Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(83)

A little cry of horror slips past my lips. I think I’m going to be sick.

“He said he was going away for good and asked me to watch out for you.”

He knew.

Somehow, Liam knew he was going to be arrested.

Oh god—the phone call. That’s why he acted so strange the morning he left. Someone called to alert him.

The reporter continues. “Mr. Black is currently being held without bail until his arraignment. Sources report he has been uncooperative with authorities. Due to his alleged connection with several international criminal syndicates and the extent and seriousness of the charges, he’s considered a high security risk and is being held in an undisclosed location. We’ll bring you more on this breaking news story as it develops. Shawn, back to you.”

The screen cuts to another grinning newscaster, this one a man with shoe polish black hair and orange skin. He starts talking, but I can’t hear a thing.

Liam has been arrested. He could spend the rest of his life in prison. Another man I love will be locked up behind bars.

And what happened to my brother Michael could very well happen to him.

I have to get out of here.

I bolt.

First, I run back into the break room and grab my purse from where I left it on the floor next to the chair when Carla and I were talking. Then, I fly out the back door and sprint to my car. I unlock the door with shaking fingers, dropping the keys twice. I finally get inside, slam the door, and rev the engine.

As I’m tearing out of the parking lot, I see Diego in my rear view mirror standing at the open back door. I turn a corner and he vanishes from sight.

I don’t remember the drive to my apartment. When I get there, I can’t wait long enough for the elevator to arrive. I take the stairs three at a time, my heart throbbing and my thighs burning, and burst into my apartment.

I have no idea what I’m going to do next, except it involves large amounts of alcohol.

Sitting on the sofa in the living room, Ellie’s reading a magazine. Surprised, she looks up at me.

“Hey. Didn’t you just leave for work a little while ago?”

When a choking noise is my only reply, Ellie shrugs. “It’s good you’re back early, anyway. Liam’s waiting for you in your room.”

All the cells in my body shriek collectively. Every muscle clenches, except in my hands. They go slack. My purse falls to the floor with a thud.

I stand there wide-eyed and panting, staring at Ellie, trying to decide if I heard her correctly or if my brain has finally exploded.

She sighs, sitting up. “I know, I know. You don’t like the way he broke it off, and I’m supposed to be taking your side, blah, blah, blah. But there’s just something about the guy, Tru! I can’t say no to him! He asked so politely if he could wait for you in your room that I just couldn’t turn him down!”

The front door of the apartment is open behind me, letting cool air wash over my burning skin. I manage to croak, “Did you see the news?”

Ellie frowns. “No. Why? Did something happen at Buddy’s?” Her tone rises in anger. “Did that guy who assaulted you come back again?”

She doesn’t know Liam was arrested. But he was.

So how the hell is he waiting for me in my room?

As if from a long distance off, I hear myself say, “Nobody assaulted me. Are you sure it’s Liam?”

She makes a face. “What am I, blind? Of course I’m sure. My panties burst into flame the second I opened the door and saw him.”

Holy shit. He must’ve escaped from prison. He escaped from prison and came here to hide. And of course I’m going to help him in any way I can.

So much for my career in law.

Clutching my fibrillating heart, my legs as wobbly as Jell-O, I make my way slowly across the living room toward my bedroom door.

Watching me go, Ellie says, “Okay, you’re really freaking me out right now.”

I say hoarsely, “I’m fine. Just…have a…migraine.”

When I reach the door, I stand there holding the knob, sucking in deep breaths until I get the courage to push the door open. I step inside and quickly shut it behind me.

And there he is, standing at my desk.

He’s in a perfectly-cut black Armani suit—what else?—and beautiful black leather shoes. His back is to me. His shoulders are wide and strong. He holds a book in his hands, and his dark head is bent toward the pages.

Without turning around, he muses, “He always did love Proust. I’ll never understand it. If you ask me, it’s a bunch of namby-pamby shite. Then again, he’s always been the sensitive one.”

Rich and throaty, with a rumble to it like a purr, his Irish brogue is exactly the same as Liam’s.

So is his face when he turns around and I can finally see it.

So are his eyes, that same fine dark color, that same piercing intelligence.

Everything about him, in fact, is exactly the same. Even the tattoos on the knuckles of his left hand and the one peeking above the collar of his white dress shirt.

But it’s not him.

It’s not Liam.

The resemblance is so perfect someone else wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but I’ve been spending every moment with Liam for the past several weeks, sleeping and eating and dreaming with him, having orgasm after incredible orgasm with him, sharing laughter and quiet moments, getting his smell and the look in his eyes and the timbre of his voice branded onto my memory and my heart and every corner of my soul.