Page 92 of Ground Truth

Brand and Genevieve were standing close together near his sofa. She held one palm to her cheek, eyes blazing. His arm was raised, prepared to strike her again.

Genevieve’s back was to the doorway. Brand would have seen Flint enter the room if he weren’t so furiously engaged with his mistress.

“When you have a minute,” Flint pointed the pistol.

If they heard him, they didn’t act like it.

A single shot from the Glock could have entered Genevieve’s back and traveled all the way through to embed itself in Brand’s torso.

Flint considered the idea briefly.

But he didn’t want to kill her.

Not yet anyway.

He moved slightly to improve his shooting angle. He elbowed a large ceramic table lamp and sent it crashing to the marble floor.

The noise produced the desired reaction.

Genevieve turned abruptly.

Brand’s line of sight was wide open.

He saw Flint standing six feet away with the business end of the Glock pointed directly at him.

Brand gave Genevieve a hard push and she took the hint. She stepped aside, out of the line of fire.

Brand stood facing Flint’s weapon.

“Stay put,” Flint said harshly. “You make a better target there.”

Genevieve replied, “This is one of the men I told you about. John Campbell. He was here earlier with his brother, James. They say you knew his missing sister, Greta Campbell.”

Brand’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a ridiculous lie.”

“Why don’t you tell her how you know I lied, Phillip,” Flint replied.

Genevieve gasped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He told you he didn’t know Greta Campbell, didn’t he?” Flint asked.

Genevieve nodded. Brand’s nostrils flared as he set his lips into a hard line.

Flint said, “Did he say that he didn’t kill Greta, too?”

Genevieve gasped again. “Stephen hasn’t killed anyone. That’s preposterous.”

“Shut up.” Brand doubled his fist and punched her in the face.

Shock stopped her breathing momentarily before she screamed loudly enough to halt traffic. Her hands flew to her nose, which was bleeding like a running faucet. Blood covered her chin and fell to mingle with the pattern of her floral dress.

She lost consciousness and crumpled onto the sofa.

“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Brand demanded, feet apart, both hands clenched at his sides, chin jutting forward.

“Let’s talk about you, Phillip. Your name is Phillip Reed. You were married to Ella Belle Reed until you had her killed because you’d sold her organs to wealthy buyers,” Flint said. “Was she your first, Phillip? Or had you killed to provide donor organs before?”

“You’re insane,” Brand replied. “My security team is on the way. Get out of here before they arrive. They might let you live if you get off the island before they find you.”

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