The Truth About the Liar
Page 11
It was a beautiful night, he decided. He wasn’t sure about the rest—confidence didn’t come as easily after months of bitter disappointment—but he had time to figure out his next move.
In Cairo. With Klaus.
Shit, maybe that lilting little songbird tune was catching.
Also available from Pride Publishing:
What’s his Passion?: Fistful of Lies
Helena Maeve
Excerpt
Chapter One
Now
“You just let him walk away with an alleged murderer?” My heart slammed against my ribcage. Blood pounded against my eardrums. I still couldn’t see straight, the edges of the room blurred by a hangover.
“Hasn’t killed anyone yet.” It was a poor excuse from a man who had threatened point blank to reveal details of my latest disgrace unless I played ball.
As I looked on, Micah crouched and pulled up his pant leg to reveal an ankle holster. The faint light caught on the shiny black plastic. The boot-cut jean concealed it perfectly.
I wondered how often he’d worn it. Had he worn it when he’d backed me up against the tile wall? Had he brought it along while strolling around the island?
Hindsight bestowed a touch of danger to go with the stab of guilt piercing my insides at the thought of our little tryst.
“Of course,” I snorted. “Of course you would have a gun.” Stale liquor clung to the roof of my mouth, poison-slick.
Micah hoisted his gaze to mine, nonchalantly hitching up his dark eyebrows. “I came prepared.”
“Did you.” Trust was hard-won in my book and I didn’t have much to extend to a man who’d been spewing one lie after another since the moment we’d met. All I had were my common sense and his word that he was one of the good guys. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“And tell them what? That a man who fell and hit his head was actually struck by someone on this island? By one of us?”
“We don’t know that he was,” I argued. Backtracking on the case I’d made since we’d found the body on the patio, blood on the flagstone, blood in his thinning hair, took more out of me than standing. “We don’t know anything—”
“Reuben.”
My name in his mouth was a solemn call to order. I pressed my lips tightly shut. Panic was useless. Like it or not, I was playing his game.
“Then… Then I suppose we’d best split up,” I offered. “Ligeia’s pretty big. We’ll cover more ground that way.” And I didn’t have much faith that his bullet would find the right target.
A moment’s hesitation left me wondering if my suggestion would be vetoed. I had barely been cleared of wrong-doing. I didn’t expect our newfound alliance to last once Micah had a clear shot and the means for a quick getaway.
He nodded firmly. “Good idea. I’ll go around the court, try to get to the docks before they do. If they get off the island, we’ll have a problem.”
“Shouldn’t we tell the others?”
“There’s no time,” Micah answered.
His gaze bored into mine, so earnest that I wanted to believe him.
I rooted my feet to the tile floor as he moved closer.
“Look, I need to know that you’re with me. If you can’t do this…”
In the distance, waves crashed furiously against the shore. The folded open windows seemed to echo with the music of a roiling sea. Dark cloud had shrouded the starry sky, leaving us in a tiny pocket of electric light.
A moth fluttered by the wall fixture, dizzy and hypnotized by the iridescent bulb, having lost its way out.
A night for singed wings, I mused woozily, unsteady on my feet.
“I’m in. If I catch up…”
“Delay them,” said Micah. “Don’t let on that you know anything. If I’m right, you may be in danger, too.”
And if you’re wrong? I filed away the thought. The books I’d read and the boxset DVDs on my shelf at home were useless here. The mysteries I’d collected were sanitized, bloodless puzzles in which suspense never quite solidified into fear. I never worried about the detectives. I never felt for the victims.
I concealed a shudder when Micah slotted the clip back into his pistol. Like it or not, we were going hunting.
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About the Author
Helena Maeve has always been globe trotter with a fondness for adventure, but only recently has she started putting to paper the many stories she’s collected in her excursions. When she isn’t writing erotic romance novels, she can usually be found in an airport or on a plane, furiously penning in her trusty little notebook.
Email: helenamaeve@outlook.com
Helena loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
Also by Helena Maeve
Courting Treason
Misfit Hearts
Flight Made Easy
In the Presence of Mine Enemy
Fault Lines
Seat Sixty-Five
Shadow Play: Best Kept Lies
Shadow Play: Price of Freedom
Shadow Play: Splendid Isolation
Racing Hearts: The Secret of Delville Wood
What’s his Passion?: Fistful of Lies