The door opens, and I turn around. Instead of the butler, a petite woman stands on the threshold. Her dark hair must be dyed, but she's aged incredibly well—almost to the point where I'd expect her to be Sawyer's older sister rather than her mother. She doesn't quite have that plastic feel that older people get when they've had a little too much work done. 
"I've seen the videos of you and my daughter in arenas," she says. "Those types of public displays aren't to my taste, but they have certainly played well with the types of crowds you seem to attract."
She says it in such a way that I'm positive it's not a compliment. But honestly, she could think I was the dirt under her shoe, and I wouldn't care as long as she can help me to keep Dalton away from Sawyer.
"Your daughter deserves to be treated like she's important because she is. Very important. The most important."
Her blue eyes are piercing as they examine me. I'd even go so far as to call them calculating. "She doesn't speak to me, you know."
"I know," I say.
"Come in," she says. "I'm always intrigued when someone claims love and yet does something so contrary to that emotion."
I release a little sigh as I follow her into the living room. Having her lay out this choice in such black and white terms gives me a beat of uncertainty. But the reality is that I don't have the clout to nail Dalton, and in a few days or weeks, I'll have even less influence on this island when I'm traded. 
From everything I've heard, Celia's influence is endless, which is part of the conflict with most of her family. She doesn't know when to tap in or out of that sphere of control. 
 She gestures to a couch, and she perches on another one. A maid or worker hovers at her shoulder, and Celia flicks her away.
"I heard you've been ill," I say as I take a seat across from her. "Are you doing any better?"
She raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. "The latest treatment appears to be working to reset my kidneys, yes. Thankfully my youngest daughter has stood by me. She's never been one to go with the rest of the pack. Never thought that would be something I'd be grateful for."
"I'm glad to hear you're getting better."
"No thanks to the rest of my family."
A frisson of uncertainty goes down my spine. Maybe she won't help me, help her daughter.
"Sawyer doesn't know you're here, correct?"
"No, she doesn't."
A slight smile touches the corners of her mouth, as though I've fed her a delicious morsel. "You must need something. That's the only reason you'd be here."
"I need help making sure that Sawyer is protected when I leave the island," I say.
"Sounds rather dramatic," Celia says, raising one eyebrow. "You know, her cousin, Owen, owns a security firm."
"It's not physical protection I need."
"She's a Tucker. That's all the social protection she needs."
"Maybe," I say with a shrug. "Maybe not, though. And I'm not one to take chances with people I love."
"You're very young for her."
"Seems to suit her better than the older model she had before," I say. 
That earns an actual smile from Celia. "Oh, I bet it does. Dalton Worthington is a status seeker. I told her, but do you think she'd listen? But you? You play in a whole other arena."
"Quite literally," I agree. "He's the reason I'm here."
She doesn't prod. She waits.
"Do you happen to know where Officer Stephen Foster went?" I ask.
"No," she says, and her poker face is good enough that I have no idea if that's true or not. I suspect not. Even meeting Celia right now, I find it hard to believe anything she wanted to know would be outside her grasp. "Why do you ask?"
"There was an altercation between Sawyer and Dalton. Officer Foster has documentation—leverage—that we need."
"Leverage?" She raises her eyebrows again. "What is it that Dalton has that requires a counterweight?"
"I'd rather not say." I grimace.
"I bet you would, but that's not how things work when you come to me."
"Do you have the information I need?"
"In a way, but information isn't free."
"Not even for one of your children?"
"You're not my child. If Sawyer was sitting across from me, of course I'd help her. But she didn't come, did she?"
"She won't come."
"No, she won't. She's the co-leader of her sibling musketeers. She and Nathaniel. Understanding my point of view would be such a betrayal." Her tone is bitter. She eyes me for a beat. "If I give you the information, I want you to tell her you got it from me. I want her to know that I had what she needed."
I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees. "That'll fuck me over."
"It will," she says without a hint of remorse. "She can be angry with you, and you can have the information. Or she can love you, and you'll have nothing. That's the deal."
Confessing where I got my new lead or information was a possibility I understood when I resolved to come here, so I can't let Celia's demand hold me back now. Maybe what's coming next—my trade, our breakup—will be easier for both of us if she's angry with me. I know it'll be easier for me if Dalton can't get to her.
"You've got a deal. Tell me how to find Stephen Foster."
"You don't need Stephen," she says, "because I know where he kept all his Tucker family secrets."
I am away on vacation starting on Monday. I'm going to load and schedule the next 3 - 4 chapters in advance for Monday and Thursday around midnight EST.
There are about 6-7 chapters left here, and then I'll go right into posting Ava's book. 
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