Page 97 of Dirty Little Secrets
Toni pouts, leaning toward me. She gently places her index finger between my brows. “Do not frown, bella. It will ruin your pretty face.” My spine shivers,and she chuckles, pulling away. “If you have more questions, then go to him. Like I said, only thirty miles.”
“I can’t just show up and?—”
“Of course you can,” Toni smirks, standing up. She dusts the hardened snow off her jacket and tilts her head. “You can do anything you want, bella.” She checks her watch, sighing. “I am afraid I must leave your enchanting company but,” her dark eyes electrify mine, “call me sometime.” She cups my chin, tilting my head back. “I am always looking for new…friends.” She drops her hand, chuckling under her breath. “Good luck, Emery Jones.”
Luck? Luck has never been on my side. But I can’t stop now, can I? Not when I’m this close. Not when the puzzle is almost complete. I just need one more piece. A piece Damon refused to part with. A piece that unwittingly will rewrite our ending.
If only he didn’t lie. If only he didn’t keep so many secrets.
If only, if only.
The Mercedes rumblesas I pull up to the gates of Stillwater, my heart pounding with trepidation. Unease tugs at me so desperately I’m tempted to turn around and drive away. But I can’t. I need answers. I need the truth. With shaky hands, I roll down my window and press the intercom button.
A voice crackles through the speaker, demanding to know my purpose for visiting.
“Hi, this is, uh…”Think quick, Detective Idiot."Emily Johnson," I respond, my voice firm. "I'm here to see Mr. Nicolau. Mikhail Nicolau. I’m with…” I need a cover. “I’m the new legal counsel for Cavanaugh Industries.”
There's an agonizingly long pause that makes my palms sweat, but then, the gates open. Oh, God. With a shaky breath, I drive through the gated community.
Stillwater is impressive. Manicured lawns. Extravagant mansions. Ostentatious displays of wealth. But I can feel it, smell it. Something rotten. I can taste it in the air.
When I arrive at the address Toni provided, my heart pounds in my ears, and I struggle climbing out of the car, my legs unsteady.
Breathe.
I straighten my posture, steeling myself as I press the doorbell. The chime echoes through the foyer, and I brace myself for impact. After a couple of charged seconds, the door opens, and a young man appears, his posture defensive, almost angry.
“Yes?” he asks, crossing his arms. “What do you want?”
I muster up the courage to put on a fantastic performance and offer him a Lux-worthy smile. “Hi, I’m Emily Johnson, the new counsel for Cavanaugh Industries. May I speak with Mr. Nicolau?”
The young man’s lips twist into a smug smirk as he leans against the door frame. “I am Mr. Nicolau. Speak to me.”
I feign a giggle. Lux taught me many transferable skills. “MikhailNicolau.”
The young man conceals a brief glimmer of contempt before yelling down the hall. “Tata! There’s someone here to see you from Cavanaugh Industries!” He turns back to me, grinning. “Maybe we can talk later, you and me, huh?” And he disappears.
I calm myself with a quiet breath, my nails digging into my palm as I wait for Mikhail to appear before me.
I close my eyes for a beat, but before I can soothe my nerves, a rough, eastern European accent grunts out, “Why are you here?” My head snaps down, and I frown as Mikhail glowers up at me from his wheelchair. “You said no contact.” He crosses his bare arms over his chest. “What do you want?”
My pulse quickens as I give him a once-over, studying his disheveled hair, his fitted T- shirt, and the various tattoos etched onto his skin.
My heart rattles as my gaze lands on a certain tattoo. A date carved into his forearm. A date I would never forget.
“That… That tattoo…” I stammer, my chest aching, dull pain spreading throughout my entire body. My vision blurs, my knees weak and failing as I breathe out my question. “What… Why… Why do you have that?”
“This?” he grunts, glancing down at the stark black ink. He releases a thick, choking laugh. “This is when I won the lottery, lawyer lady.” He whips his head at me, beady eyes narrowed. “You should know this date, shouldn’t you? It’s the day?—”
The day I died.
For the last time.
“Lady?”
It’s well past midnight when I get the call.
“Hello?”
