The Lies We Tell (The Four 1)

“Him,” I said urgently.

“What?”

“Him. The man. That was him. Littlefinger.”

TWENTY-THREE

Fuck.

“Are you sure?” I stared at her, her gaze bouncing around the room, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. “Winter!” I tightened my grip on her chin, sliding my other hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her, hard. She gasped into my mouth, then kissed me back. I pulled away after a few seconds. “Calm now?”

She nodded, looking dazed.

“Good. You sure it was him?”

“I think so. I didn’t get to look properly, but I definitely saw that the whole top bit of his little finger was missing. There can’t be many other people around with missing fingers, can there?”

“Fuck. Okay. I wasn’t expecting this. We need to get photos. West can run them through his facial recognition shit, and maybe we’ll get lucky and find a match.”

A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Maybe…” she murmured to herself. Her blue eyes met mine. “Do you trust me?”

Do I?

She frowned when I took too long to reply. “Just give me ten minutes. Please. Trust me, Cade.” She widened her eyes, giving me a hopeful look, staring at me from under her dark lashes.

“Okay.” I found myself agreeing before I could think it through.

“Good.” Her soft expression changed in a flash, a hard look coming into her eyes. “Follow my lead, and don’t do anything to fuck it up. I mean it.”

Me, fuck it up? What was she planning?

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

She gulped down her coffee, then waved in the direction of Littlefinger, who had returned from the kitchen and was shuffling the pages of a newspaper, clearly bored. Four of the other patrons had left by this point, and apart from us, there was one elderly couple, who looked as if they were on the verge of falling asleep.

I watched as he lumbered to his feet, heading in our direction. Tall, built, pale, shaved head, a thin scar on his right cheek, he looked like a stereotypical goon from a crime movie. He flexed his knuckles as he drew closer, and I noticed the gold rings on his fingers.

“Hello.” My head whipped around at Winter’s sickly sweet tone. What the fuck? While I was watching Littlefinger, she’d taken off the hoodie she’d been wearing, and she was now sitting in a tiny low-cut top that showcased her perfect, perky tits. Worse, she was leaning forwards, giving Littlefinger a clear view down her top, batting her eyelashes and twirling a strand of her dark hair with one finger.

I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth. The fucker was staring at her tits, and from his face, he liked what he saw.

Winter kicked me under the table. Then again. I breathed in and out through my nose, trying to keep my cool as he openly ogled her.

“What can I help you with, my darling?” He had an accent I couldn’t quite place. Possibly Russian.

“Do you have a moment?” Winter indicated the empty chair opposite her. He glanced around him, then shrugged.

“For a pretty girl, anything.” He sank his huge bulk into the chair.

“I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about the history of this place, Mr

… Oh. How rude of me! I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Summer.” A tiny, sly smile crossed her lips at this point. “And this is my brother, Barry. And you are…?”

Barry? What the actual fuck? And brother? Yeah, okay, I was technically her stepbrother, but. Yeah, no.

“Petr.” He accepted her outstretched hand, shaking it firmly, ignoring me. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the history of this place. I just work here.” His face fell.

“That’s a shame.” She leaned forwards even further, pouting her lips, and I wanted to haul her over my shoulder and drag her out of there, and punch Petr’s leering face simultaneously. “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed, brightening. “That ring on your finger is beautiful. Is it a sovereign ring?”