Page 37 of The Agent
The next message beeped in.
* * *
Staff couldn’t ID Grier from pic. Barista remembers guy in baseball cap, sunglasses, looked shady, but she didn’t see his face.
A final text popped up.
* * *
Give me a couple of hours before you bring her home. Wiring got screwed up. Two monitors are down. Gotta fix them.
He put away the cell, experiencing only a fleeting spark of disappointment. He’d known Grier’s message would be a dead end. The man was too smart to send an email from his personal account, or to register for a new one under his real name.
Caleb glanced at Marley. She was amused by something her brother had said, her blond hair bouncing over her slender shoulders as her body vibrated with laughter. She looked unbelievably beautiful in her old denim shorts and thin red tank top. Her face was shining, her plump lips curved with delight as another burst of laughter rolled out of her chest.
He suddenly pictured how she’d look when she found out the truth about who he was. The shine in her eyes would fade to a dull matte. Those lips would tighten with fury. Her joy would fizzle like a candle in the rain.
Caleb bent his head and pretended to text something on his phone, his blood pressure rising. He’d screwed up, given in to temptation and now he had to live with the knowledge that he’d deceived a woman he was really starting to care about.
Marley would never forgive him for lying to her.
He was also pretty certain that he’d never be able to forgive himself.
* * *
GODDAMN ADULTEROUSBITCH.
Patrick could barely contain the streaks of fury shooting through his body like hot bolts of lightning. He’d been standing by the window for the past hour, still stunned by what he’d seen. The cop, strolling out of Marley’s house at ten o’clock in the morning. And then the two of them getting into the cop’s shiny Range Rover an hour later, going off to who knew where.
Patrick had watched Mr. DEA arrive on Marley’s porch the evening before, and all night he’d paced the bedroom, his anger building, growing, until his gut was knotted with wrath.
That whore.
She’d slept with the cop. At the start of the evening, Patrick had tried making excuses for her. She was just being nice. A friendly neighbor. But he was all out of excuses.
Marley had slept with another man.
HisMarley had let another man touch her.
Patrick drew his arm back and sent it smashing into the wall.
A frightened gasp sounded from the bed, where Lydia White lay in fear.
He ignored her, didn’t even feel the pain in his hand. Nor did he pay much attention to the neat hole he’d just punched in Lydia’s drywall. The acidic taste of betrayal burned in his mouth, making him want to unleash another upper cut at something else. Mainly the jerk who’d just had sex with his girlfriend.
Releasing a strangled shout, Patrick edged toward the canopy bed and sank down on the ugly flowered bedspread. His heart thudded, each sharp beat vibrating with rage and desperation.
“How could she do this to me?” he demanded, staring at Lydia. “Everything I’ve done the past few months was for her. Do you think I like hiding out in this shit hole, staring at your wrinkled old face? I could have left the country months ago!”
But he hadn’t. He’d been getting cash together, calling his contacts in South America to help him disappear, arranging for new identities for him and Marley.
And instead of being patient, instead of trusting that he would take care of her, she’d gone out and slept with the first guy to come knocking at her door. Ungrateful little bitch.
Patrick dropped his head in his hands. Rubbed his aching temples.
“I can’t let her get away with this,” he mumbled.
Lydia let out a muffled yelp, beginning to struggle against the duct tape binding her hands and legs.
