Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2)

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  I slowly turn. ‘Brent.’ I inhale his name on a contained panicked gasp, my eyes darting past him. If anything was to pull Becker from wherever he’s hiding, this man would be it. Where is he?

  ‘Lost someone?’ he asks, following the direction of my searching eyes.

  ‘No.’ I force the trepidation from my tone as I step away, disconnecting his hand from my arm. I think I’ve done well in my endeavour to appear cool . . . until he gives me a telling smirk. Victorious.

  ‘Tell me.’ He steps forward but hesitates when I instinctively move away. I should not be displaying any apprehension. ‘Because I’m so very curious,’ he muses.

  I don’t like where this conversation is heading. ‘What?’ My feet take me back with no instruction, and I run a quick scan of the area again, searching for Becker. Again nothing. Damn it, where is he?

  Brent arches an amused eyebrow. He’s getting a sick thrill out of my discomfort. ‘Did you play any part in ripping me off with the fake Michelangelo?’

  My heart, my lungs, my kidneys – every internal organ, in fact – drops into my heels. Oh . . . fuck . . .

  I want to believe I misheard him, but the anger that’s looming behind his clear eyes tells me I heard him just fine. I’ve lost the ability to function, resulting in me standing before him looking as guilty as I am, while my mind becomes more knotted with each second that I’m regarded with suspicious eyes. ‘You can’t prove it,’ I whisper, my heart working its way back up from my shoes, bypassing my chest, and settling in my throat.

  A flash of surprise flies across his face. ‘So I need to prove it?’

  Shit . . .

  Oh . . . shit . . .

  My eyes are wide, my body still. I can’t control any of my evident shock.

  ‘Good God,’ Brent laughs, his disbelief evident. ‘He really does have you wrapped around his finger.’

  I nail my mouth shut. Fuck!

  Brent continues to watch me wilt under the pressure, seeming highly entertained. ‘I only had Alexa’s word. Seems now I have yours, too.’

  I’m in all kinds of panic, but amid it, I manage to wonder how the hell Alexa knows. ‘Did you break into my apartment?’ I’m on the offensive. That’s it now. All the stops have been pulled out. I know Becker said he’s not smart enough, but this man stole an O’Keeffe, for Christ’s sake. So what makes Becker so sure?

  Brent’s head lowers slightly, making his Roman nose seem longer, and the light catches the grey flecks in his hair, making them shine. ‘You can’t prove it,’ he whispers, making my lungs shrink.

  ‘Why?’ I breathe, fighting my vibrating nerves.

  ‘Becker has never been so possessive over a woman,’ he says tactically, reminding me of my fiancé’s Lothario ways. ‘I’m playing his game, Eleanor.’

  ‘There is no game,’ I impulsively fire in return.

  ‘There’s always a game.’ He swoops in, surprising me, and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. Before I can muster any fight, we’re on the dance floor, locked together, my feet following Brent’s. ‘And it’s tradition for me to play along,’ he whispers in my ear.

  ‘Get off me, Brent.’

  ‘Tell me what you know,’ he demands quietly. ‘How did he pull it off?’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ I grind, stiff as a board against him, moving without thinking, aware of the people around us. My attempts to break away from him are futile. ‘Let me go,’ I grate, placing my palms on his shoulders and pushing into him. I only manage to separate us a few inches before I’m forced back.

  Brent rests his square jaw on the side of my head, getting too comfortable. My eyes frantically search for Becker again. ‘You won’t find him.’ He twirls us round on a fake, happy laugh. ‘I believe he and Alexa have unfinished business.’

  That’s it. I throw everything I have into getting him away from me, not caring any more if it attracts attention. ‘Get your filthy hands off of me.’

  He releases me, a sick smile on his face, and my hands twitch at my sides, desperate to slap him. I back away, trying to control the shakes that I’ve developed, the swirl of emotion – the anger, the uncertainty, the fear – all mixing up in my hollow torso, making me feel so very unstable. ‘Remember, Eleanor,’ he reaches up and pats the shoulder of his tux. ‘I’m always a shoulder to cry on when he’s got what he’s wanted from you and casts you aside. Because he will.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  Brent looks at me like he feels sorry for me, and it’s all I can do not to scream that he’s wrong. ‘You’ll come to your senses, I’m sure.’

