Page 65 of Wicked Fortune

What was she trying to say? Was it a goodbye? A warning? Something else entirely?

I’d spun those letters around and around in my head for the entire ride to Hardline. Now, I’m in the elevator, staring at the photo of the letter I’d taken before locking the original in my desk. I try to will the letters to jump into their proper order, but nothing happens. The words are nonsense, and they’re determined to stay that way.

My stomach twists. This letter is the only hope I have of learning what happened to Jenny. She’d written out the anagram. She’d mailed the letter to me. It was some sort of cry for help. And while I have no idea why she didn’t call and just talk to me, it doesn’t matter now.

This letter is what I have left—and I will learn the truth.

But apparently not today.

With a frown, I lock my phone as the elevator doors slide open. I step out, tilt my head down, then head toward the office where another challenge awaits me: Lila.

If she’s looking, I know Lila can see me on the security camera, but I take my time, anyway. I need the extra moments to try to clear my head and make sure my face isn’t reflecting any errant thoughts. Easier said than done since I’m about as good at hiding my emotions as I am at acrobatics. As in, not at all.

I watch the pattern of the carpet as I walk, hoping that I’ll somehow grok my next best step by the time I reach the door. What I want is to show Matthew the note, and it guts me to acknowledge that I can’t. Jenny’s death is the reason I’m at Hardline. The reason I applied for the job. The reason I wanted to get close to Matthew. Well, that and my long-standing crush.

I fight the urge to fake a stomach bug and just turn around and go home. But I can’t. I got into this for Jenny, and I’m going to see it through. I can’t back off now, even if I am slowly unraveling with every step toward that door. Even if I know that there are only two people in the whole world who could help me hold it together right now. One’s in Monaco. And the other might very well be the man who took Jenny from me in the first place.

No. No, I can’t believe that.

But that’s my heart talking. My brain is quietly whispering that I can’t let myself be stupid.

Would it be stupid?

I know the man. I’ve seen his heart.

And what about what you told Bree? That he and Ash are alike. That they could kill to protect what they love.

But how on earth could Jenny have been a threat? A wannabe actress? It makes no sense.

And it won’t. Not until you know the truth.

I hesitate at the office door, knowing the little demon in my head is right. I won’t know until I know. And I have absolutely no idea how to take the next step toward truth.

Lila says only, “Good morning,” when I walk in, but I’m sure there’s a dark message underneath. Something like, “Welcome back, bitch, and stay away from the man I want.”

I give a slight nod of acknowledgment, keep my head down, and hurry into my office. I shut the door that leads to reception. Then I glance toward the door between me and Matthew’s private office, noting that it’s already closed.

Good. I need a few minutes to think. I even go so far as to pull up Bree on my phone. I’m about to tap the icon to call her, but then I remember two things. One, I can’t drag her into this when she’s overseas. And two, I have no idea what time it is over there, but I’m guessing that it’s not a good time to call.

And that’s when the heavens open up, angels sing, and shafts of gold light shoot down from above.

Because I know what to do.

I’ll tell Matthew.

Not that I came to Hardline because of Jenny. Not even that I know that Jenny went to Hardline’s meet-and-greets.

No, I’ll just tell him that my friend Jenny was trying to break into acting, that I need to figure out why she committed suicide, and since he’s Matthew Freaking Holt, then maybe he has a way to find out if something happened before she died. Like maybe she’d bombed an audition for Hardline or some other producer in town.

That way Matthew never has to know I suspected him for a second. Plus, he’ll be able to help me figure this out. Because, of course, he’s completely innocent.

And if I’m wrong about that … well, in that case, hopefully I’ll be able to tell. And as much as it might break my heart, I’ll take him down.

But I’m not wrong. I’ve been naked with this man. Joked with him. Made love with him. Cooked and laughed with him.

I’m not wrong.

I can’t be wrong.