Page 202 of The Counterfeit Lover

"I just wanted you tobelieveyou did," Michele shrugs. "Despite what you may think of me, I don't go around slaughtering innocents. And if there is one innocent in this whole debacle, it's her," he motions to Lucero.

Living and in the flesh.

"That syringe you administered only stopped her heart for a few moments," Michele casually says, revealing the entire debacle at the warehouse as nothing more than a psychological game. He never intended to kill either her, or Noelle, did he?

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, unable to comprehend his angle. All his actions have been contradictory. He either wants to kill me, or he doesn't. He then tries to do it, but he never does. Just what the hell is his deal?

"Because, dear brother, I still care about you. And because of that I want you to know the truth," he shrugs.

"The truth?" What the hell is Michele about? My head might still be pounding, but I doubt this nonsense I'm hearing is a product of my head injury.

I narrow my eyes at him. If he's saying hecaresabout me then something is definitely wrong. Yet if all it takes to find out Ortega's location and what he knows about Noelle's disappearance, then I'm willing to hear him out.

"Spill, what truth?" I demand, rather impatiently, Noelle still foremost in my mind.

"The truth about the monster you're living with," he smirks. "Lucero here will tell you everything that happened at Sergio'shacienda.I think it's time you finally found out why your dear wife was calledla diabla," his tone drips with satisfaction.

Lucero starts speaking.

And I listen.

To my utter surprise, thislittle storychanges everything.

TWENTY-NINE

NOELLE

LeavingRaf alone at the hospital might not be the most ideal situation, but it could very well turn into the opportunity I was waiting for.

As instructed, the guards take me home after which they commence their rounds. From what I'd eavesdropped, Raf had told them to cover the entire area of our apartment building, with some guards stationed even in front of our door.

It's a small grace that he didn't allow them to patrol the inside of the apartment, too. But I know my husband and he would never leave me alone in a room with strange men. He'd never risk that.

Which brings me back to my current dilemma.

I'm stuck in the house.

Earlier, when I'd tried to go out, the guards had reiterated that Mr. Guerra had ordered that I was not to leave the premises. Put on the spot, I'd simply pretended it was an absurdity, that I would never leave the house while it was dangerous to do so. Instead, I'd offered them a glass of water and chatted them up a little—enough to find out the formation of the security team and their patrol times.

When the clock chimes at the designated time, I get ready to put my plan in motion.

The idea is rather simple.

I'll go to my brother's home, sneak into his office and hopefully manage to break into his computer. If there's anyone out there who has information on Ortega—and a potential location—it's my brother. That sly bastard has information on absolutely everyone, even though he'd never share it unless it benefits him.

The thought of my brother is enough to sour my mood, but I know I can't afford to be distracted in a time like this.

Putting on a pair of black tights and a tight black shirt, I add a snug exercise belt around my waist in which I deposit my phone, a foldable cap and some cash—I need to keep everything electronic-less so I won't leave a trail behind me. Secrecy is the defining trait of this excursion.

Raf cannot find out—much less anyone else who might tell him.

And so I need to take a more unconventional approach.

I wince just thinking about it.

Alas, what don't we do for love?

Raf is the one person for whom I would venture even in Tartarus if need be. He is, simply put, my weakness—theonlyone.

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