  My teeth clamp down together, grinding as I lift my hand, revealing my ring. Brent’s eyes bug. ‘Yes, he really does have me wrapped around his finger.’ I gaze down at Becker’s grandmother’s emerald for a few moments, giving Brent time to absorb it, too. Then I return my eyes to his stunned expression and wait for him to look at me. When he does, I smile curtly. ‘My senses have never left me, Mr Wilson. That’s why I’m with Becker and not with you.’ I spin and make off. My only aim now is to find Becker, and I know exactly where I’m going before my brain registers my route. It’s the only quiet place in Countryscape that I’ve encountered since I’ve been here. The place where she watched Becker fuck me against the wall.

  The smoking room.

  I hurry through the crowds and find myself at the door, not recalling any part of my journey here. My mind is being blitzed by my worries. It was him. He was in my apartment, and I need to find Becker to tell him.

  Taking the handle of the door, I push my way in, my heart racing.

  And freeze.

  She’s in her underwear, pulling at Becker’s jacket, her hands and mouth everywhere. I want to scream, make my presence known, but everything has ceased functioning. Except my eyes. And they’re being tortured by the sight before me, her mouth on Becker’s, their bodies a mess of tangled limbs and frantic . . .

  Fighting?

  ‘Get the fuck off of me, you crazy cow,’ Becker seethes.

  Alexa stumbles back on her heels from the force of his shove, grabbing a nearby table to steady herself. But she quickly regains her composure and goes at him again, her hands trying to cup his face. ‘Don’t try to fight it, Becker.’ Her signature purr is replaced with desperation. ‘We were so good together.’

  He fights her off. ‘Get over yourself, Alexa. What part of “I’m a taken man” don’t you understand?’

  The moment she realises she’s fighting a losing battle is obvious because her shoulders roll and her chin raises. ‘Thirty-five million,’ she sniffs, simple as that.

  Is she bribing him? My laugh comes out on a tiny exhale on air, but however quiet the sound, it still makes my presence known. Alexa and Becker both swing towards me – Becker looking horrified, Alexa looking like she could charge me down at any moment. Quite frankly, I feel vulnerable and, annoyingly, like an intruder.

  ‘Oh, it’s the skivvy,’ she snickers, looking at me like I could be something that Winston evacuated from his arse. Yes, it riles me beyond comprehension, but her sudden defensiveness holds me intrigued. I want to know what comes next. More scathing words? More looks of contempt? Standing on the sideline unnoticed, my mind on the drag, trying to process what I was seeing, was the best thing that could have happened. My delayed response to what I was faced with moments ago means I got the full show, including the spectacular ending. Yet my satisfaction at witnessing Becker reject her so harshly aside, I’m still mad with him for deserting me with the countess, which resulted in me having to endure an awful confrontation with Brent. The fact that I’ve pretty much dropped Becker in it by confirming Brent’s suspicions about the fake sculpture isn’t featuring in my tatty mind right now.

  Dangerous fury roots itself deep and starts a tormenting swirl in my gut. I should unleash it. But instead I do the safest thing for all of us. I t
urn and walk out.

  ‘Whoa!’ Becker has me prisoner in his arms before I make it five paces.

  ‘You’re an idiot!’ I spit, losing my reason and flipping out in his arms, having a vain wriggle.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he breathes, carting me back into the smoking room. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ I’m plonked on my feet before he strides over to Alexa, calm as can be, snatches up her clothes, and then takes her arm. ‘Out.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ she protests, stumbling alongside him. ‘Thirty-five million!’

  Becker more or less tosses her out the door, followed by her clothes, and slams it shut behind her. ‘Fucking hassle,’ he grunts, striding over to the huge fireplace as he rifles through his pocket. He takes something out and faffs for a few moments, before bringing something to his lips. I catch his profile . . .

  With a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

  What?

