Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

‘I never said that,’ he grates, just as Winston sets off on another round of barking and Alexa jumps back in shock, her perfectly manicured hand resting on her perfect boobs.

‘You need to get that mutt chained up,’ she spits, flicking her platinum-blond hair over her shoulder.

I fly to Winston’s defence without thought or consideration of my position. ‘The only mutt I see is on two feet,’ I fire, my lip curling. She gasps in shock, and Becker disguises his laugh with a cough as I stomp over to him and virtually snatch his dog away, taking him by the collar. ‘Come on, boy.’ I throw a filthy look Alexa’s way. ‘She might give you fleas.’ This time I manage to swipe my card just fine, and as soon as the light flashes green, I push into the wood, finding the heavy doors open easily, probably assisted by my fury.

I slam them behind me, bubbling with rage. Then I start to pace the library, back and forth, around and around, having a row out loud with no one in particular. It’s a good job I’m alone because I think I’d take the head off anyone sharing breathing space with me right now . . . namely, Becker Hunt. Or that thing in black lace. ‘What the hell does he see in women like that?’ I ask thin air. ‘Jumped-up cow.’

It takes a low whine from Winston to pull me from my hissy fit, and I look down at my feet, finding him looking up at me with droopy eyes, like he senses my annoyance. I sigh and crouch, giving his head a little scratch. ‘I don’t like her either, boy,’ I say, letting out a little laugh when he barks his agreement. I like Winston more and more by the day. He’s protective. Loyal. He’s the type of man I need . . . when I venture down that road again. If I ever do.

I kiss his head and scratch his ears before I stand and head to the couch. ‘Up,’ I say, patting the seat. Winston immediately trots over and leaps on to the sofa with some effort, letting out a grunt as he does. ‘Sit,’ I command, and he drops to his arse in an instant. I cock my head on a smile as he looks up at me, panting. Add obedient to that list. ‘Lie,’ I order, trying to fill my tone with authority, but I only achieve a soft, almost begging demand. It makes no difference. Winston curls up into a big ball of fur and rests his chin on his front paws. ‘You’re just too bloody cute.’ My aggravation is draining away. ‘Right, Winston. I need to do some work.’ I need to immerse myself in the history this library offers and forget what just happened. In fact, I need to forget about every encounter with Becker Hunt. Each and every one has been infuriating for one reason or another, and no good will come of analysing why the conceited twat gets such a rise out of me. What was last night about anyway? He had his bimbo in his tower and still found me on my date with Brent. He breaks the arsehole scale.

Work! I admonish myself.

I start to wander the length of a bookcase, my eyes drifting over the hundreds of spines, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of my mouth. That smell. It’s like a tranquilliser. I feel my lingering frustration slip away as I drink it in.

I’m just about to select a random book – something to take a quick peek at before I locate the file for the sixteenth-century tapestry – when my attention is captured by . . . something. I’m not sure what. It’s concealed behind a book, fixed to the back wall of the shelf. I would have completely missed it if I wasn’t reading the spine of every book that my eyes passed over. I frown and slip my hand past the top of the book and beneath the shelf above, losing sight of whatever it is in an instant. Now, I only have my touch to guide me, so I fiddle around, trying to make out what it is.

Something clicks, and I retract my hand quickly, like I’ve been bitten. ‘What the hell?’ I bend to peek through the gap above the books. Whatever I’m looking at has released a little lever, and unable to control my curiosity, I reach in and pull it.

Then I stand back when I hear a flurry of mechanisms click and clunk and watch in wonder as a small section of the bookcase shifts and opens, revealing a dark compartment. A dark secret compartment. My mouth drops open a little as I tilt my head to get the best view. Oh my. I tentatively reach inside and feel around the space until I lay my hands on something. A book? On a furrowed brow, I pull it out, finding a leather-bound journal secured with a strip of cord that’s tied neatly in a bow. The leather is dark brown, roughly the size of a standard sheet of paper, and embossed with elephants. And it’s really, really heavy.