Page 7 of Cruel Lies

Nowhe set his paper down with a foldedsnapof irritation and glared in my direction. "Are you cashing in?"

I tossed the dossier of our latest job at him, and he caught it in midair. Skimming the contents of the folder, his eyes narrowed. "This isn’t your usual job. What do you need to know?"

I shrugged, leaning back along the cushions of the sofa. "Everything."

THREE

ANGEL

How I pulledthe short straw to stalk this chick in the daytime and watch her comings and goings, I’d never know.

Well, okay, so Ididknow.

Once you covered up my insanely stunning looks, I was the only one of us who could pass for normal when pressured. Ro was too overbearing, and Nash—well, there were many things wrong with him, but that was beside the point.

With my white-blonde hair tucked safely into an old, weathered ballcap, a hoodie thrown around my shoulders, and faded jeans encasing my legs, I looked like just another citizen of Port Wylde, out for a stroll.

I could have brought the Torino out and had her look it over, pretending to be a client. I could have gone about this a number of ways. But I didn’t like to be seen. My appearance might not be memorable right now, but my violet eyes, a rare genetic quirk of my mother’s lineage, were definitely something you didn’t forget.

I could not risk getting too close.

The cold wind of early spring bit into my skin, cutting through the layers of clothes like they were nothing. I shivered against the chill and wrapped my arms tighter around my chest, hoping it would let up soon. Stalking a target in the rain was one of the worst things to do from the outside of a car. It was too late for regret now, though. I was here, and she was at work, and the goal was to find out the easiest time to approach her and form a plan of action.

In my ear, the fucking headphone crackled, and then Ro’s telltale grumble arrived, right on time.

"Status?"

I swiped a fine mist of fog from the front of my sunglasses and peered in the direction of the machine shop again. "She’s been bent over the hood of this fucking Ford for two hours now. Either she’s living a life of constant dehydration, or she’s Superwoman. I’d have gone for a piss by now."

Ro was not amused. "How about intel we can use,you prick?"

I waved my hand and rolled my eyes, knowing he was watching me from somewhere. "Yeah, yeah, I was getting there. Lighten up, asshole." My eyes scanned the office of her workplace, taking note of each individual in there, picking out the workers from the customers, cataloging every piece of intel for later. "Five customers today, three bays, one car in each. Looks like she’s working with two other mechanics today and one secretary. One of the guys looks like he might be trouble, but the other two are scraggly waifs. Wonder if they get enough to eat at home?"

"So taking her at work, maybe after a shift, would be an option."

I nodded to myself. "It’s one option. We would have to guarantee she was the last to leave, though. The less bodies around, the better." I perked up as one of the thinner boys approached her bay, obviously hunting for a tool. He stared at her for a long moment before tapping on her shoulder, the pervert. Men were all alike. Tits, ass, and single-minded thoughts about sex. We were really a deplorable species.

I decided to stroll across the street and see if I could pick up any of the banter in the shop without being spotted. Luckily, there was a group of ruffians standing around the corner store door, passing around what could only be a meth pipe as they laughed over a shitty joke and catcalled women who walked in or out alone.

Fucking scum. What did I say? This city was filled with them. It was the reason our business was always booming. A town filled with scum usually invited other scum, so there was never a shortage of people needing to be taken out for justifiable reasons.

The stench of their illicit drugs made my nose itch. I wasn’t sure how meth worked, but if that was what they were smoking, at least I couldn’t get a second-hand high from it. The only other option was crack, and they didn’t seem like your typical crackhead.

My mother had been a needle girl, personally. It was a miracle I wasn’t fucked up coming right out of her womb.

She overdosed to get away from her husband when I was just six. Or maybe she was intentionally overdosed. Hard to tell. Wouldn’t be the first time the man I called Father had killed someone to get what he wanted. And he hadn’t wanted a strung-out stripper as a wife, after having a kid ruined her body.His words exactly at her fucking graveside.

What a family we made.

I tilted my head and closed my eyes, pretending to nod off as I focused on the sounds coming from next door.

Whirring from a power tool. A smoker’s cough, likely from the older gent with the oversized uniform jumper. The steady clang and ping of metal on metal, tools being utilized, parts being removed. Occasionally, the fiery fizzle of a welding machine made me glad I’d chosen to listen instead of watch.

And then, the sound of her voice mingled with that of her lecherous coworker.

Bingo.

"So, ah, Hannah, you doing anything after work tonight?" He took a breath when she didn’t respond, and his following words came out in a whoosh. "Because the guys and I were all gonna go to the bar for some drinks after work to celebrate Ronnie’s coming retirement?—"

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