Beloved Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy #3) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,2

half as miserable as you look, then I’m sincerely worried about you.”

Chapter 2

Reed

Henn gives me a choice between his two proffered drinks. When I pick the gin and tonic, he sits across from me with the vodka soda. “You’re not planning to join the party today at all?”

“It’s for the best. I can’t imagine anyone wants me walking around, scaring all the little kiddies. Have you made any progress on hacking the football coach yet?”

Henn looks annoyed. “When would I have worked on that for you, since the last time you asked me about it—which was last night, at your party, when I was shitfaced?”

“I think I’m going crazy, Henn. I can’t stand the fact that he’s out in the world, living his best life, and not suffering at all for what he did to Georgie. She was seventeen. He was her teacher. She trusted him.” Georgina’s words as she screamed at me last night slam into me, yet again: I trusted you, Reed! And, once again, my heart twists painfully. I whisper, “I swear, if I could take a hit out on this guy, and know I wouldn’t get caught, I’d do it.”

Henn rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re not stupid enough to start searching the dark web for a hired killer. But just in case: don’t do it. You will get caught. And from what I’ve heard about prison, you wouldn’t like it. No Egyptian cotton bedsheets and the veggies, if you get them at all, come from a can.” He sighs sympathetically. “I’ll get into his devices, okay? And when I do, the odds are high I’ll find something we can use to sink him.”

“But, see, I don’t want ‘high’ odds. I want a guarantee.”

“If that’s code for ‘I want you to plant evidence,’ then fuck off. You know I’d never do that. Will you please just trust me? I’m amazing at what I do. Let me do my thing and stop acting like Tony Soprano.”

I lean back in my chair. “I have to do something with this manic energy. If I don’t focus it on taking down Gates, then I’ll have no choice but to focus on what a fucking idiot I am. And I don’t want to think about that. I can’t believe this is a self-inflicted wound.”

Henn looks sympathetic. “What, exactly, did you do? I’m so confused. One minute, you were making breakfast for Georgina and telling me she’s breakfast-worthy. And the next thing I know, Hannah is telling me Georgina stormed out of the party, looking distraught over something you did.”

Midway through Henn’s comment, Josh walks up, holding his one-year-old, Jack. “You’re talking about Georgina?” He looks at me. “What happened?” He settles himself into a chair. “I don’t get it. One minute, you were cannonballing into the pool and kissing her in front of everyone, and the next thing, Kat was telling me you’d done something to make her cry her eyes out.”

I groan. “I don’t want to talk about it, guys. Suffice it to say I fucked up, royally. And I regret it from the depths of my soul.”

Kat appears, out of nowhere. “Exactly how did you fuck up? Spill it, Reed. Whatever you did to my beautiful Georgina, I could strangle you for it. I liked this one. I wanted to keep her!”

“I was just explaining to the guys I’m not interested in talking about this.”

“Too bad. Tell me everything.”

“News flash, Kitty Kat. That’s not my ring on your finger.” I point to the baby on Josh’s lap, and then to Kat’s baby bump. “And those aren’t my kids. Which means I don’t have to tell you jack shit.”

Kat doesn’t flinch. She’s a girl who’s grown up with four brothers, after all. Plus, she’s long since learned to take me in stride when I’m in one of my bad moods. “It’s in your best interest to tell me everything. Have you forgotten Georgina will be staying at my house when she comes to Seattle to interview Dax and the Goats? Well, when your name comes up, which it surely will—because that’s what women do: we shit-talk the idiots we love—don’t you want me to know your side of the story, so I can gently try to steer Georgina toward saintly forgiveness?”

Feigning shock, Josh says, “Wait. Women shit-talk the idiots they love?”

“Oh, honey.” Kat pats her husband’s thigh. “It’s our favorite sport.”

Damn. I think Kat has a point. She’s uniquely positioned to influence Georgina’s opinion of me. Plus,

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