Page 20 of Promise of Punishment

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.