8. Deceived by an Angel
DECEIVED BY AN ANGEL
I follow Lachlan and his half-brother, Rory, down the corridor to Lachlan’s study. My phone dings with a text from my sister, and I fall behind a few steps to read it.
Tessa: Mom keeps hounding me about the estate. You need to decide what you want to do with it. At the very least, answer your phone when she calls so she stops bothering me. Also, I stand behind whatever you decide.
I know that. She doesn’t have to remind me.
I like that she does though. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth for half a second.
Then I think about my father, the vile fuck died from a heart attack four months ago.
To everyone’s shock but mine, he left me all his properties, including the horrid manor where we were raised and all that’s in it.
I made sure of it when I acquired the power and success I needed to take him down.
I didn’t want or need his vast estate; I merely wanted to take away everything that mattered to him.
When I glance up, a dark-haired housekeeper, small enough to fit in my pocket, backs out of the way. The hair on my neck rises like a bad omen when I walk by her. I blow it off and wait as Lachlan and Rory enter the study. At the last second, I turn sideways and glance at the woman.
My heart stutters.
She looks a hell of a lot like my little angel, Fable.
While this is a grown-up version of the girl who saved me, I’m quite certain it’s her.
She has the same thick, dark hair and citrine eyes framed by long, black lashes.
The same smooth, honey-colored skin and petite height.
I lower my gaze to her small hands, remembering how they healed me with the gentlest touch.
Her voice was soft, too, but she was tenacious and resourceful.
William was never able to find where my dad put her and her mum. What little information he was able to gather proved Fable to be the ultimate betrayer. My father hid them from Fable’s dad, which I knew, but also from me in case I retaliated. Did they think I would hurt them?
When my father died, I assumed I’d never know where they ended up.
It was the one thing I couldn’t get out of him, no matter how hard I threatened, because he never hid them.
According to Will, he passed the task on to an associate, who passed it on to someone else.
That man had criminal connections that got him killed.
I’d accepted that Fable was lost to me forever, yet here she is, in the hallway of my best friend’s house. How? Why?
Why did she betray me? And why, after all these years, does that still bother me? Very few people have made a mark on me in my lifetime. Unfortunately, she was one of them.
Deceived by an angel.
“Wes?” Lachlan says, but I barely hear him. “If you need a wank that bad, mate, take the afternoon off.”
Awareness shoots through me. I’m gawking at one of his employees. When I swing my gaze his way, he and Rory wear matching what the fuck expressions
“Close the door and sit.” Lachlan nods to the couch.
He fills three tumblers with Scotch whisky.
It’s from his ancestors’ distillery in Scotland, part of the Duhnill Castle estate he inherited from his mother until he was forced to pass it down to Rory.
That castle was filled with good and bad times.
Many that I was a part of before we moved to America to take over Spencer Securities, the Fortune 500 company that belonged to his wife’s family for over a century.
“What the fuck was that?” Lachlan hands each of us a glass.
Rory lowers himself onto an adjacent leather chair, and Lachlan takes the one beside him.
“What was what?” I sip the scotch, needing it after the shock of my fucking life. You wouldn’t know it by my demeanor or voice.
“You couldn’t take your eyes off my housekeeper.”
“I thought I knew her.” I sip more scotch.
“Do you?” Lachlan asks.
“Either he does, or he wants to have a go at her,” Rory adds in the cheeky way he sometimes does—famously stirring shit up, but in a way that’s appealing. The charismatic fucker.
“I don’t know her.”
“It looked like you did.” Lachlan reclines and crosses one leg over the other. “In fact, I’ve never seen anyone stir a reaction like that from you.”
“What are the rules about hooking up with the staff?” Rory asks as if it’s an option when he knows better.
Lachlan throws Rory a sideways glance that says, ‘Sod off.’ “Emery would have my balls. She almost didn’t hire that one because of her age.”
House staff that young isn’t common. I wouldn’t allow it. Experienced housekeepers are easier to trust and less likely to quit or break an NDA.
“That one?” Rory angles himself toward Lachlan. “Can’t remember the name of your staff?”
“It’s an unusual name,” Lachlan bites back.
Thank fuck for that. If he remembered her name, he might realize she’s the girl who saved me. I told him about Fable when he rescued me, but never mentioned her again after she betrayed me.
“She’s a right beauty,” Rory says. “A bit exotic.”
I have to force myself to stay seated on the couch and not throttle him. Fable is both of those things. It’s the mix of her parents—the Hispanic and Caucasian blend gave her unique features and coloring.
What the fuck is Fable doing here? How long has she been in Connecticut?
Has she been in America all this time? William would have found out if they were at the farmhouse her dad owned—the house I now own—on Martha’s Vineyard.
After extensive background searches that came up empty, I resigned myself to the fact that she was untraceable or an actual angel—because why couldn’t William or I find her?
“You look pale,” Rory says with a sly grin. “I think he’s withholding something.”
Lachlan studies me for a long moment, then sets his drink on the coffee table between us and grabs his laptop. “Let’s start the meeting.”
Knowing him, he’s going to research Fable until he connects the dots to me, if he can.
I’m the best investigator he has, as good as William, and neither of us could find anything on her.
I doubt Lachlan can dig up her past, but since I haven’t investigated her for three years, I can’t say for certain.
My palms turn clammy for the first time in a long while.
