Twin Cupids at Work Daddy Come Home novel Chapter 619

Madeline arched an eyebrow and lifted her arms, her movements slow and deliberate.

Carter reached out, but she shot him a frosty look. “Careful where you put your hands.”

Carter’s lips twisted into a cold grin. He motioned, and a woman stepped out of the car and came over.

“Sorry about this,” the woman said.

She patted Madeline down. Out came a phone, a folding knife, and a recording pen that was still running.

Carter picked up the recorder and stared at Madeline, his expression growing icy. “So, Ms. Monroe, is this your idea of a game?”

“It’s just something I brought along,” Madeline replied, sounding bored.

Carter shot a questioning look at his subordinate. “Anything else?”

“That’s all, Carter. She’s clean.”

He tossed Madeline’s things aside, his jaw tense. “Let’s go.”

Madeline hid a smile as she watched her belongings hit the ground.

That recorder was bait. She wanted it found, wanted them to feel smug and just a little bit safer. If she’d had nothing, they’d be eyeing her more closely, obsessing over every pocket and every move. But since they’d found something, they’d relax.

Step by step, Madeline walked toward their car.

Out of nowhere, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her neck. She caught the movement of a hand coming down out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t try to dodge. She let herself go limp and collapsed to the ground, slipping into pretend unconsciousness.

She knew it was a dangerous gamble.

But sometimes you have to step into the lion’s den. People only really let their guard down when they think the game is already won.

Madeline wasn’t just here to save Luke. She wanted this over, fast. Time was running out. To the police, she was still the prime suspect in Lucy’s stabbing. If Julian hadn’t gone out on a limb for her, the evidence would have already landed her in court.

There was no turning back. One way or another, this story needed an ending.

…

Julian slid a black chess piece across the board. “Start with the day of his car accident.”

Christian stiffened.

No one ever talked about Brian after his death. Julian had never asked either—until now. Christian’s eyes narrowed a little. “Have you heard something?”

“I heard some wild rumors. They’ve been bothering me for days. Maybe you can help me sort fact from fiction, Grandpa.”

Christian placed a white piece, his face unreadable. The room went quiet.

“Go on,” he said after a moment.

Julian placed another black piece. “Someone said Shelly killed my father.”

Christian’s head snapped up. “Who told you that?”

“All I need from you is the truth. Proof, if you have it. That’s what I want to know—not who told me.”