Page 29 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria — Present

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Maria,” Lyle starts, but I cut him off.

“No. You are not going to that woman’s hotel.”

He exhales, already bracing for me. “I have to meet her to call her bluff.”

I freeze mid-slice, the knife hanging in the air above August’s toast, half a crust cut. Slowly, I look up at him, my brows rising. “You think meeting a woman who’s blackmailing you—alone—in her hotel room is a good idea?”

He hesitates. “…Well, no.”

“Good.” I slam the knife down.

“Fine,” he mutters, “I’ll tell her to meet me at the restaurant downstairs.”

I gape at him. “Oh, perfect. The romantic restaurant thirty feet below her bed.”

He spreads his hands. “It’s the only thing I can come up with.”

I purse my lips, my jaw tight. “Calling her bluff is the right idea, but your execution is horrible.”

He leans on the counter, arms crossed. “Then what else can I do?”

I wave the knife, pointing it at him like a general issuing orders. “I’ll meet her.”

His eyes flick to the blade, then back to me. “And do what exactly?”

I smile. “Relax. I’m not going to kill her.”

His brow shoots up.

“I won’t,” I insist, then lean in, lowering my voice. “But I’m guessing her little plan was to get you to pay her off without ever telling me. Seeing me instead? That’ll rattle her.”

“And how does that help?” he asks.

I set the knife down and cross my arms. “Because we’ve been on the defensive. It’s time we get on the offensive.”

He lowers his voice even more as footsteps creak on the stairs. “I think that’s a bad idea.”

“Well,” I murmur back, “it’s all we’ve got.”

Just then Taylor appears in the doorway, backpack half-zipped. “I need ten bucks for lab.”

I smile, already reaching for my wallet. “Sure.”

She pauses, her eyes flicking between us warily. “Is everything… okay?”

“Yes,” Lyle says quickly. “Just talking about the new house.”

“New house?” Remi pipes up, trailing right behind her. He drops his bag with a thud. “Well, wherever it is, can we stay close? I don’t wanna change schools.”

I smooth a hand over his hair, smiling indulgently. “You’ll make new friends.”

“I don’t want new friends,” he mutters, moving away from my hand. “I like my friends.”

Taylor smirks. “You like someone.”

Remi elbows her in the ribs. “Ow!”

I pounce. “And who is this fellow?”

“Fellow?” Remi squawks, scandalized.

Lyle shrugs, straight-faced. “Well, we don’t want to assume it’s a girl.”

Taylor bursts into laughter. “Please. I’ve used the computer after him. Trust me, he’s straight.”

Remi elbows her again, harder this time.

I slide plates in front of them before it can escalate. “That’s it. We’re getting parental controls.”

Lyle chuckles. “Doubt it’ll help. He’s better at computers than we are.”

“Then I’ll just throw the whole thing out the window,” I shoot back.

Taylor, unbothered, circles back to the topic. “Anyway. I don’t wanna move schools either.”

Before I can answer, Rain’s voice echoes from the staircase: “We’re moving schools?”

“No—” I start, but it’s too late.

“August!” she hollers. “They’re making us move schools!”

A beat later, August stomps down the stairs, my usually sweet seven-year-old now a storm cloud with no pants. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He stops at the bottom step, huffs, and adds one final, furious, “NO.”

The kitchen erupts, all four kids talking over each other in a tangle of complaints.

Lyle whistles sharply, the sound cutting through the noise. “Enough!” His voice drops into command mode. “Growing up, I moved twice a year. Your grandmother homeschooled me. And I never once complained.”

Rain crosses her arms. “Grandma said you ran into the forest.”

“What?” Lyle sputters. “I did not run into it—we happened to get lost.”

Taylor nudges Rain with a grin. “And they didn’t even have phones back then.”

Rain swivels back to us, eyes wide. “Wait. How old are you?”

August’s pout dissolves into delight. He bounces on his toes. “Did you have dinosaurs as pets?”

The table breaks into laughter—well, everyone except Lyle, whose ears are now bright red.

“Remind me to yell at my mother,” he mutters, snapping the last lunchbox shut with more force than necessary.

We finally sit down for breakfast, dodging requests that range from Do we get dinosaurs? to Can we have private bathrooms? to Will the new house have a pool?

We’ll be lucky, if we get something half as good as this.

This house is our home. Big enough for four kids, with a backyard. An office. And best of all, it’s right on the bus route.

Maura—our lifesaver, the woman who keeps the kids after school—lives just five minutes away, also on this route. Which means the kids don’t have to worry about switching buses.

