Page 11 of Tell Me All Your Lies

“It’s perfect.”

A perfectionist. I can appreciate that.

“Looks like our dear friend, the director, hired us both to find him,” I say.

I’m almost flush against her back, needing her to say anything in return. The way her floral scent wafts through the air makes me crave this woman even more.

“What’s your plan here? You’ve got him. What else do you need?” I rasp.

“I need a piece of information.”

“What’s that?”

She laughs warmly, and in this moment, I know I’m utterly fucked.

“I’ll never tell.”

“Come on, darling. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s start fresh here. My friends call me Ace, and you must be… my lucky charm.”

Her whimsical laughter fills the warehouse, and it’s the only sound I ever want to hear.

“I’ll never be your anything.”

She spins around and props a hand back on her hip. As I study this woman’s face, a shocked expression crosses it.

Realization dawns on me moments later.

“Car—” I start, and she puts a hand over my mouth immediately.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

I almost blew her cover in front of this criminal she’s torturing.

“You?” I ask, shocked.

“And you.”

“We have to talk.”

“After.”

I pinch my eyebrows together in disbelief.

“What do you need from him?”

“I’ll get it myself. Go. Please.”

“Fuck. You can have this one,” I relent.

This is not good.

“Meet me at Willow Park in two hours.”

“Two hours,” she confirms.

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