Page 66 of Bitter Lies

Every angle I come up with leads to the same problem. Too many unknowns, not enough access.

I glance past the door, my focus drifting for a second. Izzy is just down the hall, probably still asleep in my bed, completely unaware of the mess she’s tangled up in.

Lucky her.

I grit my teeth and bring my attention back to what needs doing. An idea pops into my head, and it just doesn’t sit right. There’s really only one clean way inside.

Isabel.

It puts her in danger. Forces me to tell her another lie. I’ve done enough of that already.

Now that our relationship has shifted, every lie I tell pushes me closer to losing her. Trust is the solid foundation of any relationship. Without it, everything falls apart. Once she learns what I’ve done, it might not matter. But the fewer lies I tell, the better chance I’ll have of her giving me a fighting chance.

Why that matters to me is a subject for another time. Right now, I need to figure out how to convince her to let me inside the penthouse.

I could use Alma’s allegations about her stolen painting to my advantage. It’s a legitimate issue worth digging into. The bump on her head suggests this is more than just confusion. Someone did that to her. We need to figure out who.

Rico’s death. The fire. Trent’s involvement. Alma’s claims. The answers to these questions are in that penthouse; of that I’m sure.

The pulse of my mobile against my desk has me taking a break from my research. One glance at the screen sours my mood more.

“What?”

There’s a rough edge to Silas’s voice. “Why are there two overdressed, arrogant pricks standing guard in front of your home?”

Fuck.

Dealing with him is a hassle I can’t be bothered with today. I have more pressing issues demanding my attention.

The sharp, high-pitched whistle assaults my ears the moment he reaches his own conclusion. “Nice. Are you offering her comfort during her hours of grief?”

“No, it’s not like that,” I grunt, but hell, it kind of is. “What do you want?”

“I thought you might like your baby back.” The sharp crack of a car door closing reverberates over the line. “Then I thought you and I could do some digging into last night’s events.”

He means the Cort Theiss problem. And I want to do that, too, but not for the same reason. Silas isn’t aware of the connection between Rico and Cort, and it’ll stay that way until I know more about what those two were up to. I’m hoping to figure that out when I search the penthouse.

And I can’t tell him shit no matter what, because Trent made it clear he only wants me on this job.

“Can’t today.” I stand and head for the front door. Best to meet him at the gate before Ryan and Sasha stop him. “I’m working on another matter.”

“We can do both,” he says as I hear Ryan order him to turn around.

Opening my front door, I jog down the short walk and hang up. “Let him by.”

Ryan doesn’t budge. “Not happening. I’m not about to let him, an Irish mob boss, near the princess.”

This is my house, so I should prove to this prick that’s not his call. But I don’t want Silas near Isabel, either. Plus, it’s nice to see Ryan doing his job for once.

As the gate swings open, I sidestep the two men facing each other. “Fine. Just make sure you keep doing your job while we talk over there.”

Silas backs up but keeps an eye on Ryan while mouthing off. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

With my hand on his chest, I encourage Silas to move faster. After a few paces, he spins and heads to where he parked my Jag.

“Your father called this morning.” I’m sure he knows this, but in case he doesn’t, I mention it. “His request takes priority over whatever shit Cort’s landed in.”

Leaning his arse against the boot of my Jag, he crosses his feet and rests both hands against the warm, dark surface. “What job?”