A gunshot shattered the kitchen window.
Veer’s body jerked.
Prescott pulled me to the floor.
Glass exploded over the table.
Security returned fire toward the tree line.
By the time we reached Veer, he was dead.
One bullet.
Upper chest.
Prescott dragged me toward the rear exit.
“We need to move.”
I looked at him.
Something about Veer’s last words burned in my mind.
Her father.
Genevieve’s father had died before our twins were born.
Unless everyone had been wrong about that too.
We reached the vehicles.
Prescott climbed into the front seat.
I sat in the rear.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from a number I didn’t recognize.
DON’T TRUST HALE.
I looked at the back of Prescott’s head.
He turned.
“Everything okay?”
I smiled without feeling anything.
“Fine.”
For the next hour, I said nothing.
I had trusted Prescott with my life.
More importantly, I had trusted
