Wretched Lies (Wretched #3)

Chapter 1

Reid

The ornate gates sweep open as soon as I approach, and I drive straight into Barrett Emerson’s newest estate. It’s as if he were expecting me. He isn’t. I’ve been reliably informed that the Emerson heir is still in New York. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.

I pull up at the guardhouse alongside a pick-up truck that’s about to head out. It’s full of construction workers and the driver’s chatting to the security guard.

“Do you want us to grab you some beers too?”

The guy on duty pulls a face. “I shouldn’t.”

“You can’t have pizza without a beer, man,” the driver insists.

“Hey,” I call out when no one pays me any attention. “I’m Michael Steel, here to see Quinn Jamieson.”

I’m reaching for my ID when the guard waves me through. “Sure, just follow the driveway and keep going. She’ll be at the house.”

“That went easier than expected,” I say under my breath as I pull away.

“I don’t suppose they think an empty house needs much protection,” Mace says in my earpiece. “I’m more shocked that any of the security guards would want to work there given what happened.”

“Or work for Barrett,” I say, agreeing with my brother.

As I drive through picturesque woodland, it’s hard to imagine it once surrounded a large food processing factory that served as a reliable employer for the small town of Poulton Springs.

It was burned to the ground last year, not long after the Emersons took it over.

Barrett has a history of asset-stripping his acquisitions, but arson is a new low, even for him.

It could have something to do with the company he’s keeping.

“What’s the house like?” Mace asks.

“I can’t see it yet,” I say, but as I scan the gaps between the trees, I spot a stretch of asphalt that shimmers in the wintry sunshine. “But work on the landing strip seems complete.”

“My guess is it won’t be Barrett’s private jet that gets the most use from it. He’s really going out of his way to impress the Russians.”

I shudder at the thought of the Russian Bratva visiting this idyllic corner of southern Illinois, but it’s a good reminder of why I’m here.

The SUV’s tires crunch loose stone as I reach a stretch of driveway that hasn’t been leveled yet.

The construction work was meant to be completed back in November, but it’s now the beginning of February and there’s still work to be done.

I can neither confirm nor deny that it has anything to do with Mace hacking into the architect’s files and changing a few critical measurements.

Sadly, we haven’t been able to stop the build completely. Which is why we’re looking for alternative ways to run interference.

I take another bend and the house comes into view, although the term house doesn’t do it justice.

Barrett’s brand new mansion is three stories high, and there are too many windows to count.

Stone steps lead up to a grand entrance with Grecian columns to either side of oversized doors.

It’s the kind of house you’d expect Mr. Darcy to walk out of to greet you.

“It’s obscene,” I say to Mace.

“Any more security?”

“Just one guy at the main entrance as far as I can see. He’s sitting in a fold-out chair scrolling on his phone.”

The guard doesn’t lift his head as I park the SUV and grab my briefcase from the back.

I’m standing right over him when he finally looks up with a start, almost dropping his phone.

He has to crane his neck to meet my eye.

I’m the tallest Griffin, and although I don’t have the bulk of my three older brothers, I train hard and I’d like to think I can be just as intimidating.

I try not to dwell on the fact that this is my first solo mission. Not that it feels like I’m alone while I have Mace scrutinizing my every move. He’d also been the one to insist I have a backup team on standby in case I get into trouble. Which I won’t. My brothers need to have more faith in me.

“Geez, don’t go creeping up on people,” the guard says once he’s got over my sudden appearance.

I cock my head. Should I point out the obvious?

“Reid, do not tell him how to do his job,” says Mace, reading my mind. “He might decide to prove a point and be thorough.”

“I’m Michael Steel from Ridgemont Solutions, here to see Quinn Jamieson,” I say brightly.

The guard jerks a thumb towards the open doors. “She’ll either be in her office in the west wing, or you could go east and head for the kitchen. There’ll be someone around to help.”

“How many staff are here?”

“Four including Quinn. There’s Clara the housekeeper, and the young girl with purple hair is Tandy. She’s Clara’s assistant. Then there’s Jason, the gardener.” He snorts a laugh. “He’s usually covered in mud so they don’t let him in the house too often.”

“Thanks. You’ve been really helpful.”

“Do you want me to give Quinn a call?” he asks as an afterthought.

