He wouldn’t try to convince Ellen to stay. He wouldn’t wrap his arms around her and tip that sweet mouth toward his and kiss her until she admitted she didn’t want to leave. Ellen has to choose to let her guard down. Ellen also had to choose how best to balance her obligations and where to fit him into the equation. Without a word, he handed her the miniature portrait, watched her turn it over to study the young girl’s image as though it could somehow answer the questions its appearance raised. “This miniature suggests a personal connection that we hadn’t considered,” she said softly. “But to which Lafever—Julian or Brigitte?” She didn’t meet his gaze, and her impending departure stood between them like a wall, no less an obstruction for its invisibility. The mystery provided her the perfect place to retreat from the emotion of the moment, from the un-asked questions. “A personal connection might substantiate our revenge theory,” he said, letting her slip away, deciding that keeping his mouth shut just might kill him.
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