Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

He looks regretful all of a sudden. And a little worried. ‘Why, are you a bad driver?’

His expression, coupled with a sudden comprehension of something, makes me worry, too. Namely, Becker’s hi-tech garage. ‘My driving is perfect. It’s your fancy garage that concerns me.’

‘You’ll be fine. Just line the wing mirrors up with the hydraulic bars at the front.’ He dismisses my concern in a heartbeat.

‘The key cabinet,’ I point out hastily. ‘It opens with eye recognition. Your eye.’

‘The override code is 72468232537.’ He reels the number off, making my eyes widen further with each digit he says.

‘Say what now?’

‘I’ll text it to you. Make sure you delete it once you’ve memorised it.’ He hands me my phone, keys and purse. ‘It’s a good job I was tracking your phone, huh?’

‘Remove it,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘Now.’ I thrust my mobile towards him, my face serious.

‘I’ll do it when I’m back, I promise. I’m already late.’ He slams his lips on mine. ‘See you later, princess.’ He saunters out, tensing and flexing his back muscles as he goes.

I scowl, and once I’ve had my fill of his tattoo, my eyes automatically drop to his butt. His butt is safer. It doesn’t make my mind go to dangerous places, only filthy places. ‘Good luck at the auction,’ I say quietly.

‘I don’t need luck. Trust me. And stop looking at my arse,’ he tosses over his shoulder.

‘It’s my arse now,’ I throw back.Chapter 24I found Lucy still looking bedraggled in the kitchen, having been caught up in conversation with Mrs Potts.

It’s only when we’re on our way to the garage and I finally open Becker’s text that I’m reminded of something that perhaps should have occurred to me before bringing Lucy down here. The message contains the code, as Becker promised, but it also has a note tagged on the end.

72468232537. Don’t take Lucy into the garage. Have her wait on the street for you and drive round. She isn’t in my circle of trust x

‘Shit,’ I curse, coming to a halt.

Lucy walks into me, knocking me forward. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’ I turn her back around and usher her down the corridor. ‘We need to go this way.’

‘This place is like a fucking maze,’ she grumbles, letting me guide her back through. I laugh my agreement and let us into the Grand Hall, taking the lead so I can weave her through all of the stock. ‘Eww, it stinks in here.’

I look over my shoulder and find her pinching her nose. ‘That smell is thousands of years’ worth of history.’

‘Looks like a load of junk to me.’

I shake my head in dismay. ‘This way,’ I call, hiding my secret smile when I clock the huge cabinet that I scaled this morning in order to reach my target and devour him. Then I look down at my ring finger, my smile widening. I’m getting married. And I’m marrying a con artist. Or ex-con artist. Whatever. He’s corrupt, which basically means I am now, too.

‘Now this is pretty,’ Lucy declares as I let us into the courtyard. ‘This I could work with.’

‘Come on,’ I push, jogging across the cobbles.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Down here.’ I indicate the alleyway as I breach the opening.

‘Are you serious?’ she asks, with every scrap of caution she should. I remember my reaction to the dark hole the first time I found myself in it. ‘I can’t see a fucking thing.’

I reach back and feel for her hand, finding it on the brick wall.

‘Arghhhhhh!’ She screams and retracts. ‘What is that?’

‘It’s me, you idiot,’ I laugh. ‘Give me your hand.’

‘It’s creepy.’

I tug her on, knowing the exact moment the lights will activate. ‘There,’ I say, dropping her hand and pressing the button that’ll release the door at the end. I look back to find her palms over her eyes. ‘Follow the alley to the end and let yourself out onto the street. I’ll drive round and get you.’ I dash off, back down the alley towards the courtyard.

‘What?’ she screeches, the contained sound piercing my eardrums. ‘Eleanor!’

‘The lights will go off soon. Hurry up!’ I leave her behind, hearing constant echoed curses and yelps.

I’m out of breath by the time I’ve made it back to the garage. Hurrying over to the key cabinet, I open Becker’s message and start tapping in the override code, my hits of the keys slowing when I begin to fathom the significance of the long string of numbers. On the final digit, the door releases, but rather than rushing to open it and grab some keys, I study the keypad instead, mentally going through the sequence of numbers in my head again. Except this time I don’t need to look at the message that Becker sent me. I simply spell something out across the keys.