Page 30 of Conflicted Lies

I’m back at the club I left only an hour ago, now staring at the body of the man my partner hired to tail the Ivanovs.

“You were here, too, weren’t you? Did you see him? What the fuck happened?” Lucas spits. I clamp my hand on his shoulder, ushering him to the side of the building. A few officers are looking in our direction because it’s very much unlike him to lose his cool. That’s usually my job.

“You need to calm down; people are watching. Reel it in,” I say firmly.

He looks over my shoulder and takes a heavy breath. “He was my friend.”

“And you knew the risks they were taking.”

“Yeah, but… literally on the first night?”

“I warned you these families move quickly. How’s your other guy doing?”

“Not dead, as far as I know. Maybe I should pull him out.”

I ignore whatever he says next as I scan the area. We’re in the backyard of a small home only a block away from the nightclub. There are no surveillance cameras nearby, and the last thing caught on camera is four men following Ivy Walker, one of Hope’s friends. He must’ve been following them and didn’t even make it a block down.

“This throws off everything we know about the killer. It has to be two people,” Lucas states. “We’ve always thought it could be a woman because they’ve never used brute strength, but he’s had his neck broken, which takes strength. For him to have been overpowered like this, it has to be a man. On top of that, the fucker was careful enough not to leave any marks. Who goes in with that kind of cruel calculation?”

“Lower your voice,” I growl, trying to think.

It’s obvious the killer must’ve been wearing gloves or something of the sort. The first person who comes to mind is Hope’s father, who is known for wearing gloves. I blanch at the idea of approaching them directly.

Surveillance shows it was only fifteen minutes after I took off that Hope left in a car identified as belonging to Ford Ivanov. Perhaps her father came back to the area?

Is it someone who is protective of Ivy Walker? It could possibly have something to do with her father. There are so many different possibilities, and I can tell Lucas is thinking the same.

“Families like this are going to pick flies off within seconds. Maybe call your second guy off of following the Monti’s?”

Lucas grinds his jaw. “I don’t think he’ll want to after he hears about this. There’s something fishy going on.”

I try not to laugh. Fishy is an understatement when it comes to this family.

I need to get closer to Hope. She needs to be cornered and confess all of her dark, twisted inner thoughts.

Another body on the pile and another layer to this already fucked-up tale.

I don’t confide my thoughts to Lucas. Or that I intend to get closer to Alek Ivanov’s daughter. I’m risking my fucking life doing everything I have been so far. But now we’re going to throw more fuel onto that flame. Because, eventually, something will be smoked out.

CHAPTER17

Hope

Ihaven’t had a chance to deliver his special package yet because I had art shows I needed to attend. I was also working on officially dropping out of college, which oddly feels freeing.

When I told Billie and Ivy about me quitting school, neither of them was surprised. Charlotte seemed to be the only one who disagreed with my decision. But a small part of me, as petty as it seems, wonders if that’s because she thinks we won’t hang out as much. And honestly, that might be the case.

I don’t expect her to understand, but I don’t like the fact that she said it’s easy for “someone like me.” I think she was referring to the fact that I already have a booming career, and hers isn’t where she wants to be. I don’t have time for people like that in my inner circle.

The current exhibition has been a massive success. I can tell by how exhausted I am, in desperate need of a recharge from how much peopling I’ve had to do.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow our flight leaves at eight. In the car to the airport, we’ll also be having an interview with a magazine that’s been promoting your work for the last two years. I promised them an exclusive interview on the collection,” Candice says.

When I turn my unimpressed expression her way, she levels me with a stare. “I said I’d cut back on the number of interviews. But ‘exclusive’ means only one for this collection and a fatter paycheck.”

I sigh. It’s exhausting, really.

“I’ll call for the car to be brought around for you. I’m going to close out a few things here,” she says, walking away.

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