Page 122 of Beautiful Revenge

I slide my phone into my back pocket and lose the only distraction I had. My mind returns to Devon, his ex-friend who is secretly alive, and the revenge that he promised would be so beautiful once all is said and done.

I want the man who makes me feel safe back in one piece. That moment can’t come soon enough.

Devon

Hook, line, and sinker.

At least it looks like that’s the case.

I wonder when Hugh lost his instincts. Since he faked his own death? Maybe working for evil instead of good has gone to his head. He thinks he’s untouchable and one step ahead of everyone.

What he didn’t think about is the fact I’m not beholden to standards, oaths, or laws any longer.

“He’s on his way up,” Dean says through the earpiece he handed me when we met this morning to go over the plan. “He’s taking the stairs. Jeans, plaid shirt, and a brown ballcap. He looks like he’s trying to fit into a Hallmark movie. Little does he know, Winslet is the farthest thing from that.”

The shades are already drawn, and the bed is a mess. I cracked the door to the bathroom and left the light on, but the room is dark and shadowed.

Like my soul.

Or it was before Harlow busted into my life like a wrecking ball.

“I’m recording this,” Dean goes on. “Whatever you do, don’t turn off your comm.”

I adjust the mic that fits in the buttonhole of my shirt. “Don’t worry. I want every moment of this recorded for prosperity, a judge, and jury.”

“Look,” Dean goes on. “For what it’s worth, I know this won’t change anything for you, but maybe it will give you some closure.”

“A police chief and a therapist,” I deadpan in a low voice.

“Fuck,” he bites. “Give me a break. I’m trying to be a glass is half-full kind of guy for a change.”

“No offense, but it doesn’t suit you,” I say. “Is he close?”

Dean pauses for a quick beat. “My guy says he’s closing in on the third floor. He’s slow. Maybe he’s gotten soft in his fake-dead years.”

“You can cut the chatter anytime and let me focus,” I whisper.

“Good luck.”

Luck.

Is that what this has come down to? Finding Hugh Bancroft through Harlow’s planned murder is not what I’d call luck in any form. The fact my path crossed with his is nothing short of fate.

I was meant to be here at this moment.

The doorhandle turns.

I press myself to the wall out of sight. When he pushes it open, he’s silent as he slides into the room. With his back to me, his gaze shifts from the unmade bed to the cracked door to the bathroom.

Maybe he hasn’t lost his touch. He moves across the room without a sound and peeks into the bathroom.

That’s when I block the doorway.

Hugh hears my footsteps and spins faster than a strike of lightning.

And for the first time in years we’re reunited.

In the flesh.