Page 134 of House of Lies

That was the only thing that helped when Becks left me. The only way I could drown out the misery in my head.

My steps slow as I make eye contact with Lady Agnew. I stop in front of the painting, staring her down like we’re in a blinking contest.

Is this Myles’s way of punishing me for retiring? Because as awed as I am by this painting, her being here makes me feel like a fucking accomplice to kidnapping.

Fuck this.

I go back into the kitchen and fetch my Bentley’s keys from the decorative mother-of-pearl bowl on the counter. Then I call Jim and ask him to send up a bellhop to help me with some packages.

I’m not spending the night alone with Lady Agnew. And there’s only one place where she’ll be safe.

I’m going too fast, but I can’t seem to slow down. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m driving around with a priceless stolen artwork wedged in the back of my G-Wagon. It feels like Lady Agnew is breathing down my fucking neck, cussing me out every time I take a corner a little too sharply.

Halfway back to Glenmont Manor, though, I almost turn around again.

What the fuck am I doing?

The sale will go through in a few weeks. I’ll have to come back to Glenmont to collect the last of my things, anyway.

But that’s Future Me’s problem.

Right now, I need something to keep my mind occupied, and driving at a reckless eighty-miles-an-hour down a dirt road with a painting stolen from the Scottish National Gallery in the back of my G-Wagon seems like an excellent distraction.

I turn off into Glenmont’s driveway—a long, cobblestone path that winds its way from the wrought-iron gates all the way to the circular gravel drive in front of the manor.

But there are a few paths branching off. One leading to the disused stables, another to a scenic picnic spot much farther into the estate.

And the narrow dirt road that heads straight for the family crypt.

When Becks discovered it, she was adamant. “Just so you know, there’s no way you’re putting me in that crypt when I die.”

When I asked her exactly what I should do with her remains, she shrugged and, super nonchalant, replied, “Throw my ashes into the sea or something.”

The dark hulk of Glenmont blocks out the moon for a moment as I pass, then my path is illuminated again, but I don’t dare speed up on such a bumpy road with my precious cargo.

I’ll have to hire a moving van to fetch the last of my things from the manor. Including Lady Agnew, if I’ve found a new home for her by then.

I groan and shake my head.

Maybe I should just call Myles and tell him I don’t want the painting. I’m sure he could launder some of the mob’s money by selling it to a collector. The fact that I haven’t seen anything announced on the news about a theft from the National Gallery in Edinburgh means that he—or someone working for him—must have replaced it with a forgery.

Fuck, how I wish he’d just given me a replica instead.

Myles’s so fucking extra.

I hit a rut in the road, wincing as the truck shakes.

“Call Myles,” I bark.

There’s a moment’s delay, and then my console lights up as it makes the call. The phone rings for so long that I’m sure he won’t answer, but just as I’m about to hang up, he answers.

“If we had something, we’d have—” he begins, but I cut him off.

“Listen, I can’t keep Lady Agnew,” I tell him. “I’m dropping her off at the manor now, but I need you to get rid of her before the end of the month.”

“What’s happening end of the month?”

“I’ve sold Glenmont.”

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