Page 3 of Artifice

She feared if she climbed fully inside, she’d never get out.

Instead, she stretched her arm toward the red bag.

Her fingertips grazed the smooth canvas.

But she couldn’t quite snag it. She would have to commit fully—to lean into the storm with nothing but the strength of one hand keeping her from joining the churning Atlantic below.

Drawing in a deep breath, Olive tightened her grip on a protruding rock with her left hand and extended her body outward.

The world narrowed to just her straining fingers and that glinting canvas bag. Everything else—the storm, the sea, the danger—faded to background noise.

Her shoulder protested as she reached farther than seemed possible.

Her fingertips touched the edge of the bag. She nudged it, nearly pushing it from the ledge. She held her breath, praying it didn’t fall into the roiling sea.

Finally, her fingers wrapped around the strap of the bag.

As she pulled it toward her, a massive wave crashed against the cliff base. Water sprayed so high she felt it mingle with the rain on her face.

But she had it. The phone.

The evidence she needed.

The reason she’d put herself in this situation.

She prayed it wasn’t broken. That Tevin could get the information they needed from it.

She secured her position on the cliff and opened the bag just to make sure.

Her heart skipped a beat. The phone was inside!

She shoved the device into her back pocket, allowing herself a moment of triumph.

But her troubles weren’t over.

Because now she needed to get back to safety.

As she glanced up, she saw a shadow standing at the top.

Without a doubt, she knew the person there wasn’t a friend but a foe.

CHAPTER 3

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

Olive gripped the steering wheel of her rental car as she stared at the Victorian mansion in front of her.

The building was located on a clifftop in Maine, and the Atlantic Ocean raged below. A white, weathered lighthouse rose in the distance.

The massive, wrought-iron gates at the front of the property gave it more the look of a haunted house than a home for troubled teens. The house’s asymmetrical design, towering turrets, and shadowed windows spoke of untold secrets. Tall trees that had probably been around for hundreds of years stood guard on the edges of the yard.

If only they could speak of the things they’d witnessed.

An old, rusted bike leaning against one of the stone columns did nothing to make the place look more welcoming, especially with its flat tire and bent rim.

Making matters worse was the fact that the day was rainy and overcast.

But Olive had come here with a job to do, and that was exactly what she planned on doing.