Page 23 of Born for Starlight

“For real?” The intelligence behind her beautiful brown eyes was glorious to behold. "Why do you want to understand it?"

Now wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

"Because you don't strike me as someone who does things without a reason," I finally said. "I'd like to know the reason before I decide what I think about the plan."

She studied me a long moment, like she was deciding how much of an answer I'd earned.

"I was two years old," she said finally. "I don't remember the orphanage. Not really. Flashes, maybe, and I'm honestly not sure how many of those are real memories and how many are stories I've been told so many times they turned into memories on their own." She wrapped her hands so tight around the mug that her knuckles turned white. "But I know what it did to my mom, watching the boys carry me out of that building. I know what it cost my parents to shut it down. And I know that somewhere right now, there are kids the same age I was, in a building just like that one, and nobody's coming for them."

"So you’re the one who’s going to save them? In person?"

"Yep." She said it like it was a fact, not a decision she was still making. "A check from three thousand miles away doesn't guarantee it gets done. Not like the way Malik, Renzo and Jase got it done." She stopped, searching for the words. "Setting up a fund? It's not walking the talk. And that’s important to me. It will make a difference. And Matthew, you and I both know it will.”

"Do I? Angelica, have you really dug deep, and figured out how much of this is ego talking?"

That landed harder than I meant it to. Her jaw tightened, and for a second I thought I'd overstepped, thought she was going to shut the whole conversation down the way Jase's yelling did.

She didn't shut down.

"Say more."

"Money moves faster than you do. Your name attached to an organization does the same work whether you're standing in the building or sitting in California. If the goal is stopping this from happening to the next kid, the fastest way to do that might not require you on the ground at all." I kept my voice even, the same voice I'd have used running an assessment, except I wasn't running one, not anymore, and that distinction mattered more than I wanted to admit. "I'm not saying don't go. I'm asking if you've separated what actually helps from what would make you feel like you'd done enough."

She didn't answer right away. I respected that. A hell of a lot. She looked out the window at the street, at nothing in particular, and I watched her turn the question over.

"I don't know," she said finally, quieter than anything she'd said yet. "I don't know if I want to go because it's the right way to use what I have, or because standing in those orphanages myself is the only way I'll believe I actually did something. Those might not be the same thing."

"They might not be."

"You’re really an annoying bastard.”

“Because I might have a point?” I couldn’t help a small smile from forming.

“Be careful, I’m not above dumping this cinnamon roll in your lap.”

“It’s too good to do that. Something tells me you have a sweet tooth.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I do.” She set down her coffee, and I watched the playfulness leave her eyes.

“Talking about ego, you certainly seem sure of yourself, maybe even more than my brother Bruno, and that’s saying something. Do you really have what it takes to back it up?”

I sat back, considering how to answer that. How could I tell her that I had seen and worked in places that Bruno could only imagine? That compared to my background, her brother was a sheltered child?

Short answer? I couldn’t.

"Let’s just say that some of my work has taken me places, the world is better off not knowing about.”

“And Bruno hasn’t?”

"We had some overlap." I kept it plain, true as far as it went, nothing offered that she hadn't asked for. "But different agencies. I do it on my own now."

"On your own how?"

"Whatever the job requires."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting." I let one corner of my mouth go, watching her remember saying the same thing at the party. Her lip twitched.