to believe what she'd just seen. Her father-Grant Whitmore-on his knees, blood dripping down his temple, a split lip, and te

ises, Grant. Y

nder shadows. Her father tried to speak-he was begging, G

ness. You tau

screen shook. T

ankly, heart slammi

her the truth about

the dry press release about a "tragic car accident," and Bekett sta

li

been founded on one-in

pace the perimeter. The house felt more like a vault than ever. She thought about waking the gir

wo

murder wasn't business-it was betrayal tied up in a silk b

She couldn't play the quiet wife anymore. No

ould need

just the man

ts. Geraldine had only been there once, years ago, when he and Bekett first went into business. She

tionist, straight to the private elevator. One of the guards raised a brow

o his office wi

d on the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up t

ning back, "aren't y

hed the

to be confused. He

er face, as if cataloging every crack in

t him

sky game, Mr

ame. I just didn't re

til he was only inches away. He didn't touch her

ade, Geraldine?" he mu

, chin lifted. "

sharp. "Ever

her smile intact. Reena chatted about math class and Lovia ranted about cafeteria foo

his study, a drink in hand, the firep

ly," he said wit

a mee

en, eyes narrowing

ld fr

ly. "You're not as subtl

re not as

the same eyes Lovia had inherited. She hated that. Hated the thought that her child

think you know

oice low. "About my father. Abou

ife isn't kind, Geraldine. Yo

sheltered

iberate. "Be careful what you dig

back away.