Dirty Little Lies Read Online Free PDF Page B

your outfit in the first place.”
    His annoyed grumble belied his smooth exterior. His black tuxedo contrasted starkly with his thick white hair and pale blue eyes, but when he looked up and smiled, Marisela felt her anger diminish.
    “Ms. Morales, your dress is ruined. I insist you send the tattered remains to me immediately so I can have it replaced.” He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. “You looked so stunning tonight.”
    She arched a brow. “Do I know you?”
    He didn’t answer until she accepted the cloth, which she used to mop her drink off her cleavage.
    “Leo Devlin,” he said, his voice deep and arresting. “We hadn’t yet been formally introduced, but every man at the masquerade noticed you, I’m quite certain. I was your host this evening.”
    Marisela waved the sopping rag at him. “Great party. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
    Frankie sat back against the seat. “Marisela, Mr. Devlin is also our client.”
    Marisela frowned. “Oh. No one’s jewels got swiped, did they?” She’d never made it to her shift on diamond patrol. She’d been too busy messing around with Frankie, and then, trying to avert an assassination.
    Devlin’s smile reached his eyes. For an hombre de poder y dinero who owned a house that could double for a small town, he seemed incredibly comfortable talking to “the help.”
    “Everyone’s jewelry was perfectly safe, thanks to Titan. But the police informed me that you may have tangled with the person who shot the senator. Is this true?”
    Marisela exchanged glances with Frankie. She’d given the police a report, but she hadn’t exactly told them everything. Old habits died hard. And she wasn’t sure she should talk to anyone else before she’d been debriefed by Titan. She’d learned the procedures recently enough that she actually remembered them. However, Devlin was the client. Or had been up until the time when the party came to a bloody end.
    “I confronted a woman who seemed intent on leaving the party in a hurry,” Marisela offered.
    Devlin’s eyes widened. “A woman?”
    She quirked a grin. “We can be very dangerous.”
    Devlin chuckled, shaking his head. “Apparently so. I don’t wish to impede the investigation in any way, but this shooting happened at my event and in my house. Congressman Bennett and I weren’t on the same page politically, but the idea of him dying in my house…you can see how I’d want to make sure the perpetrator is brought to justice as quickly as possible.”
    Marisela shrugged. The man wasn’t talking out of his ass. If he were a political rival, he’d likely rush to the top of the suspect list.
    “Talk to the police, then,” she offered.
    “You didn’t hire us to protect your perimeter,” Frankie reminded him.
    “Perhaps I should have,” Devlin said ruefully. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
    Marisela shook her head and returned his soiled handkerchief.
    Devlin’s eyes twinkled and his smile reflected the kind of humor that looked good on a man who was richer than God. “You will send me the dress?”
    Cool and cocky, this one. He was three times her age, she figured, but he was still flirting.
    “I don’t have much use for ball gowns,” she concluded.
    With a nod, Devlin said good night and exited the limousine. Moments later, the car was released and they sped off to rendezvous, Frankie told her, with Ian Blake. She was tired and sore and now damp and sticky. He was so the last man she wanted to see.
    Fifteen minutes later, the limousine pulled to a stop behind a large white building with stark brick architecture and institutional iron doors. A tall, blond, tuxedoed man emerged from the back seat of the limo parked ahead of theirs and started toward her and Frankie. Ian Blake opened the door and leaned inside, looking cool and contained and, damn him, delicious.
    “Don’t you look…spiffy,” she said, admiring Ian in his tuxedo, a classic Giorgio