Page 88 of Bitter Lies

I switch over to my arsehole of a friend’s contact and fire off a nasty text.

ME:

Don’t flirt with my woman. That’s a sure way to get yourself killed.

TEDDY:

Can’t help it. It’s what I do when I’m in the presence of a beautiful woman.

Well, don’t.

Who’s with her?

Marty and Lynette.

Good. Ryan stayed behind?

No, Sasha and Ryan are driving up. Going to the house to rest and will switch with one of them in six hours. I’m not sure who’s switching when. They didn’t feel the need to tell me. It’s going to be fun hanging out with them and getting in their way. This will cost you extra.

I’ll send Lane up to help after he finishes a job for me first.

Okay. Time to get this chopper in the air, so your lady isn’t late for work. I’ll keep her safe until you join us.

Thank you. Don’t piss me off, and I’ll put in a good word with Jen.

Teddy’s been trying to date my cousin since he met Jen two years ago. She’s recently divorced, playing hard to get. Their demanding jobs leave little time for leisure. If I had to pick someone for her, it would be him. He’d treat her right, much better than her ex-husband did.

My phone buzzes again.

ISABEL:

Don’t worry. I’ve learned I’m into a certain type of man, and your friend doesn’t fit the bill.

I know I shouldn’t bite, but damn, I want to hear her say it.

ME:

What’s your type?

Arrogant grumps who love to threaten spanking my arse when I rebel.

Good. Because your arse is going to be red for days now that you’ve mocked me. And after I’ve spanked you, I’m fucking you for days.

I look forward to it.

I’m putting my phone away now. I’ll text you when we land.

My eyes scan the paper, and a wave of dread settles deep in my gut as the truth takes shape. Not ready to open this can of shit yet, I fold it and shove it in the bottom of my bag. After I’m done here, I’ll look into it further.

Time is of the essence, and I need to get my arse in gear before Trent calls, demanding to know what I’ve found.

On my way out of the office, I notice another photo sitting on top of a credenza.

The woman in it—her face is etched with a chilling familiarity—could easily be mistaken for the same woman who’s slain me. She’s holding an adorable little girl. They’re seated on a lush green lawn. A castle rises in the distance, silhouetted against the blue sky. They look happy.

But I know better.

Isabel’s now around the same age her mum was when she made the choice to assassinate the king—a decision that ultimately led to her suicide. You don’t just do something like that without careful planning beforehand.