Page 21 of Wicked Lies

She craned her neck in search of Nick’s somber partner when a firm hand curled around her bicep. Cheryl’s first instinct to break free was derailed by the strength of the person fisting her arm, pulling her to the edge of the room.

“Hello, Cheryl.” Frank’s harsh whisper thundered in her ear. Her breathing slowed, but her heart hammered faster. “You looked shocked to see me.”

Shocked, stunned, and paralyzed with fear—yeah, that better explained it.

He twisted her to face him, keeping a firm hold on her upper arm. “Nothing surprising about the owner keeping an eye on things.”

“But I thought—”

“Nick and Samson were the owners?” He finished her exact thought. “Their names are on the lease, but it’s my money that runs the place.”

Nick and Samson worked for Frank Barnett? That was disturbing on so many levels.

He leaned in. “Interesting how you landed here.”

Cheryl’s mind ran at a breakneck speed, but she stayed silent, willing him to continue.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you did.” She shuddered as his hot breath stung her ear. “How you lured poor Jimmy into the alley”—Frank feigned a sorrowful expression—“and started a fight with him.”

“You know—”

“Yelling at him, taunting him, and then finally stabbing him in a fit of rage.” Frank’s evil smile chilled her insides. “By the time I came along, you’d already slit his throat.”

The strobe lights illuminated Frank’s face with pinpricks of color.

“You know it didn’t happen that way.” Cheryl’s voice rose, but no one working around her noticed. “I was defending myself.”

“It’s just a matter of semantics.” His smile turned into a sneer. “I wore gloves, so the only prints on that knife are yours, and I was very careful to have my associates bag and store the weapon as evidence.”

By “associates,” did he mean Nick or Samson, or both of them?

“Evidence is very important to lawyers and cops.”

Cops or anything related to the system that had neglected her as a child sent a shiver down her spine. A thug like Frank Barnett would have a precinct filled with crooked cops and lawyers on his payroll who would eagerly do whatever he wanted.

“But you have nothing to worry about”—Frank squeezed her arm tighter, pulling her flush against his side—“as long as the knife and Jimmy’s body don’t reappear.”

People continued stocking the bars and wiping down tables, completely unaware of her bizarre situation.

He loosened his grip, and she yanked her arm away, twisting out of his grasp. “What do you want?”

Street sense burst through her panic. A guy like Frank Barnett always had an angle, and pinning Jimmy’s murder on her was only the beginning.

“Nothing.” He grinned with the slyness of a rattlesnake. “Yet.”

Samson came up alongside them. “I’ve been looking for you.” His ice blue eyes focused on Cheryl, then slid to Frank.

Frank’s gaze burned into her. “We were just getting to know each other.” His flawless appearance and polished voice belied his twisted mind

and cold dead eyes.

Samson frowned. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course.” Frank spread his arms wide. “I think our new employee is going to be an asset to the club.”

Cheryl sidestepped away from both of them.

Frank and Samson exchanged a quick glance she didn’t understand, and Frank’s grin widened. “Nice meeting you.”

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