Page 80 of My Beautiful Sin

But when it’s all over and I’ve paid my debt, I’m already planning a full-page ad in The Spall’s competitor affirming that Corbin Dailey is a rare sort of prick.

Then again, maybe best not to. That would only add an all-new layer to his overinflated ego.

My mind is still spinning with anti-Corbin rhetoric as I pull into the garage. Usually, I park in the driveway or the street, but while I might be cavalier about my own safety, Shelby is my baby.

I enter through the garage door that leads into the laundry room. I drop my stuff on the dryer, then hurry through the nearby kitchen to grab a snack. I’m starving, which is ironic considering Brewski has food. But I’d been so wrapped up in work that my only sustenance had been a latte followed by a never-ending stream of black coffee.

I open the fridge, grab a container of vanilla yogurt, slam the door—and scream.

Because standing right behind the door where a horror movie monster would be is a man.

The scream dies in my throat when I realize it’s Ronan Thorne, but I can’t say that I’m relieved. Devlin may believe that Ronan doesn’t have it in for me, but I’m still not convinced. Especially not now that Devlin is away and Ronan is inside this house that is supposedly well protected by an alarm system.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, anger at his intrusion masking my runaway nerves.

“Sorry to scare you. Devlin gave me the code.”

I bite back a curse and make a mental note to give my boyfriend hell. “Why would he do that?”

“He wanted me to check on you,” Ronan says. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

He moves casually to lean against the nearby countertop, but there’s nothing casual about his demeanor.

When I first met him, he was smiling and charming and I thought that he looked a bit like a Nordic god with his blond hair and blue eyes and Thor-like body. He still does, but now there’s a fury about him. He’s like an angry god that has the ability to destroy the world.

I draw in a breath and tell myself that I’m not scared, but the truth is I am. Devlin may be convinced Ronan isn’t behind the creepy texts, but the jury is still out for me.

Still, I’ve always been good at poker.

“Okay,” I say, moving to get a spoon and then taking a bite of my yogurt. “What are we talking about?”

“I told you before that you’d be a distraction. It never occurred to me that you would be an actual danger.”

I bristle. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Devlin told me you got a lead on the Myers shooter. A link to some information. Is that true?”

“He had no right to tell you about that.”

“Is it true?”

“What’s your interest in it?”

“You are. Because Devlin’s pissed, and he has reason to be.”

My head is swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you trying to draw a target on your back? That news blast today on The Spall website about the video footage? About your exclusive lead on the identity of Terrance Myers’ shooter? And how you’re confident you’ll be able to clean up the video to identify the shooter?”

“What the fuck? I didn’t publish a news blast—oh, shit. Roger.”

After I’d first told him about the email, he’d published a tiny note on the website letting readers know that The Spall was investigating a possible lead in the Myers assassination. Today, of course, he must have posted an update mentioning the video. Ridiculous, since there’s really no news yet, but even if I come up with zilch, just having that tidbit on the website will draw in readers—and advertisers. The Spall may be a quality print magazine, but per Franklin’s edict, the website has a more sensationalistic slant, supposedly so that the magazine has more of a competitive edge in today’s market. I can’t say that I approve, but I also get that the magazine needs revenue.

“I had no idea,” I tell Ronan. “I should have,” I admit, “but my editor ran that piece.”

“Well, tell him to take it down. Not that it’ll matter. The damage has been done. Nothing disappears off the Internet.”

He’s right about that. “It can’t have been live that long,” I point out. “How do you even know about it?”