Page 2 of Brutal Truths

A heavy item slips free from between the last stack of folders I lift, landing against the metal bottom with a solid thud.

What the fuck?

My phone goes off again.

Grunting, I ignore the persistent pulsing and lift the heavy object wrapped in a silk handkerchief. The second I bring it into the light, I freeze. Dried blood stains the white silk, and the weight in my hand tells me exactly what’s inside.

And I’m not wrong.

The blood-soaked handkerchief conceals a 9mm pistol.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My DNA and whoever put this here are both now on it. I refuse to be a scapegoat for murder, and I won’t let anyone pin this on an innocent woman.

Even if, for the sake of argument, she did it… there’s a strong chance she doesn’t appreciate the full weight of her actions. Not in her current state.

I bag it, seal it, and set it aside. When Darius arrives in London, I’ll hand it over. Let his team sort it out. They’re better qualified than I am.

Just as I’m leaving to meet Trent, my phone buzzes again. I swear, if this is Silas ringing, I’m gonna lose my shit. Seth is highly competent. Besides, I have more pressing matters that require my attention.

After slinging my bag over my shoulder, I nudge the heavy statue so the gallery door can shut and lock as intended. Once I’ve ensured it has, I turn to see Bear stretching as he rises, then the two of us head for the front door.

My phone vibrates in my pocket yet again. I’ve ignored it for the last five minutes while I finish up. Now that I’m done, I hit the green button and bring it to my ear.

“What?”

“Answer your fucking phone when I call.” The sharp edge of Lane’s voice slices through the air. “We have a problem.”

“Sorry. I was packing up after Silas took off. It takes time to go through a safe full of important shit. You’re not gonna believe what I found.” The lift doors open, and I motion for Bear to get on.

“You can tell me about that later.” He draws in a heavy breath. “Your cousin was stabbed.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My hands shake as I fumble with my phone, catching it just before it hits the floor with a clatter.

“What do you mean, stabbed? By whom? When?”

“An hour ago. If you’d answer your goddamn phone.” A guttural growl erupts from his throat, laced with fury. “I don’t know. Pauly’s looking into it. But that’s not all.”

“There’s more?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

“There was also a shooting in the parking lot. Pauly’s on that too.” The steady drone of tires on the road indicates Lane is driving. “We’re on our way to Isabel’s home in Oxford now.”

“Why? She’s not at hospital?” The lift arrives and the doors open quietly. I step into the garage, picking up the faint scent of petrol in the air.

“She’s in surgery—as the surgeon. She’ll be there for a while.”

I’m glad he cleared that up, because my first thought was that she’s hurt too.

“Then why are you going to her house? What aren’t you telling me?”

There’s a pause, the kind that tells me he’s choosing his words wisely.

When he speaks, it’s clipped, controlled. “The two shooting victims were her guards on duty.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I increase my pace and open the backdoor, letting Bear jump in. “Someone shot her guards?”

The moment he’s clear, I slam the door and move fast, rounding the front and dropping into the driver’s seat.