How can I work, hang out, and stay here, like I do on occasion with Fable under my nose, haunting me with memories that stir feelings—which I hate.
I wasn’t raised to be caring. My parents had no love to give, so I had none to offer anyone other than my sister.
Tessa became mine to protect the moment I realized our parents were sick, selfish souls.
Then Fable saved me, and I felt the same fierce need to protect her.
Something isn’t right. If my father had her relocated somewhere on the other side of the pond, how is she here?
Why is she working as a housekeeper or working at all?
Had they pissed through the reward money he gave them?
My heart drums in a way I’m not used to.
I don’t like it. Even more, I don’t like not knowing what really happened to Fable.
I don’t like that I gave up searching after three years and trusted William to do most of the work.
I couldn’t continue looking with how she made me feel.
Few people can hurt me physically, even less can hurt me emotionally.
Fable is like a wound that won’t heal. Pursuing her whereabouts meant ripping the scab off again and again.
Had that weakness left me blind to a truth I didn’t want to see?
Could William have known more than he told me?
Could my father have gotten to him? When I revealed I was alive and thriving to the rotter who seeded me, it was through a note I had William deliver that I signed with blood.
Father was a big fan of blood signatures. He used them as a scare tactic to intimidate. I signed several as a child.
“The blood binds you to the deed or promise,” he’d say.
My note was clear.
Father, I will take the only things you valued in life and burn them to ashes upon your death so the memory is erased from existence. This I swear. Your devoted son.
One of my best qualities is my devotion to certain people or promises I make. A therapist would say the trait borders on obsession. After seeing Fable again, she is back on my priority list. At the very top. I will work out the mystery of her past and learn every detail about her present.
Wes
The place where Fable lives is a dump and not listed as a rental, which means she’s paying under the table. She’s using an alias for everything, too, including her employment at Lachlan’s. Fable Fisher. Close enough to her legal last name, Farrington, but not nearly as enchanting.
My anxiety got the better of me and sent me on a deep dive to find all I could on her using the proprietary search engine I developed two years ago, called Vantage.
With it, I have access to secure databases, thanks to the help I hired—two former SIS officers, one from the CIA and one from MI6.
If only I’d developed this six years ago, I could have found her.
Lachlan knew something was up when I dashed off this afternoon after gathering enough to get started on Fable. I drove to her studio first, knowing she wouldn’t get off her shift for a few hours.
Gravel and dirt don’t go with my Zegna suit, but it doesn’t stop me from getting out of my car and walking toward her house. I stand out as much as my McLaren P1 in this area. With many of the houses owned by service workers, I don’t have to worry about them being home to see me walk by.
Having parked at the end of the block on the corner, it’s not a far jaunt to her studio.
I slip between the dumpster and fence as I continue to the garage in the back, where it’s much less exposed.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the top and scan the area.
The overgrown shrubbery isn’t high enough to hide me, but I don’t see anyone around, so I pick the lock and let myself in.
The place is tiny enough to make me feel claustrophobic.
My head almost touches the ceiling. It looks like she just moved in, based on the cardboard boxes and plastic bins.
I know from her background she did, but I also know she moves around a lot, and this is probably how she lives.
Before moving here, she worked for the Winthrop family in Vermont for seven months.
Before that, she was with a family for ten months in Maine, and a different family prior to that job for a year.
Something is forcing her to switch jobs. And where is her mum?
I take my phone from my pocket and search the database for anything on Lola Farrington or Lola Fisher. Her dad comes up to my utter shock. He's in a psychiatric hospital for murdering his wife.
“Bloody hell.”
I was told her dad was dead. Promised Fable I'd kill the fiend so she'd be safe.
I assumed she was when my father hid her and her mum away after she betrayed me for money—which I could forgive given her circumstances.
Had I known her dad was alive, I would have followed through on my promise.
Instead, I took William's word on the matter. Big fucking mistake.
I grit my teeth so hard my jawbone cracks and shoot William a text.
Me: Call me ASAP
My fists clamp tightly. I raise my hand to punch the wall but stop myself and let out an angry groan. Something moves on the bed covers.
A tiny cat with cream, fluffy fur stares at me, its ears back as if I’ve annoyed it.
“Well, hello, there.”
I slowly walk to the twin bed and bend to pet the cat’s head. It lets me, seeming not afraid at all. The tag on the collar has a name. Bear.
I stiffen and straighten. Is it possible she named her pet after me? Or is it because this cat is fluffy enough to be a cub?
After the unwarranted sneer she sent me earlier, I’d guess it’s the latter. She has no reason to hate me unless she blames me for something. Could it be that I didn’t kill her dad?
This would be much easier if I could just ask her, but I don’t see that happening.
I give the cat a last pet and scan the room.
She likes things to be neat and clean. After a hard day of work, she comes home and does the same in her own place.
The kitchenette doesn’t have much food, nor does the mini fridge.
The small wardrobe holds a jacket, a few shirts, and pants.
No dresses. One pair of shoes. The bathroom is airplane-sized with an incredibly small shower.
It pisses me off that she’s living like this.
What happened to all the money she and her mum got from my dad?
Because this looks like she never had any.
I crack my neck and text William again.
Me: You owe me answers.
For a man who’s never had a problem replying in the past, this doesn’t sit well with me. Could my father have done something to him before he died?
My teeth are mashed together again, and my breath blows hot. “What the hell happened to you, Fable?”