Chapter 4

I hung up and turned to Lucy Grant, who'd come along with me. She was our housekeeper's daughter.

“You're studying voice, right? Can you imitate people?”

“I've got a job for you. Get rid of someone for me. Fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Here's what you need to do...”

I explained the online relationship and the date, leaving out Evan's career as a killer.

Lucy's mouth fell open.

“Miss Whitmore! You're from a respectable family. How can you do something so shameful as train men like dogs?”

“It's wrong!”

“Yes, yes, it's wrong. That's why I'm asking you to break up with him for me. Consider me reformed. Just remember to sound like me.”

I couldn't take another minute of her endless, sanctimonious lecture. I sent her the $15,000, gave her temporary access to my account, and sent her to Westbridge to deal with Evan.

It was dark when she got home.

“Done?”

She looked down and picked at her fingers.

“You don't need to worry, miss. It's taken care of.”

Efficient, too. She'd even gotten Evan to delete my account from his contacts.

Finally. Safe.

That night, I sat at my dressing table, letting down my hair in the moonlight and staring sadly at my silent phone.

This was usually the part of the evening when I treated myself.

With Evan gone, I felt strangely empty.

Thinking about those lovely muscles wasn't helping me sleep.

A breeze lifted the curtains. A shadow flashed past.

I stood to pull the curtains aside, but a man vaulted through the window first, terrifyingly fast.

Black clothes. A knife catching the light.

I stumbled back three steps.

“Weren't you supposed to kill the person who hired you?”

“You took my money! What happened to keeping your word?”

I was practically shrieking.

Our security team was useless. Time to replace the replacements!

Evan saw my face and frowned. The knife was already coming toward my throat. He forced his hand aside and buried the blade in the wall instead.

“Your house is too big.”

“I saw him come this way. There was a light on. I thought this was his room.”

I raised a hand.

“Wait. The person who wants me dead lives here?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Dylan Whitmore. The Whitmore heir who isn't actually a Whitmore.”

I'd barely been home any time at all. Dylan had been calling me his big sister at every opportunity.

I went cold.

Leaning against the wall, I gave Evan a weak wave.

“Go on, then. Don't tell anyone you saw me.”

“All right.”

He jumped onto the windowsill, then suddenly stopped.

He turned back sharply, studying me.

“Your voice is different from this afternoon. It sounds familiar.”

I jerked my head up.

Oh, no. I'd forgotten to disguise my voice.