Page 4 of Bourbon and Lies

“Shut up, Ace,” she barks back. “Are we good here?”

“Del know you’re here?”

She gives him a quick tic of a “no.”

Ace takes a deep breath and holds it. “How long?”

Harper walks down the steps. “That’ll be up to her eventually. But for now, it’s until I can guarantee she’s out of harm's way.”

Keeping his eyes trained on me, he asks, “We in any danger by having her here? You know we’ve had enough bad things happen to last a lifetime. And Lincoln’s got kids?—”

She cuts him off, “I need her to be somewhere I trust, and away from people I don’t.”

I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t answer his question about being in danger.

He smirks at her. “So I fall into that category now? In that circle of trust?”

“It’s really fucking small, Ace. You know that.” With a begrudging tone, she says, “Plus, this means I’ll owe you. You know how much I love that kind of currency.”

“You really think Fiasco is a good idea to hide someone?”

“What fiasco?” I interrupt. She better not be dropping me into something worse than what I just came from, if that’s even possible.

“It’s not unheard of for a woman to be at your house late at night.” She raises her brow, the insinuation lingering as she pats his arm. “Do what you can. I know how rumors work here, so keep her away from anything that looks like the truth.”

“I assume I don’t get to know what the truth is, then?”

Harper meets my eye. “It’s whatever she tells you.” She winks at me.

He looks me up and down like he’s sizing up what to do with me. I shift my weight and square my shoulders, wordlessly telling him that I’m not intimidated. With another smirk, he shakes his head, extending his right hand. “Atticus Foxx. You can call me Ace.”

It takes me a few seconds to remember the lie. “Laney. Young. Laney Young,” I stammer out as I take his hand.

His eyebrow quirks at the delivery.

Yeah, I’ll need to work on that.I need to get better at saying a name that’s not quite mine. The problem is, I’m not a liar. Of all the things I’ve been—an opportunist, a hopeful romantic, a cheat—I’ve never been a liar. Until now.

“Alright then, Laney Young. Welcome to Fiasco, Kentucky.”

Chapter 3

Laney

“You’rein good hands here, Laney,” Harper interrupts.

I don’t mean to snort a laugh, but I do. It's funny and nerve-racking to think I’m supposed to trust anyone now. I had done that—trusted someone, trusted my gut—and look where it landed me.

I shift my eyes to Ace, who tries covering a smile in response. At least he’s not opening wide for this bullshit. He didn’t plan on any of this either. He sure as hell hadn’t planned on me showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

This isn’t a hideout. There is nothing discreet here. I don’t come from money, but I know what expensive looks like. I’ve spent the last handful of years trying to fit in with some of the wealthiest families and inner circles in Manhattan. Modern, clutter-free, amplified by deep, masculine colors and complimenting details. From the brushed gold and matte black metal fixtures on the doors and lighting above, to the layout of the lightly stained wood that makes up the floors, the wide foyerand sprawling staircase. This place is not a government-funded halfway house or a community with a budget.

Agent Harper ignores my response as she types out a text on her phone, giving me a few seconds to really look around. The place shouldn’t feel welcoming, but it does.

While the humid air outside wraps around my skin and smells of chocolate croissants, in here it’s a few degrees colder than cool, and it carries the faintest smell of a man's cologne. Something earthy, woodsy, with a hint of tobacco from cigars instead of Harper’s cloves. I like this better. I picture my apprehensive host with a cigar draped in his fingers while he sips on something strong and dark.

“Your burner,” Harper says, pulling it from her pocket. “Stay off anything that looks like social media. Don’t start posting videos about food or trending dance moves. If you feel anything that seems out of sorts, you text me.Mefirst, and then you don’t hesitate. Find Ace. If there’s a real urgency, dial 911.”

As I stare down at the phone, I can feel her attention zeroed in on how I’m reacting. “What aren’t you saying?”

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