Page 22 of Truth & Lies

“Aly?” His voice is full of concern as he turns around to follow my line of sight and see what—or morewho—has rendered me speechless.

I finally manage to snap my mouth shut but still can’t tear my gaze from the man who’d sweet-talked me, wined and dined me, kissed and groped me, then finger-fucked me before walking out. Seeing him in the flesh brings its all back—the lies, the deceit, everything.

“That’s Barrett,” I say through clenched teeth.

“What?” Aiden asks incredulously as his eyes switch between the two of us.

“That man there”—I point straight at Barrett—"thatis Barrett fucking Matthews. The man Gavin paid to fuck with me.”

“That’s Mark Lucas,” Aiden replies quizzically, his brows furrowed. “He was on my flight.”

“No, he’s not,” I argue as I move to the side to get a better look at Barrett as he stalks toward me.

“Alyssa,” Barrett says gently, pissing me off even more.

“You asshole,” Aiden growls and quick as a flash, he has Barrett backed into a wall with his forearm against his neck. Barrett’s arms grip Aiden’s shoulders as he struggles to push him off.

"Lawrence, you don't wanna go there." Barrett's voice is so low and menacing that it sends a shiver up my spine.

“You might think that,” Aiden spits out, “but you’d be fucking wrong.”

When Barrett's face goes red and Aiden not showing any sign of letting him go, I rush toward them, squeezing my way in between and pushing Aiden back.

Airport security arrive, and two men take Aiden in one direction and Barrett in the other, leaving me staring in the middle, my head switching between Aiden, who’s pulled out his badge and appears to have regained his composure, and Barrett, who looks eerily calm.

He turns and braces his hands on the wall, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. Against my better judgment, I have the urge to go to him and make sure he’s okay. But then there’s Aiden, the man who just wants to protect me and who didn’t hesitate to try and do exactly that.

Knowing my first instinct is not smart or even logical, I bottle up my anger and take one last look at Barrett. I have absolutely no idea who he is but when I catch his stare, my breath catches because I see the conflict written all over his face as clear as day; the war I’d seen waging in his eyes in Vegas stronger than ever.

Gone is the cocky smile and sexy smirk. Instead, his face is blank and unreadable, which isnotthe man I knew in Vegas. Then again… did I know him at all anyway?

I’m at a loss what to do or even say to him because I’m still stuck processing everything that has happened and wondering why the hell my life has gone to hell in a handbasket.

"Aly, let's go," Aiden barks out from behind me. His tone is one I'd usually call someone out for, but right now, with the heightened emotions and intense face down I just witness, I let it slide. I take one last look at Barrett before turning around, taking Aiden's outstretched hand then walking away.

When we get to my car, Aiden holds out his hand for the keys and when I give them to him, he bleeps the locks. Walking to the passenger side, he opens the door, holding it open for me while I wordlessly take my seat. And without speaking, he closes me in, puts his luggage in the trunk, then slides into the driver’s side. But instead of starting the car like I expect, he grips the steering wheel and stares out the windshield.

“How did it feel?” he asks, his voice tight and terse.

“What do you mean?” I spin my body toward him, reaching out to place my hand on his forearm.

“Seeing him again . . .” His tone is strained, his body firm to touch. I realize he’s trying to rein in his anger—at what or who, I’m not quite sure yet.

“So, you believe me?”

“Oh, I fucking believe you,” he hisses. “What pisses me off more is that he has the balls to come back to Seattle.”

I frown, not quite following. “Why? He told me he lives here.”

Aiden's brows lift. "That man sat next to me on the plane and gave me this whole bullshit story about how he's an FBI agent. Apparently, his case has been put on hold, and he's come home to have some downtimeand track down a woman he’d met that he wants to reconnect with.” He spits out the words as if they’ve left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“What are you asking me, Aiden?”

He finally turns to look at me, his eyes blazing. “That man he told me—to my face—that he’s back here to find you.”

“You don’t know he meant me,” I reply instantly. Because I doubt Barrett has given me a single thought since leaving my hotel room. I was a mark, a means to an end. I was a paycheck, plain and simple.

He lifts his arm to rest on the seat next to my head before leaning in to touch his forehead to mine. Taking a deep breath in, he slowly releases it, clearing his eyes so all that’s left is warmth when he shifts back.

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