Page 5 of Filthy Liar

Jason: The Ambassador will be at the summit.

Wilson: Acknowledged.

Second, I wanted to create the impression for all curious observers that I am actively looking to get cozy with his wife. Misdirection achieved.

My third goal was the first thing I did when I arrived—I dropped two micro drones along the back wall of the property while being given the grand tour.

I quickly check the tracker app on my phone, to see that they haven’t been detected. The GPS trackers show them exactly where I left them.

Excellent.

As I put my phone away, I catch sight of a heart-shaped face from my past. Bee-stung lips, dark eyes with thick, sooty lashes. Black hair—that’s new—but there’s no mistaking who it is.

Ellie. She’s dressed as waitstaff, in black pants and a white shirt, wearing an apron, and in the split second it takes for me to register the familiarity, she pivots and disappears inside. I dart around the pool, following the woman who ghosted me five years ago.

The woman who was once my receptionist, and then disappeared without a trace.

Heart pounding, I stop inside the main hall of the Rock Creek mansion and listen for the direction of the catering noise. Clatters lead me almost to the kitchen, but I duck into a dark powder room as I catch sight of her in the doorway.

“I’m really sorry to do this.” Her voice drifts towards me. “Are you sure it’s okay if I go?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks for your help tonight. You actually make a pretty good waiter, you know that?”

She laughs, but there’s a tightness to her voice. Does she know I’m this close?

The next beat of the conversation is obscured by another clatter, then there’s silence. I chance sticking my head back into the hallway, just enough to catch sight of the kitchen, but it’s empty.

She’s gone.

I sprint to the front door, not caring if I’m seen. She’s already made me, disappeared into thin air. Again.

The gate on the far side of the circular drive is closed, but of course she didn’t valet park her car.

She was here posing as the help.The little con artist.

“A waitress dropped this on her way out,” I say to the valet approaching. Despite the growing furor inside me, my voice sounds calm. I show him my phone. “Did you see her?”

3

Melinda

Fuckity fuck fuck.I really wanted access to this catering gig to last a few weeks longer.

As soon as I’m around the corner of the house, I kick it into high gear and sprint through the side gate. I’m not sure I can outrun Jason, even if I’m wearing clothes more suited to a foot race than he is.

He looked good in that suit.

Truly, absolutely not what I should be concerned with right now.

I can’t risk trying to cut across properties in this neighborhood. Too much money, too many connections. Guaranteed security systems that police would actually respond to alarms from. My bike is three blocks away, because there wasn’t enough parking at the hoity-toity residence for guests and the hired help.

Can Jason find me in three blocks? Jesus Christ, why did I not grin and bear the discomfort of tracking him while I’m in town? Being caught off-guard like this is completely disruptive to—well, everything. Did I not think I might run into him?

I knew I could at some point, but tonight? The chances were low. When I worked for him, the socialites were always someone else’s job.

I could have handled running into Cole or Tag. I wouldloveto see Wilson again. But Jason? I repeat, fuckity fuck fuck.

I need to get to the next block, then make a decision.

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