Wicked Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

Justice already, but she suspected that hope was unlikely. If he were captured, she believed he would blast out a raging message to her, and since that last sibilant ssssisterrrr, he’d been quiet.
    The house she and Byron had rented was a two-bedroom with white trim and gray shingles. One bathroom. Built in the fifties, renovated in the seventies, left to disintegrate over time. She and Byron had bought a condo in downtown Portland, and then the housing market had tumbled and they’d sold for a small loss. It had soured Byron on real estate; he hated losing anything. So, they’d chosen this rental for its proximity to the hospital and signed a six-month lease, which had turned into month-to-month as time had marched on. Once Byron had moved out, Laura was grateful for the cheap rent, even if it did come with a leaky bathroom faucet.
    Pulling up to the back porch, she cut the engine and climbed from her Subaru. Byron drove a black Porsche, but Laura had preferred her dark green Outback. The Porsche was leased and Byron’s affair; Laura owned the Outback in her own name. Another blessing.
    Hurrying past the rhododendrons long past blooming, she heard the rumble of the Pacific Ocean and smelled the thick, damp scent of the sea as she walked along the cement walk to her porch. The neighbor’s black cat slid under the porch as she climbed the two steps and unlocked the back door.
    Once inside the small kitchen, she snapped on the lights, then dropped her purse and coat on the counter. Its chipped Formica had been scrubbed to a shine when Laura moved in, and she’d repainted all the interior cabinets, trim, and walls herself. Tired it might be, but it was bright and white.
    And home.
    Her sanctuary.
    She’d thought that she might feel a bit of nostalgia, a loss, when Byron had moved out, but all she’d really experienced was relief, a quiet peace.
    Until today.
    When Justice had reached out to her and reminded her that she was different. Growing up at Siren Song had made her so. Now she was vulnerable . . . so very vulnerable. Sighing, she sat down in one of the two café chairs surrounding the small glass table, put her elbows against the surface, and buried her face in her hands.
    The baby . . . a baby . . .
    She should go to the lodge and talk to Aunt Catherine, tell her that Cassandra’s prediction had come true. But Justice was out there. Loose. Waiting for someone to make a move. And she, being outside the gates, was the logical choice.
    Oh, dear God.
    She shuddered. She’d never told Byron about her past. She’d simply said she was estranged from her mother and she’d never known her father. She’d been in her second year of nursing at the hospital where he’d been a resident when they met, and he’d just become a full-fledged osteopath when they’d started dating. She’d been starry-eyed and too eager, and he’d been intrigued by her ability to understand, practically diagnose, underlying problems with his patients that had nothing to do with the broken bones he corrected. He called it her instinct, and they both let it be an understood, and basically untouched, thing between them. Now she knew it was what had set her apart from the other young nurses and medical staff that cast admiring glances in his direction. When he’d casually suggested marriage, she’d jumped at the chance. She’d ignored his selfish traits. She simply hadn’t cared. She’d wanted the whole picture: the house with the picket fence, 2.5 children, a dog, and a husband. She’d suspected Byron wasn’t as deep as she was. The fact that he hadn’t been all that interested in her family had been one clue, but she’d thought it wouldn’t matter if she was more in love than he.
    On that, she’d been wrong.
    So wrong.
    He was not only shallow, but he was unfaithful. And uncaring. And unrepentant. He’d wanted her for his wife. He was intrigued with her “instinct,” but he wasn’t going to be monogamous for anyone. That was