Dirty Little Lies Read Online Free PDF

against his cheek.
    Pleasure eased over her skin at the touch of his hot breath, but pleasure had cost her a hell of a lot tonight. She yanked her arm back. “What are you talking about?”
    Frankie dug into the limousine’s built-in bar and mixed her a Cuba Libre . The car even had a stash of fresh lime. He went light on the cola, but heavy on the rum, just the way she liked it. “If you had shot the assassin, you’d likely be in jail right now, vidita . Or worse.”
    She took a sip of the rum and cola. The icy trickle slowed her racing pulse. “There are worse things than jail?”
    “Dead is worse. If the cops thought you’d just shot a party guest, I’m thinking they would have returned fire first and asked questions later.”
    “Even if the party guest I shot just killed some congressman?” she pointed out.
    “Could you prove that?”
    She skewered him with a sharp look. “I know what I saw. What I heard. Trust me, this woman had one purpose and one purpose only. Revenge.”
    “For what?”
    Marisela slid an ice cube into her mouth. “It wasn’t like we were shooting the shit, Frankie. She just said a few things while we were kicking each other’s asses.” Marisela combed her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp to appease the headache threatening to split her skull in two. She did love a good fight, but the aftereffects sucked.
    Frankie changed seats, moving beside her. Her body ached to lean into him and let his natural heat envelop her, but she resisted. This was exactly why she hated having Frankie around—and exactly why she missed him. He could be a stone wall, surrounding her, protecting her—and that’s precisely what she didn’t need.
    “You’re beating yourself up for not shooting her when you had the chance in the garden.”
    “She wouldn’t have gotten away.”
    “You don’t even know for sure if the woman you fought with in the grass was the same woman who fired the shot that hit the congressman.”
    “Uh-huh,” she grunted, doubtful. Who else would fight like that to get away? “I know what I saw.”
    “What you saw ,” Frankie emphasized, “was the barrel of a rifle through a curtain on a dark balcony. Then you saw some woman in black come out from under the portico.”
    “You think Boston socialites regularly hang out with the rats under the porch?”
    “Depends on who you consider a rat in this town,” he quipped.
    Marisela didn’t want to laugh, but the combination of Frankie’s logic, the rum, and the glamorous comfort of the limo inspired her to at least crack a sardonic smile. “I could have fired a warning shot.”
    “And what if she ignored it? Then, the cops book you for endangerment or some shit. I’m sure threatening rich people gets you a hefty fine around here, if not a twenty-year jail sentence. And let’s say you just wound her. And let’s say the cops screw up and don’t get any physical evidence linking her to the crime. You end up in jail for reckless endangerment or even attempted murder and she goes on to collect her fee. Stop beating yourself up.”
    He knew her well—too well—which was why she hated how he could sneak into her brain uninvited and figure out the complicated workings of her mind. Half the time, she didn’t even understand the crap running through her brain. Ordinarily, she wasn’t one to harbor regrets or even look back ten minutes into the past. But all that had changed when she joined Titan.
    The limousine finally started to move. They’d crawled about twenty feet away from the house when it jerked to a stop, splashing the contents of Marisela’s drink across her chest and lap. She screamed, and as she let lose a string of curses, the door wrenched open.
    Frankie turned, his arm stretched protectively in front of her. “What the hell?”
    “I’m so sorry,” said the man who climbed gingerly inside the limo, uninvited. “My security guards can jump the gun when I’m anxious. One of the reasons why I hired