Page 15 of The Truths that Deceive

The tattoo’s a line drawing except two states are colored red.

It takes me a moment for my geography to kick in, and when it does… I frown. “Are you from both North and South Dakota?”

“No.”

That’s it. No. Nothing else.

“Then—”

“Go take a shower and don’t think you can get out. There’s a bedroom to the left you can use.” He hands me the drink, sipping his at the same time. “I’m going to my room to do the same. I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”

I nod but I don’t move. “And if I run?”

“You can’t.”

With that, he leaves.

And I’m left gaping at so much more than my fugitive predicament.

After my shower,I wander around. I try to jimmy the door and the windows, but the door’s got both a thumbprint keypad and an old-fashioned lock. Damn windows are locked, too. There’s even a keypad next to each of them.

Next, I look for possible weapons. I’m in the study that’s both clean and unlived in—the laptop’s unfortunately dead—when his sigh makes me drop the letter opener I’m considering as a possible weapon onto the desk and whirl around.

He leans against the door and I’m in a T-shirt and jeans that are way too big. Women’s jeans, belonging to someone taller and way shapelier than me.

“By all means, try to pry open the drawers, but if you damage the desk, you’re going to pay for it. And I’ll warn you now, it’s very expensive.”

He’s in a charcoal suit, gold and green tie, and I nearly swoon, he’s so fucking divine.

“There’s nothing in the desk anyway. I don’t live here, and I haven’t used this place in a couple of years. Others do every now and again, but…” He shrugs. “There’s not a thing here that’s going to help you. Here.”

He tosses me a passport and my heart thumps. With shaking fingers, I open it.

“Juniper Hunt.”

“Your middle name, my last.”

“So what do you know?” I say, snapping the passport shut. “He has a name.”

“Smith Hunt.” His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket. He sends some texts, then he looks at me like he wasn’t knuckle-deep in my pussy barely an hour ago.

Shit, I don’t want to be thinking about that. About what it says about him or me. I clench the letter opener and stomp toward him, wave it at him, and then stomp past. I need another drink.

More importantly, I need to get out of here.

My phone’s on silent and it’s down at the bottom of my computer backpack.

I finish pouring my drink when he comes up and takes it from me, having a sip, and then he hands it back. “Please don’t make me handcuff you. I will.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Meeting. Getting you out’s going to be slightly more difficult than I thought.”

I toss my hair and my asymmetrical cut falls over one eye, so I have to blow it back from my face. “Leave me here.”

“Not on your life. You’re worth money, Calista Juniper Price. Where’d you get Hendrix from?” His mouth curls up into a smirk and I want to smack it off. “Henry Xavier, your twin.”

Panic swoops in, clutching me by the throat. “Leave my brother alone.”

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