Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) by Lisa Hughey Read Free Book Online Page A

seemed to be working faster than expected, possibly because of my Arab heritage. Just a few more treatments of the pigment-producing drug and I would pass for a mulatto or maybe even a black woman.
    Then whoever was looking for Staci Grant, white skin, blond hair with light brown streaks, and blue eyes would pass right over me. My skin would be dark enough, dark brown contacts would shield my blue eye color, and the mahogany brown dye and lack of conditioner would turn my hair into a much rougher and scraggly mop.
    With the slight limp I’d acquired getting my butt from Afghanistan to Pakistan, no one should connect urbane, sophisticated, wealthy Staci Grant to the run down, ragged, beat-up woman in a cheap Bahamian cotton sundress.
    The toe-popper I’d triggered had ripped off a piece of my right little toe. I know I should be grateful I hadn’t blown up my whole foot, but shit, I’d already lost what felt like everything and right now I didn’t have faith I was ever going to get it back.
    A wave of nausea broke over my body, sheening my skin with sweat and rolling through my stomach.
    The damn drug.
    The nausea hit me at the oddest times. Most of the time it was minor, but every once in a while I’d have to choke the sensation back down.
    I wrapped a bright orange, batik-patterned pareo around my head, turban style, and slid the brown contacts into my eyes. Then I rubbed self-tanning gel over my exposed skin to add to the already changing color.
    I had one quick mission which couldn’t be put off any longer.
    I waded through the pecking chickens and hopped on a bicycle, heading for the other Bahamas. The one where people shelled out big bucks for a week in their own paradise. The difference between the shanty town and the pristine beach was a McDonald’s Big Mac vs. Daniel Boulud’s burger stuffed with foie gras.
    I pedaled toward my ‘house of record’ in the Bahamas, ignoring the ache in my left arm, the burn in my right toe, and the ice cold flowing through my veins.
    The ride from squalor to extravagance took less time than you might think.
    My house was a white, modern triumph of architecture plopped down on the blindingly white sand beach, rimmed by the turquoise ocean, and capped by an Azure blue sky.
    The last time I’d been here was with Jordan, in August, before I’d left for Afghanistan.
    We’d had a perfect weekend. Peaceful, elegant and easy.
    In the evening, the sun had bled pink and yellow across the simple, luxurious furniture, highlighted billowing sheer curtains, and carried the scents of vacation: the salty sea, charred wood from a bonfire, melted butter, savory grilled lobster, and the crisp aroma of a chilled Chardonnay with a hint of apple, pear, maybe a touch of cinnamon. Half-burned candles flickered with the ocean breeze. The staff murmured quietly as they cleared the kitchen for the night.
    Even now, I could almost feel Jordan lying beside me, tucked against my back as he cradled me to his hard body, our heads pillowed on plump goose-down cushions as we enjoyed the romantic pleasure of the sunset.
    The longing to recapture that one perfect moment unfurled within me.
    Our easy camaraderie and heated passion had made me feel closer to him than ever. I’d yearned for our closeness to deepen and our relationship to strengthen.
    A truck blew its horn and startled me out of my memory. I blinked against the stark, hot daylight.
    I pedaled right past my house, not even looking at the structure. As we planned, my housekeeper Neli should already be at the Pearsons'...my sometime neighbors.
    I’d met them once or twice throughout the years I’d owned my house although we rarely spent the same weekends on island. We shared the same housekeeper, Neli, and she often helped me out on the side.
    I pedaled up the Pearsons' grand circular driveway and around to the servant’s side entrance, then knocked politely, in case anyone was watching.
    Neli came to the door with a bucket of cleaning supplies