Page 86 of Preying Heart
The former kingpin of one of the largest trafficking cartels in North America.
I busted him, but he walked. He got me kicked out of the police. Sued me for excessive force, planting evidence, and threatened to traffic Lucy if I ever screwed up again.
I did.
When I took off with Remi on our shitmoon trip to Wyoming.
Big Dude is Horace Steele. The man who put the ogle in OgleNet—the most intrusive social media platform filled with snoops and blackmail fodder on the planet.
Big Dude is Claudia Greasley’s father, Horace Steele.
“I never lose.” My shout is full of alcoholic fumes, and even though I’m shit-faced drunk, I stagger to my feet and pack.
ChapterThirty-Two
Remi
“One moment.” The maid shuts the door in my face. I don’t know if she’s coming back, so I wait. I can’t ring the bell or knock again. That would be rude. I glance over my shoulder down the tree-lined street. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, although a car could be lurking. I don’t know how I’m keeping my nerves at bay, standing here so exposed, right at Gavin’s front door.
The trees are too close together—too big and too lush. Evergreen. The sky is dull, the color of old paper, with just enough moisture to squeeze out a drizzle. Damp but not cold, a typical autumn day, and yet I rub my hands over my arms, unable to stay warm.
What happens the next few minutes will set the course for the rest of my life or whether I even have one. I have to do the right thing, even if she has me arrested for harassing her—the same charge Gavin lobbed at Slade when he set him up. It was a plumbing job. A clogged sink, and somehow, Slade walked in on Claudia taking a bath. No crime in that, and yet the pampered heiress screamed and called the police. They didn’t believe Slade was there for a job, and it didn’t help when they found Claudia’s earrings in his pocket.
Still. I’ve never been here. Never been invited. Never supposed to exist outside of my role as Gavin’s poor little foster sister. The face of Operation Persephone—trotted out to fundraisers and photo ops.
The heavy oak door opens just wide enough for a thin person to enter, and the maid steps back. “Mrs. Greasley will see you in the library. Five minutes.”
“Thank you.” I follow the maid through the spacious entryway full of mirrored glass and gold edges. A life-sized marble statue of the maiden Persephone being abducted by a wild-haired Hades stands in the rotunda. I give it a wide berth without staring at it. It’s a replica of the Bernini statue I once posed in front of as part of a fundraiser in Rome. I walk by it with my posture erect and my head held high, my spike heels tapping on the marble floor like the hammering of coffin nails.
I must be confident and know exactly how I’ll use my five minutes.
I decide to go straight to the point.
Claudia is resplendent in a turquoise linen suit skirt. Bedecked with blazing pieces of jewelry, and well-coifed with her hair styled in a smooth bob. She sits on an opulent white leather chaise and stirs sugar into her tea.
“Please, sit. I’m not going to offer you a cup. What’s the meaning of this? Invading my home like this?” Her voice is sharp with a touch of sarcasm.
I take a seat on a brocaded wingback chair. “We’re acquaintances through Operation Persephone.”
“My father is a big donor. You’re the spokesperson.” She inclines her head. “And?”
“There’s no good way to say this, but your life is in danger.”
She sets the teaspoon on the dainty bone china saucer, tinkling it with a subtly shaking hand. “Oh?”
“You go for a jog every morning. Early. Your husband is planning an accident.”
She smirks, shaking her head slightly. “You’re trying to scare me. You think I’d give up and walk away so you can step into all of this?”
Her gaze covers the luxurious trappings of her lifestyle. The elegant paintings, the archaeological knickknacks, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the plush furniture.
“I only want you to save your life,” I reply woodenly. “I don’t want Gavin.”
“As if you have any claim. You’re not even his real sister.” She bites each word with an ugly twist of her lips, baring tiny pearly teeth.
“Exactly. But I’m warning you. Stay away from your morning routine.” I push myself out of the chair. “I’m leaving now.”
“Oh no. You don’t get to drop a bomb on me and leave.” She picks up her cell phone. “Shall I call the police and tell them you’re making threats?”
