepped closer.
“What?”
I looked at the leather folder.
“Your brother has forty-three blood tests.”
Rafe frowned.
“So?”
“If his doctors couldn’t figure out what was happening, why did you suddenly decide he needed to sign over control of everything?”
One attorney shifted uncomfortably.
Rafe’s jaw tightened.
“Be careful, Etta.”
I had heard those words before.
Not from him.
From men who wanted people like me to remember where we belonged.
But Emilio raised one hand.
“Don’t threaten her.”
Rafe looked at him.
“You’re defending a cleaner now?”
Emilio’s voice became almost a whisper.
“I’m defending the only person in this house who noticed I was being poisoned.”
Nobody moved.
My heart stopped.
“What?”
