Page 32 of Emerald

I mentally take a snapshot. I’ll think about that image later. I need to find out who the fuck she really is because I’m not sure if I believe Sophie’s story.

I urge my feet to walk toward her and open the door.

“Did you enjoy the view?” she asks, not moving a muscle.

My eyes narrow on her. How did she know?

“I was on a phone call,” I say, bluffing.

“No, you weren’t. You stood in the hallway for a long while,” she states, turning her head and giving me a smirk.

This woman is infuriating. “Was speaking to Brooks and Sophie,” I tell her.

She slides her hand off her face and sits up propped on her elbows before turning her attention to me.

“And how are they?” she asks cooly.

“In Dubai, it seems.”

“Sophie has a story she’s working on,” Ellie tells me.

I walk closer to the pool’s edges. “So she says.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“I believe Sophie. It’s your story that I’m not sure about,” I explain to her.

This has Ellie sitting up completely before she slides into the pool, disappears under the water, and then pops up right in front of me, looking like a wet dream.

“What do you want to know? Ask me anything,” she purrs, placing her chin on her folded arms on the edge of the pool. Those blue eyes looking up at me are all innocent and yet calculating.

My eyes narrow on her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ellie Clark, adopted sister of Mackenzie, Sophie, Zoe, and Grace Clark.”

I call bullshit. “When were you adopted?”

Without hesitation, she tells me it was seven years ago. She was kidnapped from Russia and sold into human trafficking and Sophie’s parents found her and tried to reunite her with her family, but unfortunately, they were killed in a Bratva turf war. The Clarks then decided that they would adopt her and, here she is. Her story sounds convincing, there were no tells to indicate she is lying, and if she is, then she’s good. If it is the truth then what a traumatic life she’s had, and maybe I should be kinder to her, it might explain why she seems skittish around me or has a wall up, but if it’s a lie, I’ll kill her.

“What do you do for a living, then?” I continue to press on.

“I’m a freelance journalist. Right now, I’m not working for anyone as I’ve been traveling. I like my freedom.” She grins.

Brooks and Sophie both vouching for this woman should be enough, yet it feels like there’s more. Call it a gut instinct that has never steered me wrong. I knew it the day I got a bullet in my chest, I have the same unease that something isn’t what it seems right now.

“Is that why you’re here? You’re working on a story?” I ask, wondering if she will tell me the truth.

Her face falls, and her body stiffens as she pushes off from the side of the pool and starts to swim backward, putting distance between us. A frown forms on my face as I take a seat where she just was, sliding my legs into the cool water.

“Fine. You’re right, I’m not here for a holiday, I’m here for work.”

My brows rise in surprise that she told me the truth. “Work?” I question her.

She runs her hands over her blonde hair, flicking droplets of water off. Why does she look like she should be on the cover of Sports Illustrated? “Yes. I’m doing a story on the Yucatan Cartel.”

“Seems dangerous,” I add.

“It is,” Ellie says, glaring at me, daring me to say more, but I don’t.

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