Page 90 of Master of Lies

Freya

Jed was late, goddammit. Late twice over.

I’d let the first one slide without panicking, figuring that Jed had been in the middle of some tense negotiation with Grifo. That he would of course have silenced his phone for that, to focus on what he was doing, and who could blame him.

That hypothesis was borne out by the trace on Jed’s phone. It was still at the location Grifo had sent them. Jed’s icon had not moved. For over an hour.

The second deadline slid by with no call. My fingernails started digging into my palms. My own messages to him were starting to pile up.

Hey

U r late

We talked about this

Then, a few minutes later,

r you talking to Grifo now? Dude, catch me up. For fucks sake.

The next appointment came and went. I texted, despairingly,

???

Jed please oh please

There was no point in writing after that. Not until he responded.

I knew what Jed would say. The smart, self-protective woman I was supposed to be would call Ethan, bleating for help and protection. She would huddle under her overbearing brother’s ironclad protection, and let Ethan and his team take over, and find out what had happened at Grifo’s forest hideaway.

That woman was not me. That woman would probably make a lot fewer enemies, and live a much longer, more peaceful and productive life, but fuck it.

Full speed ahead. It’s not like I had any choice.

I put on my coat, wondering if I should load up with my Badass Bitches bits and pieces. They all seemed too fussy, too femmy. I wish I’d accepted the gun when Jed offered it. It wasn’t stealthy, or clever, but damn, it was effective. But what I had told Jed was still true. I had no business hauling that thing around with me until I learned how to use it.

I took off in the Jeep, trying not to speed. My foot was incredibly heavy on the accelerator tonight, but the last thing I needed was to explain myself to a state trooper.

I made the trip to the location on my phone monitor in slightly under forty minutes. I cut my lights far from the house, bumping off the road into lumpy grass and coasting quietly down the slope toward the house, winding through the sparse trees.

There was a light on inside. Jed’s car was nowhere to be seen, but he might have hidden it, if he was still here. There were two other cars as well.

So quiet. No sound other than the rustling of the wind in the trees. I tiptoed closer, picking my way over the uneven terrain, using the limited light available from the windows. The door was slightly open, and as I crept up the stairs to the porch, I heard a sound. A wet, pathetic little sobbing sound. Like a small child whimpering.

I pushed the door open with my elbow, and sidled inside.

A man’s body was stretched out on the floor in a pool of blood. Not Jed. A woman was crumpled up on the ground next to him, sobbing.

I walked inside. She didn’t hear me. Didn’t move. “Rachelle,” I said.

Rachelle shrieked, and scrambled to her feet with her hands up, stumbling and swaying. Her face was distorted, mouth stretched wide with helpless sobbing, blood smeared on her hands “Y-y-y-you!” she gasped out. “You got him killed! We would’ve been fine if you hadn’t come, messing things up!”

Well, that was a classic. It was easier to blame us for everything. I ignored her as I circled the room, looking for signs of Jed. “What do you know, Rachelle? What happened here? Where is Jed?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care! I just found Joe. He killed my Joe!”

Then I heard it. That almost inaudible buzz of a phone, vibrating against something hard. It was time for Jed to call me, and the timer app was reminding him.

It took a few minutes of searching, and Rachelle was babbling hysterically the entire time, but I couldn’t focus on what she said. Behind the couch, the sound was slightly more audible, but I still saw nothing.

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