Page 3 of These White Lies

I shove it in my mouth to muffle my scream.

My chest heaves as I meet bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

This is really bad. Really,reallybad.

Someone murdered him. Pinned that note…

What do they want back? Why leave him here? What else have they done to implicate me?

Why?My brain wails.

I don’t have enemies, and I haven’t had any real contact with Keith since we signed the final divorce papers four years ago.

No time for this, my logical voice hisses.

Think, Elizabeth. Think like a lawyer.

Dropping the towel on the floor, I walk on unsteady legs back into the lower level of my house. Now that the initial shock is wearing off, I can’t bear to look at the still figure.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“He’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“My husband. I came home. He’s been shot.”

A new level of alertness comes through the phone. “Is he breathing?”

“No.” I swallow past the bile in my throat, and block the image of his mottled, pale face from my mind. “He’s been dead a while.”

I answer all the questions she asks. “Yes, I’m alone… Yes… a gun in my purse… on the kitchen counter... No, I can’t stay on the line. I’ll wait outside.”

Ending the call silences her objections. Reality is rushing through my brain like a sound wave, and years of legal knowledge are directing my next actions.

“Luke,” I say when the man answers the phone. “This is Elizabeth Gowan. I need you to come to my house.”

“Elizabeth?” He sounds understandably confused. We aren’t the kind of friends who call each other, but I represent his Hollywood actor wife, so he should have my number saved on his phone.

“I need to retain your services.”

Luke’s voice is suddenly deadly serious. “Without any detail, can you give me the nature of what the problem might be?”

A laugh bursts from my throat as I sink to the steps of my porch, and I press my palm to my forehead. “I think I’m about to be charged with murder.”

2

BRADY

The heaviness in my arms all but guarantees I’m going to regret that last round in about an hour, but it feels damn good.

Fantastic actually.

I yank the strap wrapped tightly around my hand and wrist loose with my teeth. “Is there a reason you were trying to take my head off?” I ask James, grinning as I flex my fingers.

He shakes out his arms, skin slick with sweat. “You drop your right every damn time. I don’t know why I even bother sparring with you.”

I roll my eyes because he’s full of shit, and we both know it. It’s a rare occasion that he can best me in the ring.