My fork scrapes against the plate. I don’t realize how hard I’ve been gripping it until Lyle’s hand slides over mine, warm and steady. I glance at him, and his expression says it all: One thing at a time.

I force a smile, loosening my grip. One thing at a time.

And right now?

Right now, I have to deal with a pregnant bitch.

A pregnant bitch who booked herself a room at a swanky hotel right in the middle of downtown Austin. Room 201, according to the slip shoved in our mailbox. No name, no signature. Just the number, written with the kind of loopy confidence that said she thought Lyle would be terrified enough to fold.

Debra didn’t even hesitate when I called to say I’d be late. Apparently, we didn’t have any patients booked until noon, so she claimed the morning to “have my back.” Now she’s riding shotgun, kicking her feet up on the dash like this is a road trip.

“If you don’t come back in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the cops,” she says, dead serious but with that sparkle in her eye.

I just give her a thin smile.

“Come on,” she presses, “how exciting is it to play hooky and confront the mistress?”

The word snaps something inside me. “She’s not his mistress.”

Debra’s eyebrows shoot up, daring me to keep that same energy.

“Sorry,” I mutter fast, heat rising in my chest. My voice flattens. “I’m just—this is the part where I lose any small amount of dignity I have left.”

She studies me, softer now. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You love him, right?”

“Of course I do.” My grip on the wheel tightens. “That’s not what…” I exhale hard. “It just bugs me. All of it.”

“I’m guessing it would bug a lot of women,” she says dryly. “What does Lyle say?”

I look away, focusing on the skyline pulling closer. “I haven’t really told him yet. I mean, we fought. I stormed off. Then life shoved more serious things in our face and… it just got pushed.”

Debra tilts her head. “You were doing so good—telling him you wanted to end the whole arrangement. Why clam up now?”

I shrug. “He was worried about real things. Felt stupid to talk about feelings.”

Her voice gentles, but it’s steady. “Couples that talk about feelings and real stuff? Those are the ones that stick. Trust me. I’d know.”

I glance at her. “How’s everything at home?”

She leans her head against the window. “Lizzie’s dad is back.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

She nods, lips pressing thin. “Yeah. Has a girlfriend and all. Apparently, they want to be in her life now.”

“Is this the same one he cheated on you with?”

She laughs without humour. “God, no. Probably the tenth one after her. She won’t last either. They never do.”

I pull into the parking garage and put the car in park. “Hey. I’m here whenever you need to talk.”

Her hand covers mine where it rests on the gearshift, a rare moment of gratitude. “Thanks. Now let’s go in before you lose your nerve.”

“It’s weird,” I mutter once we step into the lobby, my tote strap sliding down my shoulder. “Walking into a hotel in broad daylight with no bags. Nothing to signal I belong here.”

“You don’t need a bag,” Debra says. “You need a face that says do not fuck with me. Which you have.”

“That doesn’t stop the little panic in my skull that someone’s going to look at us and think: trouble. ”

But no one does. The bell staff smiles blandly, the person behind the counter nods as we walk by. Everyone glides by with professional indifference. And somehow that’s worse—this quiet, practiced way people pretend not to see the violence that ruins lives.

Debra walks me toward the elevators. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open with a hush.

Debra winks. “If you choke her, do it quietly.”

“You remember what I said about dignity?” I hiss.

“Right, right.” She smirks. “We’ll call it a decorous homicide.”

I press the button before she can make any more suggestions.

The ride is short, but thankfully silent. My stomach still knots itself tighter with every passing second.

When the doors open, I step out into the corridor. The carpet swallows the sound of my boots, muting everything except the thud of my pulse in my ears.

Room 201 waits at the end of the hall, brass numbers gleaming under the sterile hotel lights.

I glance back at Debra. She’s leaning casually against the wall by the elevator like she’s just waiting on a friend, but her eyes meet mine. She makes a little hand gesture—fingers miming a phone.

I nod once, sliding mine from my bag. One press of the screen, and it starts recording. Insurance.

I slip it back into my pocket and step up to the door, raising my fist. My knuckles hover for a beat—one last chance to walk away—before I force them down.

The knock echoes louder than I expect.

Less than ten seconds later, the door swings open.

There she is. A very obviously pregnant chick in a bath robe. Not what I expected, she’s my age but in other ways the complete opposite.

I arch a brow. “Cece, I presume.”

She smiles, all sweetness. “Yes. And you are—”

“The wife,” I cut in smoothly. “The wife of the man you’re blackmailing. Can I come in?”

Her mouth falls open, shocked. She fumbles to tug her robe tighter and, after a moment, steps aside. I glance back toward the hallway where Debra lingers, then step inside.

Cece’s voice is shaky now. “What are you doing here?”