His Last Secret

Chapter 3

The phone buzzes again. The sound cuts through the silence like a knife.

"Where are you?"

I stare at the screen. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. Julian's hand finds mine. Squeezes. Doesn't let go.

"Don't reply," he says.

"I wasn't going to."

We're both frozen, staring at the screen like it's going to bite us.

"How is this possible?" I whisper. "She's been dead for eight weeks."

"The phone was in a safe. Dead. No service." Julian's voice is hollow. "There's no way it's connected to a cellular network."

I look at the phone again. Full bars. 4G LTE.

"The safe," I say. "Does it have a signal booster?"

"No. It's just a safe."

"Then someone reactivated this line. Today. Right now."

Julian takes the phone from my hands. Types a reply.

"Who is this?"

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

Then nothing.

I wait. Julian waits.

"It's them," I say. "Whoever killed Elena. They know we're looking."

"I need to call Alex."

"Don't."

"Why not? If he's involved, I need to hear him lie to me. If he's not, he needs to know someone is sending threatening messages from his area code."

"That's exactly what they want. To make you paranoid. To make you turn on the people closest to you."

Julian's hand tightens around his phone. "You don't know my brother."

"And you don't know if he's guilty."

Silence. Heavy. The rain has stopped. The house feels too quiet now.

"Then what do you suggest?" Julian asks.

"We go to Boise. We find Marcus Webb. We ask him why Elena wrote his name on that photo."

"And Alex?"

"We watch him. From a distance. We don't tip our hand."

Julian studies me. That look again. Like he's trying to see through me.

"You're good at this," he says. "The investigation. The strategy. You've done this before."

"I've followed money. People are just harder to trace."

"Liar."

The word hits me like a slap.

"What did you say?"

"I said you're lying." He steps closer. "I've read your file. Every case you've worked. You don't just follow money. You follow people. You find their weaknesses. Their secrets. You broke a human trafficking ring in Atlanta by getting the CFO to fall in love with you."

I feel my face go cold. "That's not what happened."

"That's exactly what happened. He gave you access to everything. Passwords. Account numbers. The location of a shipping container with twelve women inside. He trusted you. And you destroyed him."

I can't breathe.

"That was different."

"Was it?"

His gray eyes pin me in place. The distance between us is too small. I can feel the heat off his body. I can smell cedar and rain and something dangerous.

"Is that what this is?" Julian asks softly. "You get close. You make me trust you. And then you burn me alive."

I should step back. I should leave.

But I don't.

"You're not the mark," I say.

"How do I know that?"

"Because the mark is always guilty." My voice is steady. I don't know how. "And you're not."

He holds my gaze. Seconds stretch into something else.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Because I've stared into the eyes of a hundred guilty men. And not one of them looked at me the way you do."

The air between us catches fire.

Julian's hand moves. Slow. Deliberate. His fingers brush my jaw.

I don't pull away.

"I shouldn't," he says.

"Probably not."

"I'm still a suspect. My wife is dead. If anyone sees us—"

"I know."

But he doesn't stop. His thumb traces my lower lip. I feel it everywhere.

"Then why don't you run?" he asks.

"Because I've been running my whole life. And I'm tired."

He kisses me.

It's soft. Gentle. Like he's asking permission. Like he's waiting for me to push him away.

I don't.

His hand slides to the back of my neck. His fingers thread through my hair. And for one second — one single, impossible second — I forget why I'm here.

Then the phone buzzes again.

We break apart. Gasping.

The text is from a different number.

"You're being watched. Get out of the house. Now."

Julian's face hardens. He grabs my wrist, pulls me toward the back of the house.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving your life."

We burst through the kitchen. Through a service door. Into a garage full of cars he never drives. He pushes me toward a black SUV with tinted windows.

"Get in. Don't argue."

I get in.

The engine roars to life. Tires scream against the concrete. We're flying down a private road, trees blurring past, and I can see headlights behind us.

"Who's that?" I ask.

"Whoever sent that text. Or whoever sent the first one."

The headlights gain.

Julian takes a sharp turn. Dirt road. Branches scraping the sides of the SUV. The headlights follow.

"They're not stopping," I say.

"No shit."

He floors it. The engine whines. We're bouncing through mud, through darkness, and I've never been this terrified in my life.

And then the headlights vanish.

I twist around. Nothing. Just black.

"They're gone."

"They're not gone." Julian's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "They know where we're going. They were herding us."

"Herding us where?"

He doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because up ahead, through the trees, I see lights. A building. A house.

A house I recognize from the case file.

The Webb family cabin.

Julian pulls to a stop. Kills the engine.

We sit in silence. Breathing hard.

"Someone wanted us to come here," I say.

"I know."

"Which means someone knows we're working together."

"I know."

"Which means someone is watching us."

Julian turns to me. His face is half-lit by the dashboard glow. Gray eyes. Sharp jaw. The face of a man who's lost everything.

And the face of a man I just kissed.

"Then let's give them a show."

He opens the door. Steps out into the dark.

And I follow.

Because that's what I do now.

That's what I've become.

A woman who follows a billionaire into the woods, toward a cabin full of secrets, while someone watches from the shadows.

The front door of the cabin is unlocked.

Inside, the lights are on.

And on the kitchen table, there's a single photograph.

Elena. Smiling. Holding a baby.

A baby with Julian's eyes.

The date on the photograph is six years old.

Six years before Julian and Elena got married.

I pick it up. My hands are shaking. The baby has Julian's eyes, Julian's jaw, Julian's everything. But the woman holding him isn't Elena.

She's someone else.

Someone with lighter hair. Softer features. A smile I've never seen before.

"Who is this?" I ask.

Julian takes the photo from me. His face is unreadable. But I see his hands tremble.

"I don't know."

"You don't know who the mother of your child is?"

"I don't have a child." His voice cracks. "I've never had a child. Elena and I tried for years. Four miscarriages. We never—"

He stops.

The realization hits us both at the same time.

Elena knew.

Elena knew about this baby. This woman. This secret Julian never knew he had.

And she kept it from him.

She kept it hidden.

Along with everything else.

The baby isn't theirs.

But someone's.

And whoever that someone is, they're still out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

The photograph trembles in my hand.

And I have a terrible feeling that we've just walked into a trap we can't escape.