Page 150 of Beautiful Exile

“I really have to thank ole Han for her flair for the dramatic. Our little innocent wildflower isn’t so innocent after all. It’s going to make killing you and pinning it on her all the more fun.”

“She’s in jail,” I wheezed.

Farah grinned. “Is she? Because I thinksomeonepulled some strings and got her out on bail tonight. An hour ago, actually. Just enough time for her to get over here, short-circuit Cope’s security cameras, and stab you a few dozen times. They’ll find the knife with her prints on it in the flower pot by her back door. Just like they found that rifle in her trunk.”

“You,” I whispered, my mind whirling, trying to connect dots and strings to pull together a picture of the truth.

“I didn’t have time to get fingerprints on that one. But it wasn’t necessary. Hannah’s so batshit, I think she’d have agreed to murder you and wear your skin as a suit.”

My breaths came quicker as my brain jumped from one thing to another. “You shot Linc.”

Farah winced. “Wasn’t supposed to. That boy really does have a hero complex. It was getting a little annoying.”

“How?” I croaked.

“Sheridan, really? It’s quite easy. Point, aim, fire.”

“How did you know where we were?” I pressed. Time. I needed time to get the upper hand again. My palms pressed into the carpet, the right one smarting where it had been cut. But I just let the flare of pain fuel me.

A laugh bubbled out of Farah, one so joyful it was slightly terrifying. “I have been infiltrating your life for months, babe. I’ve had a lot of marks over the years, but you might be my favorite. So mistrustful but always centering that suspicion on the wrong people. Poor Denver was just out for a buck. And you missed me and Han.”

A different sort of hurt flared. The kind born of betrayal.

Farah’s smile widened as she leaned closer to me. “Remember when I asked you if I could use your phone to look up The Mix Up menu? Mine was dead, poor me. You just handed that sucker over. Easy as one, two, three, getting that spyware on your device. I could read every text message and email.”

It was a violation—the knowledge that she’d been reading every communication coming in or out of my phone. But it was also so much worse. “You saw the message I sent Trace about where I’d be.”

“I did,” Farah said, grinning wider. “Had to steal an ATV from one of your neighbors. That was inconvenient. But I have to say, I didn’t mind the show you and Lincy Boy put on. Hot. It just would’ve been better if you’d ended up in a body bag.”

My stomach roiled, acid churning as rage swept through me. I braced to buck my hips when a new voice entered the chat.

“Stop playing with your food, Clarissa.”

That voice. It was so cold. So devoid of emotion. But it was also familiar. And had me hurtling back fourteen years. To that night. The man who had stayed in the shadows. The one who had ordered my mother’s death.

“Aw, but it’s more fun this way,” Farah pouted.

“Get her up. We need to move quickly. Lincoln won’t be on that call for long,” the man snapped.

As if Farah’s leash had been jerked, she moved in a flash, leaping off me and yanking me up by my hair. She pulled my back to her front and pressed the knife against my throat again. “I told you we should’ve gotten him out of the picture long ago.”

“I’m not going to kill my son, no matter how much of a disappointment he is. But I will kill you, Sheridan. It’s long overdue.”

Son.

Blood roared in my ears as a wave of dizziness swept through me.

Son.

The man took two steps forward into the glow the moon cast through the window. I had the voice. One I’d never forget as long as I lived. But now, I had a face. One I’d seen before.

Cold. Calculating. No kindness or gentleness.

And the last time I saw it was in the family photo Linc had shown me in my studio.

56

LINCOLN

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