  He smokes? Once again, I’m rendered incapable of speech. I can only watch as he lights up and pulls the longest drag, his head tilting back, lengthening his stubbled throat. Then the smoke comes billowing out along with a groan of pleasure. ‘Fuck, that’s good.’

  ‘You smoke?’ I ask, and my question knocks him out of his euphoria and has him looking down at the white stick sitting lightly between his fingers. ‘Not for years.’ He frowns on a cute pout.

  ‘Then why now?’

  ‘Stress,’ he declares, taking another pull.

  I rush over and snatch it from his fingers, stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

  He collapses into a chair and rests his head back. He really does look stressed. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he says to the ceiling, reaching under his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.

  I march over and put myself in front of him. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ I point to the door, where I expect Alexa is pulling on her clothes beyond.

  ‘A hassle. That’s what. I needed somewhere quiet to make a call. She followed me.’

  I laugh sardonically. I’m pissed off with him, but I’m also realistic. His hassle isn’t nearly as big as mine. ‘I’ve had a bit of a hassle myself.’

  He raises a worried eyebrow. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like Brent.’

  ‘Wilson,’ Becker growls. ‘He’s here?’

  ‘Yes, he’s here.’

  ‘What did he want?’ His lip twitches, threatening to break into a snarl.

  I’m suddenly too scared to tell Becker, for then I have to tell him that Brent got what he wanted. Namely, confirmation of Alexa’s claim. But it takes two seconds flat to weigh up my options . . . because I really only have one. Tell. ‘He knows the sculpture is a fake.’

  Becker’s eyes bug. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Because I told him! ‘He mentioned something about Alexa telling him.’

  ‘Again, how?’

  ‘Do I look like a fucking psychic?’

  He ignores my sarcasm and falls into thought, looking past me. He has plenty to think about, that’s for sure.

  ‘It was definitely him who broke into my apartment.’

  ‘He told you?’ He looks surprised. No . . . he looks angry.

  We’re interrupted when the door swings open and Alexa presents herself, now fully dressed. ‘You’ve just lost thirty-five million,’ she taunts, landing me with a cold look.

  Becker’s up from his chair like lightning, marching towards her, and Alexa steps back, wary. He gets right up in her face. ‘You been telling Wilson stories, Alexa?’

  ‘Don’t try to deny it.’ She raises her chin. If it wasn’t for the minuscule slice of doubt in her tone, she’d appear totally composed and confident. Her body language is screaming supremacy, but that quiver in her voice floors her false façade. ‘I heard you,’ she goes on, looking between us. ‘After the auction in the entrance hall.’

  Flashbacks of the occasion she’s referring to blitz my mind – the moment when Becker, looking confusingly happy after losing in the bidding war, told me Brent had bought a fake. She was there? Listening? Oh dear God! But I’m mindful that although she knows the sculpture is fake, she doesn’t know who sculpted it. And she mustn’t. Becker having secret knowledge of a suspected forgery and not voicing it would be seriously frowned upon in the antiquing and art world. She knows that, and it’s why she’s here. But anyone knowing he crafted that forgery would cause a scandal of colossal proportions, would have him thrown in jail. It would ruin Becker, as well as accelerate the feud between him and Brent. That can’t happen. They’re already vying for each other’s blood.

  Flicking a glance across to Becker, I can tell he’s on the same wavelength as me. She knows something, but she doesn’t know everything.

  ‘What’s your game, Alexa?’ I ask. ‘What do you want? Becker in return for your silence?’

  ‘He’ll get bored of you soon enough,’ she sniffs, ‘Do you honestly think he’ll settle for a skivvy when he can have this?’ She indicates her long, lithe body.

  ‘You . . .’ I move forward threateningly, set on ripping her head off her shoulders.

  But Becker catches me before my claws make it to her. ‘Easy.’

  ‘She’s asking for it!’ I shout, pushing him off me.

  ‘Eleanor,’ Becker yells, losing his patience. ‘Nothing she can say will make any difference.’ He grabs my hand and yanks it up, pointing to my ring. ‘No difference, Eleanor.’

