“To my good friend Evan Black, I leave my six-shot, nickel-plated, dual-action Colt revolver, which once belonged to Al Capone himself, in the hopes that he will remember to always watch his back and to take nothing for granted.”

I bit back an ironic grin. I knew that Evan had always admired the gun, which Jahn had kept mounted in a shadow box in his study. But if Kevin was right about Evan’s extracurricular activities, then that made the bequest all the more appropriate.

Evan looked amused as well, but sobered when Alan added that Uncle Jahn also left him a letter. “He presented it to me the day he revised his will, and asked that I give it to you contemporaneously with the bequest.”

“Am I the only one to receive a letter?” Evan asked, and though he didn’t say, I was certain that he was wondering about Cole and Tyler, both of whom were conspicuous by their absence.

Alan shook his head. “No. I was entrusted with several. Shall we move on?”

Evan nodded.

“To my beloved niece—”

“Wait.”

We both looked at Evan.

“Shouldn’t you finish the bequests to me?”

Alan pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I have, Mr. Black. As I explained, Mr. Jahn significantly overhauled his trust, his will, and his bequests just a few weeks ago.”

“I see,” Evan said, though it was clear that he didn’t. Alan regarded him for a moment, then nodded as if in satisfaction, and turned back to me.

“To my beloved niece, Angelina Raine, sometimes referred to as Angie or Lina, I leave my penthouse condo—including the adjacent servant’s quarters—as well as all furnishings and property remaining in my estate.” Alan looked up at me. “You should understand that most items of value within the condo are included in the trust. What is referred to here are the more simple household items such as furniture, pots, pans, bath towels. He also created a trust to cover Peterson’s salary—as well as a one-time bonus—along with the annual property taxes and monthly maintenance fees. I’ll be administering that trust for you, but the condo will be in your name. If you choose to rent it or sell it, you are fully empowered to do so, though if you do part with the property, the maintenance trust will be folded into the foundation, less a severance package for Peterson.”

“Oh.” My head was swimming. “Okay.”

“In addition to the property and contents thereof, your uncle left you one specific bequest of personal property. Though it is located in the condo and not part of the trust, he was very clear that he wanted there to be no dispute as to his wish that this item go to you.” He rattled the papers again, then cleared his throat. “Also to my beloved Lina, I leave my facsimile copy of Leonardo da Vinci’s Creature Notebook, as I have come to realize that she will undoubtedly understand and appreciate the true value of this item and my bequest.”

“Lina?” I murmured. Why the hell had he referred to me as Lina?

But no one heard my soft query, as it was buried under Evan’s very loud outburst.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He was on his feet, more animated than I’d seen him all morning. “He left the Da Vinci notebook to Angie?”

“What the hell is your problem?” I snapped. “He knew I loved that piece. Why shouldn’t he leave it to me?”

Evan ignored me entirely, his full attention focused on Alan, his expression so intense that I half wondered why the attorney didn’t toss down the folder and run for his life.

“When?” Evan growled.

“I—I’m sorry?”

I watched as Evan took three deep breaths, gathering himself with obvious effort. “When did Howard revise his will?”

With a start, I realized that I was five steps behind everyone else. Evan wasn’t upset because I was getting the notebook. He was upset because until Jahn changed the will, he’d been getting the notebook.

Alan glanced at his associates, both of whom started rapidly flipping through documents. “About a month ago,” the guy finally said. “On April third.”

“I see,” Evan said, though from the curious way he eyed me—the first time he’d looked directly at me all day—I could tell that he didn’t see at all.

I, however, thought that I did, and I drew in a sharp breath. That was the day Jahn bailed me out of jail. The day I’d told him the truth about Gracie.

Which begged the question of why my confession had prompted him to leave me such a strange—albeit wonderful—bequest. Was it his way of telling me he trusted me? That no matter what I’d done he didn’t think of me as an irresponsible twit? Or maybe—

“Ms. Raine!”

I jerked my head up, realizing that Alan had been trying to get my attention. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking.”

Alan nodded and continued, but Evan’s eyes stayed on me, his brow furrowed as he openly studied me. I wished that I had the balls to boldly return his stare, but I didn’t. Instead, I dipped my head and doodled on the pad of paper that the firm had thoughtfully placed at every seat in the conference room.

The rest of the meeting was about signing documents and transferring titles, and I moved through it like a zombie. Or, more accurately, like a celebrity, signing my name blindly where I was told to sign and then turning to the next piece of paper that someone shoved in front of me.

Finally, we were done and allowed to leave. I hurried ahead, wanting to catch the elevator by myself, and not wanting to walk next to Evan in the circle of conspicuous silence.

It didn’t work. He was at my side by the time the elevator car arrived, and when I got on, so did he. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, but I thought I’d be able to tough it out. I mean, how long could a ride down to the lobby take, anyway? Besides, he was standing all the way on the other side of the car, his hands on the bar, his head slightly down. He looked like a man deep in thought, and I assumed he’d stay that way until the doors opened and I could bolt.

I assumed wrong.

We’d barely started the descent when he pushed away from the bar and came over to where I was standing by the control panel. He wore a business suit, and the way he moved exuded power and confidence, and even though I just wanted to escape I couldn’t deny that my knees felt a little wobbly and my pulse had started skittering.

He leaned in, and an electric jolt shot through me, sparked by his proximity. I clenched my jaw, angry with my body for reacting to this man when I was mentally giving him the finger.

I thought he was going to touch me, but instead he reached over my shoulder and pushed the button to stop the elevator.

We jerked to a halt, and I stumbled, thrusting my hand out to steady myself. My palm landed flat on his chest, and the shock of our contact ricocheted through me. I jerked my hand back, but it was too late. I’d felt it. That awareness. That need. That zing. Oh, dear god, I was in so much trouble.

I forced myself to stand up straight. “What the hell do you think—”

He silenced me with a finger to my lips and a shake of his head. He took a step toward me, and I swear I heard Klaxons. He was so close we were practically touching, and the air between us was hot and thick. My hands were behind me on the handrail, and I gripped it tighter, afraid that if I let go I would reach out and touch him again. That I’d close this distance and demand that he kiss me. That he finish what we’d started.