Page 35 of Protected By the Sinner
She tries to stay strong, but I notice a slight tremble in her lips. “I’m not a traitor.” She looks me in the eye, and I stare back. On that point, she might be telling the truth—but it doesn’t make me trust her.
Betrayal is a broad concept. To betray someone, you first need to owe them your loyalty. When she came to me, Amber didn’t know me. She owed me nothing.
Besides, she never said she didn’t lie, which I know she did. Even if I haven’t pieced the whole puzzle together yet, the more I get to know her, the clearer it becomes: Amber didn’t go toHazardjust to have fun.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache is starting to build.
There’s a voice screaming in my head to send her away, that I don’t need this kind of risk, but I ignore it and finally make my decision.
“Leave the suitcases. Just take the essentials. You won’t need those clothes.”
I can see the barely concealed relief on her face when she realizes I’m letting her stay.
She may think she’s good at playing the game, but Amber’s the worst liar I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t survive a single round of poker. Now I see it clearly: what made me buy her act at the club was pure lust.
Not that she isn’t naturally sexy and hot as hell. A born seductress.
But a femme fatale? An experienced one? I’d bet everything I own that I was her first real target.
“Why not?” she asks, and it takes me a second to catch up with the practical side of things.
“I’ve already got a stylist waiting for you in California. We’re going to an event in L.A. tomorrow night.”
Chapter 15
On the Plane
One Hour Later
When we boarded my private jet, the flight attendant, at my request, gave Amber a tour of the plane. As soon as the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, Amber asked if she could lie down in one of the bedrooms.
I couldn’t get any work done, which is what I usually do during flights. My mind never stops.
“What are you thinking about?” Roman asks, sitting across from me.
“About the mystery surrounding her.”
“She’s not that mysterious,” he says. “She uses fake identities. Keeps her first name, which is weird for someone trying to hide, but she’s changed her last name multiple times.”
“Do we know why she’s hiding?”
“Not yet.”
“Has she committed any crimes under any of those names?”
“No. I checked all of them, and they’re squeaky clean. But it’s hard to gather info in a short amount of time on someone constantly on the move.”
What he says matches what Amber told me: that she never stayed in one place for long.
“But I’m working on it, and I believe I’ll have a full report on her soon.” He pauses, and I can almost guess what he’s thinking. We’ve known each other for years.
“Speak,” I order.
“Just because she doesn’t have a record, at least not that we know of, doesn’t mean Miss Martin is an angel. I don’t trust her or believe she went toHazardby accident. Sure, she might’ve just been a woman trying to catch your eye, but she might’ve been sent by someone too.”
“By whom?” I ask the same question that’s been haunting me since I met her. “I never said I trust her. I said I’ll keep her close until I figure out who she really is.”
That’s a damn lie. I could keep tabs on Amber even if she were on another continent, but I don’t want to dig too deep into my own reasons right now.
