Toxic - Zoe Blake Page 0,67

only a minor sacrifice on my part. I touched the healing star-shaped scar in the middle of my chest.

The risk was worth it.

I had realized marriage, a piece of paper, would not be enough for me… she needed to be bonded to me in blood. Especially since Elizabeth had a troubling way of doubting my love for her and overthinking my motives. I couldn’t risk that she would eventually start remembering the truth. Nothing intensified a person’s feelings… or clouded their thinking and judgement… more than the threat of the death of someone they loved.

By her steady breathing, I could tell my little bird had fallen back to sleep in my arms. Tilting my head to the side, I watched her face, soft in sleep. Careful not to wake her, I stroked her cheek with the backs of my knuckles.

Mine.

This precious creature was all mine.

Yes, it was a game well played.

Once the villain, I had become the hero of her story.

La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu’il n’existe pas.

Chapter 25

Lizzie

Her name was Nicole.

Nicole Fleming.

Nicole was too nice, too normal of a name. I would have imagined the woman stalking us to have had a more sinister-sounding name, something exotic and hard to pronounce. Nicole sounded like someone you met for coffee or for drinks at the club. Nicole was a name for the girl next door, not the half-crazed, killer ex-girlfriend.

I stared down at a picture of her on the front page of the newspaper. She was in handcuffs with a bulletproof vest placed over her shoulders as she was being led away by countless Special Branch officers. The headline read Would-Be Murderess in Love Triangle with Rich Duke.

We had breakfasted in the conservatory today. The beautiful bamboo cage for Coco and Dior was kept there, and I liked to hear them sing as we ate.

Sitting at the small wrought-iron table with my now-chilling pot of tea and half-eaten chocolate croissant, it almost felt like I was peeking into an unknown world as I looked down at the newspaper with its garish insulting headline.

Richard had multiple daily papers delivered from London. Usually he gave me the culture section while he read the remaining sections, occasionally reading an article he thought I might enjoy out loud, but today the delivery was late. He was already in his study, completing our plans to travel to his private island. I knew he wouldn’t be happy when he learned the staff had let me see the papers.

Ever since our wedding, he had been determined to essentially shut the world out. Refusing to even discuss the investigation with me. I guess his high-handed tactics would upset most women, but I was grateful. It had been over a week, but I still woke up in the middle of the night screaming, seeing drips of crimson blood cloud my vision.

I should feel better now that Nicole was in custody, but the tight clenching fist of fear was still there. It would probably be only a matter of time before the media trespassed on the estate to get a photo or quote from us. The best thing was to leave the country till the drama blew over.

I was completely packed and ready. We were supposed to leave tomorrow on Richard’s private plane. We would have to land in Fiji and then take a helicopter to the island. I couldn’t wait. It was just going to be me and Richard and nothing but white sand and blue water. Heaven.

Picking up the newspaper again, I flipped to the article page. There was another smaller photo of Richard in a tuxedo standing next to Nicole. Apparently, they were linked socially for a brief period of time, but there was no speculation it was serious. After their breakup she had spent time in Bahrain, where the newspaper claimed she became radicalized.

According to the investigators, she had left a trail of damning evidence.

Where had I heard that phrase before? A trail of evidence?

Harris. It was Harris, in the hospital. The conversation I wasn’t supposed to have overheard after Richard got out of surgery.

“Is phase two all set?” asked Richard.

“They’d have to be blind and stupid to not pick up on the damning trail of evidence I left.”

The same sense of cold unease settled in my stomach.

Continuing to read, there was a quote from her barrister, claiming someone had framed Nicole. He stated that the evidence implicating his client was almost too perfect not to be planted and was