A Beautiful Lie (Playing with Fire #1)(29)

The man watched her stop in her tracks and knew he had her...hook, line, and sinker. He hoped he would get a raise for this one.

She stood with her back to the man, fighting back tears. She’d looked at her bank account every day for the past six months, hoping it would magically quadruple in size. She knew she wouldn’t have enough money for her last year, room and board, and food. She did everything she could to stretch out the money, but photography supplies were expensive. Annabelle filled out the financial aid forms a few weeks ago, praying that something good would finally come her way. She briefly wondered if this guy was from the Financial Aid department and that was why he knew so much about her. But Annabelle was pretty certain it wasn't a job requirement to know the sexual history of all the applicants.

Annabelle was lost in thought, something she shouldn’t have been with a stranger that knew entirely too many personal details about her sitting just a few feet away. His arm suddenly came around her from behind, causing her to jump in fear. She was amazed by the way he was able to sneak up on her so quietly.

He held a large manila envelope in front of her and spoke quietly into her ear.

“There’s some interesting information in here, Miss Parker. Look it over. I’ll be in touch.”

Since she refused to take the envelope or anything else he might have offered; it dropped down to the ground in front of her as he walked away. She lost track of time as she stood there in the middle of campus shaking with fear. She didn’t understand how someone could know so much information about her. He had known how many men she slept with and about that awful day in her father’s kitchen when she left for college. No one should know that information, and it scared the hell out of her that this man had so casually walked up to her in a public place and listed these things off the top of his head like it was no big deal.

Annabelle quickly looked around to see if anyone was near before dropping to the ground, picking up the envelope, and shoving it in her backpack. She had run the whole way back to her dorm, shaking with apprehension at what could possibly be in the envelope and knowing that if that man already knew so much about her, and could locate her in the middle of a huge campus, he would easily be able to find her again.



Annabelle had unlocked her door with trembling hands, sat down on the bed in her dorm, and tore open the flap of the envelope, dumping the contents on top of her bedspread. At least fifty pictures slipped out and flopped down to the bed in a scattered pile. She threw the envelope to the floor and picked up one of the pictures. It was a black and white photo of her father. A man twice his size stood behind him, holding his arms behind his back while another man stood in front of him, his fist frozen in time against her father’s cheek.

She threw that one down on the bed and picked up another, this one in color. It showed her father walking down the steps of her old home, his face badly beaten. One eye was black and blue, he had a split lip, a cut above his eyebrow, and a bandage over his nose that most likely signified it was broken.

Annabelle tossed that one aside and picked up yet another, and another, and another until she had looked through each and every picture. They were all more or less the same. Her father with his face beat to hell or her father looking scared to death while he talked with some man in a suit. Each photo was dated, not one was a duplicate. The earliest photo was one of her father exchanging money with the same man in a suit. It was dated six months before her mother died.

Annabelle had no idea what any of this was supposed to mean. She didn’t understand what her father had gotten himself into or why she cared. She shoved the pictures aside and grabbed the small note card that had fallen out with them. Written in the middle of the card in block letters was a name: Anthony Capuano.

Annabelle had flipped the card over, hoping for something else, but the back was blank. She scrambled off of the bed and over to her desk, powering on her laptop. She did a Google search for Anthony Capuano. There were six-thousand-four-hundred-and-nineteen results.

The first link had provided took her to the New York Times and told her all she needed to know.



Parker let herself into the villa, grabbing a sock to stick between the door jam and the lock so Garrett could get back in. She peeled off her sweaty clothes as she made her way to the bathroom for a quick shower. As she stood under the warm spray and let the tension wash away, Parker thought back over everything that happened that day in college. She would never allow herself to second guess her decision. It had been the right one for her to make at the time. The job had taught her so many things—things she’d never forget and things she wished she could forget. Most of all, she wished she could forget the items in the envelope. Garrett could blame her for lying about the job all he wanted, but no matter what, she was still the same person inside, the same person who would do anything for those she loved.

Garrett still wasn’t back to the villa by the time Parker got out of the shower. She wasn’t going to worry about him or go looking for him. She had said her piece and he was a big boy. He could forgive her and they could move on, or he could continue to ignore her and be pissed. The choice was up to him.

She dressed for bed in a pink Victoria’s Secret tank top and matching draw-string pajama bottoms and crawled into the king-sized haven, scooting as far over to one side as she could without falling on the floor. Parker wondered if Garrett would climb in with her when he got to the room or if he'd sleep on the floor. She wondered if he would even come back to the room at all. She turned off the lamp on the nightstand and shut her eyes, trying to shut down her mind and not think about that day in college, but it was useless.