Page 88 of Reveal

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll just”—move your feet, Ryk—“be right back.”

“’Kay.” Her smile lights up her eyes. “I’ll pour the wine.”

Her smile lights up her eyes?

You have it fucking bad, Lockhart.

Pathetic and bad.

I open the door, distracted in more ways than I ever thought possible, shut it behind me, and then stumble to a stop.

He’s medium height, lanky, without an ounce of muscle on him. His hair is an oily brown, his fingers stained with what looks like grease under his nails, and his clothes look out of place on him. Expensive threads on a sketchy man.

His eyes widen and his head startles when our eyes meet. I’m on edge immediately.

“Can I help you?”

He takes in my dress shirt unbuttoned, my cuffs rolled up, and zeroes in on the watch on my wrist. His gaze stays there for a beat before he shifts on his feet and jerks his arms oddly.

“I should’ve known.”

“Excuse me?”

My first thought: the fucker is a client who somehow found out Vaughn and Vee are the same person.

My second thought: the asshole is her private investigator, the man who should have known about her uncle and warned her about the warrant out for her arrest but didn’t.

The third? A homeless man looking for some blow? A man lost? Nah. Neither. Not quite sure yet, but every damn part of me hates him already.

His laugh rings out into the quiet suburbia night. “You the sugar daddy Vaughny’s using now?” He lifts his chin toward my Maserati parked in the driveway before his eyes glance to my watch again. “Sell your soul for some of her pussy now?”

My body tenses. My fists clench. My personal demand to shut my mouth falls on my own deaf ears. “Get the fuck out of here.”

His laugh rumbles on the verge of hysteria. He seems crazy, but there’s an awareness in his eyes that tells me to use caution.

“The price just went up.”

“Price?”

“For Lucy.”

“Brian, I presume.” My voice is unaffected despite the sudden rage and need to protect that owns me. Does he know Lucy’s inside? Is that why he’s here?

“Ah, rich and smart.” His smile widens, exposing stained but perfectly straight teeth.

“I suggest you turn your ass around and never set foot here again.”

“Or else what?” He throws his hands up. “You gonna sic the Big Bad Wolf on me?” He laughs. “That’s got nothing on the hell I’ve gone through. Losing my wife. My daughter.” Not a single word holds an ounce of sincerity in it.

“You don’t give a rat’s ass about Lucy, and you sure as hell didn’t give one about Samantha either.”

“Is Vaughny telling lies again?” He tsks and makes the shame motion—his index finger running over the length of his other index finger. “She has a bad habit of that, you know. Twisting the truth to fit whatever it is she wants at any given moment. I’d question everything she tells you. Sam was always warning me about that.”

“All you care about is where your next high is coming from.”

The grin he flashes sends chills down my spine. “Don’t be so sure about that, Daddy Warbucks, because I definitely care about how much you’re going to pay me.”

“Fuck you.”