From Hell: A Dark Billionaire Enemies to Lovers Romance by Mallory Fox

Author:Mallory Fox [Fox, Mallory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Jade Publishing
Published: 2023-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

23

LAINE

When Cash asked me to poke around Henry Wickham’s sprawling mansion in Bishopsgate, convincing his parents and subsequently me it was important to his case, I caved. I doubt there will be any clues as to who might have killed Henry after I supposedly did, but I couldn’t exactly say that to my cousin when he asked for my help. I couldn’t exactly tell him no, either.

Cash usually gets his way.

Since I wasn’t invited to the funeral service, I stand at the doorway of the church, watching the mourners weep over a sorry excuse for a man, and follow them to Henry’s house for the open wake.

Tree-lined lanes mark the ascent. The driveaway is packed with cars bumper to bumper, so I leave my car on the verge down one of the lanes and trudge through a field to a side gate entrance.

Oval shrubs and pyramid trees in a perfectly manicured garden shadow my approach. A four-string quartet plays on the lawn, and the vast glass doors in front of his house are open, the subdued party spilling onto the courtyard, floating around his parents, Mark and Tiff Wickham, with condolences hanging off their lips. A blonde girl in her early twenties, who must be Henry’s sister, Margot, hovers nearby with a composed face.

A queasy feeling settles in my stomach when a server approaches me and offers me a glass of champagne, and I take a mouthful of acidic bubbles.

I really shouldn’t be here.

I didn’t kill Henry, but it feels like I’m intruding on something private. Seeing him as a son and a brother is messing with my karma. The best thing I can do is find his office or bedroom soon, snoop enough around to appease Cash, and then leave. Thankfully, I have on my mother’s designer sunglasses that I stole from her bag because crying for a murderer and rapist isn’t something I can force.

On that thought, my hand closes on the handle of a blade in my pocket, reminding me that another letter arrived this morning from my stalker. I threw the flowers in the trash like I always do, but this time, there was a dull clang of metal against the side of the can. The brown paper tied around the stems had a miniature knife with a mother-of-pearl cross on the cover taped inside of it.

“Not long, little bird. I watch you often. Looking for me in the shadows. When we meet again, let’s make it a night to remember. Since you can’t bring yourself to pull the trigger, how about we even things out? Knives are better for carving up hearts, after all. This one is special, made just for you a century earlier.

Soon, little birdie.

Soon.

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