“No, don’t worry. I’m here to do a survey, so I’ll need to take a good look around anyway.” I don’t mention that I’m supposedly assessing their security, which is clearly lacking.

“I really did waste my time making your false ID, didn’t I?” Mace says as my footfalls echo through the cavernous foyer. He must hear me falter. “Head for the offices. With any luck Quinn won’t be there, and you can plant the bugs before she even knows you’ve arrived.”

There’s the shriek of a drill somewhere on the floors above. “Not all the workmen have disappeared for lunch,” I whisper to Mace.

“You haven’t broken in, Reid. Quinn’s hired you to do a job. Act like you belong there.”

He’s right, and I hate that he has to remind me. I’m the one who came up with the plan. I may not have finished law school, but I do know the law. This isn’t breaking and entering.

I’d memorized the floor plan so I find the corridor I need and reach Quinn’s office first. The door has been left ajar, but I knock before entering. The room is sparsely furnished with a simple desk, chairs and a filing cabinet.

“Quinn’s office is empty,” I say for Mace’s benefit. “There’s no computer.”

“I’m not sure I would have trusted you to hack into it anyway.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re just pissed I killed you last night,” I suggest. Mace might be out of state right now, but my brother still managed to keep me up late playing Call of Duty.

“Only because you were in a tag team with Lily,” he says. “She was the one who killed me.”

And he let her. Mace would do anything for his wife, and it’s hard not to be envious of that kind of love.

“Should I check Quinn’s filing cabinet?” I ask, keeping my voice low. I test the first drawer, but it’s locked.

“No, plant the bug in Barrett’s office while you have the chance.”

I glance at the interconnecting door, but immediately dismiss it. If Quinn’s in Barrett’s office, I don’t want her to know I’ve been snooping around her office first. I go out the way I came, making sure to leave the door slightly ajar, exactly as I’d found it.

I knock on Barrett’s door, and again receive no answer. I find it as empty as the first, if not more so.

“There’s no furniture,” I whisper with a hint of panic. We knew Barrett’s interior designers hadn’t been on site yet, but I’d expected him to at least have a desk. “There are just the built-in bookshelves along one wall. Where am I going to plant the bug?”

“Check the shelves,” Mace says with just a touch of impatience. “You might find a knot in the wood we can use instead.”

I take the tiny listening device from my briefcase, then start to inspect each shelf. Minutes tick by. I can’t find anything.

“If you can’t do it…” Mace says.

“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.

I don’t need my brother’s judgmental voice in my ear right now. He never wanted me involved in the murkier side of our business, but there really wasn’t a choice. Ash, Hunter and Mace are busy fighting a series of cyberattacks aimed at Griffin Corps’ varied business interests.

It’s time I proved myself. I can do this.

As my fingers continue to explore the wood, I glance towards the door I’d closed behind me. It remains firmly sealed, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Did I hear something? Is Quinn about to walk in? This is not the time to get caught.

“Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Fuck,” I hiss and hear a similar expletive in my earpiece.

I raise my hands and briefcase as I turn slowly to face the woman who’s just come through the interconnecting door. My eyes flare at the same time hers do.

Quinn Jamieson is of average height and build, but average doesn’t equal ordinary.

Every single one of her beautiful curves is exquisitely accentuated by her lycra gym gear.

Her shoulder-length hair is a silken curtain of chocolate brown, casting shadows that highlight sharp cheekbones and full lips that are already making my mouth water.

The eyes appraising me are the color of pewter at first glance, but if you look closely, there’s a halo of amber around Quinn’s pupils.

I know this because I’ve stared at her photo for far too long in preparation for today’s mission.

At twenty-five, she’s a year older than me, but I quite like the idea of an older woman. I especially like the idea of Quinn.

I try to play it cool and offer a confident smile. “That’s some welcome,” I say casually, willing my eye not to twitch as I stare down the barrel of a gun. “I’m Michael St–”

“You’re Reid Griffin,” she says before I can complete the lie.

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

Is that why Quinn’s eyes flared? I had hoped she’d been blown away by my dazzling good looks. She wasn’t supposed to recognize me. Mace has an army of bots that erase our images from the internet within minutes of photos appearing. If you don’t know us – you don’t know us.