Page 17 of Wretched Lies

“You stay where you are, I can see myself out,” I say. “I’ve had a good night. Thanks for the food.”

“Thank you for the wine,” says Clara with a knowing smile.

I stifle a laugh. “You mean the wine I drank?”

“I didn’t like to say.”

“You’re too polite, Clara.”

I’m smiling as I collect up the wine glasses and empty bowl of nachos. I leave them in the kitchen before heading out into the night. There’s already a frown furrowing my brow as I zip up my jacket. It’s a fifteen-minute walk back to the guesthouse, and until I reach Main Street, my route is along mostly deserted and dimly-lit streets.

I reach for my burner phone in my cross-body purse. “What have you found out?” I ask when Strider answers.

“You know how too much information can be a bad thing? This is one of those situations.”

My heart sinks with disappointment I shouldn’t feel. “You mean they flooded the internet with false reports to manipulate me into helping them?”

As Strider groans, I imagine him stretching out his long legs beneath his desk. “That would have been far more palatable, but I don’t think that’s what this is,” he says. “These are all good news stories from reputable sources. Big corporations would pay millions for this kind of exposure, and yet the Griffins actively suppress it. They don’t want the attention.”

I hunch my shoulders against the cold as I turn a corner.This last stretch of road will take me to Main Street. Not a single car has passed me yet.

“Is it because those so-called good projects are linked with organized crime?” I ask.

“I’ve traced a couple of the Griffin’s investments to companies owned by the McConkeys, but they’re all legitimate businesses on the face of it.” He sighs. “I honestly don’t think that’s why they want to hide.”

“Then what do you think?” I ask because I don’t trust my own judgement.

“I think they don’t want their enemies knowing who they work with. And they have plenty of enemies thanks to their association with John McConkey. Ilya Barkov being a good example.”

Just the mention of the Russian’s name has me glancing over my shoulder. My gaze is immediately drawn to a car’s headlights in the distance. I walk faster. “Go on.”

“By publicizing their achievements, the Griffins make targets of the communities they’ve helped. That’s why they bury the news,” Strider says. “Or they did until tonight. They’ve taken a big risk just so they could recruit you.”

“I won’t be recruited by anyone,” I say. “I’m doing this for one person, and one person only.”

“I know.” Strider’s quiet for a moment and the only sound is the echo of my footsteps along the deserted street. “Where are you?” he asks, anxiety straining his words.

“Walking home from Clara’s.”

“Quinn, it’s ten at night. Can’t you get a cab? How far are you from your place?”

I shudder as Strider’s unease creeps down the line. “I’m almost there,” I lie. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay on the line until you’rehome.”

“No,” I say firmly. “If anything, talking to you is distracting me from my surroundings. Stop worrying.”

“But I do worry,” he replies. “Maybe I should take a trip to Poulton Springs myself. You need someone watching your back.”

I tense my shoulders, only too aware of how vulnerable I am. “I can look after myself,” I insist. “And you’re of more use to me where you are. I’ll let you know when I’m back at the guesthouse.” Before my friend can argue, I cut him off. “Goodnight, Strider.”

When I put my phone away, I find my gun. With my hand remaining in my purse, I rest my finger on the trigger, and keep my thumb pressed against the safety, ready to flick it off. I steady my breathing and slow my pace, softening the sound of my footfalls.

I hadn’t imagined it. There’s someone behind me.

“Please don’t shoot me,” Reid says. “I don’t have an armored vehicle to protect me this time.”

Chapter 5