Page 32 of Dirty Liars

The bitterness in his voice was palpable. Something more than a father’s disapproval of his son’s choices—there was fear beneath his contempt.

“Theo had a tattoo on the bottom of his foot,” I said, dropping the information casually, watching for his reaction. “A series of dots. Do you know what they might mean?”

Nicholas’s cigarette paused halfway to his lips, the only break in his composure. Behind him, I saw Cecilia’s vacant gaze snap into focus for just a moment, her eyes widening in unmistakable recognition.

“A tattoo?” Nicholas said haughtily, recovering quickly. “As far as I know Theo had no tattoos. But if he did I’m sure he was influenced into making the poor decision to put permanent marks on his body.”

Another lie. Nicholas knew exactly what that tattoo meant. His eyes betrayed him, a flicker of calculation that lasted only a fraction of a second.

“Did Theo talk to you about any specific incidents that caused him to increase his security?” Jack asked.

“No,” Nicholas said, but his cigarette ash trembled slightly. “I wish he would have. But I could tell he was worried. A father knows these things about his son, even when they don’t always see eye to eye.”

“If Theo was so worried why didn’t he bring security with him to The Mad King?” Jack asked, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp.

“He did,” Nicholas said, and I remembered the pattern of Chloe’s gunshot wounds matching the tattoo. “His driver used to be my head of security. Max Ortega is his name.”

“He drove them from Briarly to The Mad King?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Nicholas said, the smoke from his cigarette creating a haze between us.

“What time did Theo and Chloe leave the reception?”

“It was around eleven o’clock,” Nicholas said, and I noticed he checked his watch—a nervous tic.

Jack got to his feet and I followed suit, trying to ignore the open file folder that was lying at my feet. “We appreciate your time, Ambassador Vasilios,” he said.

“We would like our son’s body released to us so we can prepare for burial,” Nicholas said.

“I should be able to release him within the next forty-eight hours,” I told him. “My office will be in touch as soon as he’s been cleared for release.”

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider handing off the investigation?” Nicholas asked Jack. “It would be in your best interest.” The words carried the unmistakable weight of threat beneath their diplomatic delivery.

“I don’t think it would,” Jack said, measuring the man who stood across from him. “We’ll find out what happened to your son. I’m tenacious like that. The State Department is in the business of burying secrets. But I’ve learned in my career the only way for secrets to die is for them to lose their power by being exposed.”

“Well,” Nicholas said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “We know where we both stand.”

Jack nodded and we left the room. The security guard with the ponytail met us outside the library door and led us out of the house, his hand never straying far from his concealed weapon. Once we were back in the sunlight I was surprised to see the other guard leaning against Jack’s Tahoe, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile I wouldn’t exactly call friendly on his face.

“Thanks for watching the car for me,” Jack said, clicking the remote so the Tahoe unlocked. I was guessing security guard man wasn’t used to men like Jack because he looked surprised when Jack kept walking toward him and opened the door for me to get in the passenger side.

Jack didn’t intimidate. But I could see the calculation in his eyes—he’d noted the guard’s stance, the placement of his weapons, the way his partner had positioned himself behind us. Jack was taking stock, planning for contingencies.

I prided myself on being unflappable, but when that file folder had tumbled open, a surge of anxiety threatened to overwhelm me. For a moment, I’d fought the urge to run and not look back. It hadn’t just been intimidation that had gripped me—it had been the lingering shame of my past. That heavy burden I thought I’d buried had resurfaced with a vengeance, making me want to turn my back on it all.

I’ve been told that healing is a process. I guess I’m still healing.

I got into the Tahoe and was proud of myself for not flinching when the door shut behind me. The security guard still leaned against the vehicle but had turned so his eyes were always on Jack.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Jack said, and there was steel beneath his casual tone. He walked around the Tahoe and got into the driver’s seat. He started the car, and the man finally moved, but he didn’t stop staring at Jack, memorizing him.

I waited until we’d passed through the gates of the Briarly before I spoke. It had taken that long before my heart had stopped thudding in my chest.

“Well, that was terrifying,” I said. “What was that all about?”

“Just a little intimidation from the ambassador so we’ll hand the case over to another agency,” Jack said. “The question is why. Is it because he cares too much, or because he’s trying to have something buried forever? Did you notice Mrs. Vasilios’s reaction when we mentioned the tattoo?”

“I know one thing,” I said. “He was lying to us about Chloe. He knows exactly where she came from. You could see the fear in his eyes. And those security guards weren’t just for show—they’re killers.”

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