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

in hand. “Come on den, let’s get to work.”
    Just as I’d requested, she treated me like extra help, going so far as to speak to me in her native Bahamian Creole when I knew perfectly well she spoke excellent English.
    But the look of horror on her face told me my appearance had shocked her. I wasn’t real fond of looking in the mirror these days myself.
    “Good God, look at yuh,” she whispered as she dragged me to the Pearsons' living room.
    “Just a little beat up.”
    I tried to grin, but she’d yanked on my bad arm and I really needed a moment to stop from spewing all over the highly-polished Brazilian cherry floors.
    “Yuh look half dead.”
    “Better half than all.”
    “Yuh and yorn tings.” Neli tut-tutted all the way through the expansive elaborate kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances and a river of black granite.
    In the living room, with furnishings more suited to a manor on the East Coast of the U.S., she plopped down the bucket.
    “Did you bring the bag?” I made the request softly, trying to act casual but not feeling it.
    Neli handed me my emergency bolt bag.
    The bag had i.d. and the key to a safe deposit box that held the information I’d collected on 5491. The last time I’d come I’d put the information in the bank. Information I thought just might be why someone wanted me dead.
    Then she handed me the pair of binoculars I’d requested. Focusing on my beach house, I surveyed the damage through the lenses.
    The curtains had been shredded...literally. I guess they’d been looking for a microchip hidden there, but I wouldn’t have been so stupid as to put something so fragile in fabric the housekeeper could pull down and wash any day. The chip would be ruined.
    “I never realized how unbelievably well the Pearsons' could see into my house,” I murmured.
    “Curtains. Dey used to hide everythin’.” Neli stood with her hands balled and fisted at her rounded hips. “Dat’s one big mess.”
    I peered through the binoculars. A thick layer of goose feathers covered the floor, concealing the tan bamboo. The sofas were turned upside down, violent slashes ripped apart the muslin under-upholstery, and tufts of cotton pouffed out like giant marshmallow vomit in a sea of feathers.
    I could even see that all of the switch plates had been unscrewed and discarded, probably somewhere beneath the feathers.
    Sea-scented candles had been dropped like matchsticks on the bamboo coffee table, their holders in pieces next to them.
    Fury trembled through Neli's body with little indignant tremors. “Dis bad juju.”
    “Calm down. It’s just stuff,” I replied mildly. “And you can cut out the Creole. We’re alone.”
    “Ruined stuff. They done ripped that beautiful paintin’ right from the frame.”
    I took another look. She was right. The expensive beach scene lay on the fireplace hearth, the canvas stripped from the frame, the stretchers smashed.
    “Yeah,” I confirmed absently. The more Zen I channeled, the more Neli’s ire rose.
    “I have to clean.” She grabbed a dust cloth and started intently cleaning the objets d’art the Pearsons' had scattered around the ornately furnished, immaculately clean room.
    I raised the binoculars again and scanned the damage and looked for some clue as to who had ransacked my house, but nothing seemed clear or in focus.
    The destruction of my serene retreat annoyed and disturbed me on some level I wasn’t even aware of. Why would they be so stupid as to believe I would leave anything of importance in a house of record? That seemed naive.
    The destruction was systematic and brutal, but I sensed no anger, no malicious intent--just a determination not to miss anything.
    It looked like my instincts had been right.
    When things started going to hell in Afghanistan, I’d called Neli on my Sat phone and told her to stay away from my house.
    “You haven’t been back there, have you?”
    “No. I listened to your instructions, but it’s killin’