  I snap my mouth shut, reading his thoughts as he raises his eyebrows, warning me to leave it there. I look at Alexa, seeing her displaying all the signs of shock I would expect. If she didn’t get the message after watching Becker screw me blind, then she has now.

  ‘I’ll tell—’

  ‘Tell who, Alexa?’ Becker snaps impatiently. ‘You knew about the fake, too. And just like me, you said fuck all. That makes you just as guilty as me.’

  Her eyes widen, the reality hitting home. ‘But you bid on it. Pushed the price up.’

  Becker smiles, bright and happy. ‘Why, Alexa,’ he croons sweetly. ‘That’s because I thought it was real.’ His expression straightens into a deadly serious one, as horror washes over Alexa’s. ‘I’m a respected dealer. Wouldn’t dream of condoning a fake. You are nothing more than a scorned ex-lover looking for revenge.’ Becker squeezes my hand, almost too tightly. ‘Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here. I’m beginning to itch.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Alexa cries, outraged.

  Flexing his fingers to get a good, solid hold of me, he leads me out, purposely taking a wide berth around Alexa in a further silent insult. ‘Well, that was interesting,’ he muses as we stride down the corridor, peeking down at me. ‘I feel like I need fumigating.’

  I manage to laugh past my easing rage. ‘I think you’ve just lost thirty-five million.’

  ‘Better than losing you,’ he replies simply, giving my hand a squeeze.

  That’s sweet. So sweet. I’m costing this man a fortune. But . . . ‘Aren’t you worried?’ I ask. ‘About Brent knowing?’

  ‘No. He’d never share his acquisition of a fake and lose face. His ego’s far too big. But I can guarantee that he’ll be hell-bent on getting revenge.’ He looks down at me. ‘And he knows my one and only weakness now.’ Becker smiles mildly, though it’s tinged with worry. ‘I can also guarantee that he’ll be hell-bent on finding the real Head of a Faun.’

  ‘So he can replace the fake?’ I ask.

  ‘And then no one will ever need to know the dickhead paid fifty million for a forgery.’

  Becker stares forward as we wander away from the smoking room, and I can virtually see his mind racing. He’s right. Brent will now be going all out to find the real Head of a Faun.

  And I wonder . . .

  Does this change Becker’s resolute vow to abandon his mission to find it himself?


  Chapter 34

  Becker glances down at his antique Rolex as we arrive in the grand entrance hall of Countryscape. ‘Time to show you the Heart of Hell.’

  ‘Sounds ominous.’ I shudder as we pass through the crowds, and as soon as we enter the gallery, I note firstly how busy the walls are – papered in detailed print with gold-gilded framed portraits at every turn. The edges of the room are lined in roll-back day couches, all with carved wooden legs, all upholstered in garish velvets, and a mammoth rug covers virtually the whole floor space, leaving only a slither of the original wooden planks exposed around the circumference of the room.

  And in the centre of the rug, flanked by two mean-looking security guards, is a glass cabinet containing the Heart of Hell. Even from the other side of the room I can see the shards of light reflecting off the glass from the precious gem, and despite there being scores of people scattered around admiring the ruby, it’s quiet, just a light buzz of chit-chat.

  Once Becker has led me to the front of the crowds and I catch my first peek, my breath is robbed from me. ‘Oh my God,’ I breathe, feeling like I’m immediately falling under its spell.

  ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ I can see now where its name comes from. The fiery splinters of red lights hitting the surrounding glass are breath-taking. I’m unable to rip my eyes away.

  Becker’s front meets my back, his mouth coming close to my ear. ‘You’re giving that beautiful red stone a run for its money.’

  I smile, spotting a man on the other side of the cabinet, looking at the gem, as awestruck as everyone else in the room. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He’s the curator of PGS.’

  Of course. The Precious Gem Society. I shake my head, my enchanted gaze falling back to the ruby.

  ‘Listen.’ Becker reaches around me and takes my chin lightly, lifting my head to look at the curator, like he can sense my struggle to snap out of my trance. ‘It’s very interesting.’