“What do you think?” Kit leaned over her and tapped the ashes into a glass tray. “Will he keep his word?” “He seemed sincere enough.” Sinclair snatched the cigar back from him and smiled with catlike slyness. “But if he doesn’t, there’s always Lovelace to keep him accountable. That goes for you, too.” Kit rolled his eyes. “You’re a prick.” Sinclair laughed, a full-throated sound Niamh hadn’t heard in a while. “Tell your husband to be nice to me, Niamh. That kind of language isn’t becoming of a good, respectable politician.” Niamh sprawled out languidly and rested her head in Kit’s lap. With a
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