The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

“I’ve been calling and calling your arse. It went straight to voicemail.”

“Was busy buttering up Dumb and Dumber,” Sam said shortly, producing his phone from his back pocket and punching in a number. “Let me call my guys and check.”

The good news was they answered him immediately.

The bad news was that, well, THEY LOST HER.

“What do you mean they lost her?” My voice rose, and I found myself yanking his Apple screen from his desk and crashing it against the wall. “She is not a fucking thought thread. A subplot in a book. A pair of sunglasses. One does not simply lose a thirty-year-old woman.”

“She tricked them,” Sam said, lightly stunned by the revelation. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. I gathered it didn’t happen to him often.

“She must’ve realized they were following her and tricked them.”

“She’s a smart woman,” I seethed. God, couldn’t she be just a little less perceptive?

Sam scowled. “You were the genius who didn’t want to tell her I was putting surveillance on her. In my entire career, no one I followed has ever managed to slip under the radar.”

“Thanks for the fun fucking fact.” I grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him toward me so our noses were crushed together. “Find my girlfriend by the end of tonight or I will personally ensure you and the DA who is covering for your arse are both dragged through court for the rest of your miserable lives to account for every crime you’ve committed over the last two decades.”

I stalked out of his club and went to the only person I knew may have some information—Louisa.




Louisa waited for me in a tiny crème and black lace bodysuit, complete with a corset that made her waist as nonexistent as my need to screw her.

“Hello, darling. Good to see you.”

She sidestepped from the door to allow me to walk in. As soon as I closed it behind us, I pinned her with a look that said a fuck fest wasn’t in the cards for us.

Know your audience, lass.

“Put something on.”

“Like what?” she asked, blinking slowly.

“A fucking raincoat if you wish. Do I look like a bloody stylist?” I grabbed something I suspected was a robe lying on a back of a chair and threw it at her. She wrapped it around herself quickly, drawing in a breath.

“What’s the matter?” She made her way to the wet bar to pour us some drinks.

“What did you do?”

Surprisingly, I sounded fine. Wry. Businesslike. Not like I was about to commit capital murder.

“What do you mean?” She stepped toward me with two glasses of whiskey, handing me one. I didn’t acknowledge the gesture nor the drink.

“What did you do?” I repeated.

“Devvie, stop being so weird, for heaven’s sake.”

She took a step back.

I took a step forward.

I had no idea what I was doing, and I didn’t want to find out.

Sweven brought out emotions in me I didn’t care to explore.

I’d always been calculated. Calm. Full of confidence.

I was not any of those things right now.

“What. Did. You. Do?” I took both glasses form her hands, putting them aside on a credenza, crowding her against the wall. We were inches from each other.

The air was charged with menace, violence. She could feel it.

Louisa wilted slightly and finally asked, “How much do you know?”

“Enough to know it reeks of your involvement.”

She stuck her chin up. “What I did may have been unethical, but it certainly wasn’t illegal.”

“Wasn’t illegal?” Yup. I was roaring in her face now. Her hair flew back from the impact. “There are people after her! She is on the run!”

“People after her?” Louisa wore an expression of genuine surprise. “I did no such thing. I’d never send anyone to go after a woman, let alone a pregnant one. It goes against everything I believe.”

I gave her an aren’t-you-a-saint look.

She elevated her eyebrows, in a way that said, quote me on this, motherfucker.

I decided to strike her off the list of suspects. For now. Frank and my mother kept my hands full, as it was.

“You did something,” I maintained.

“A small something,” she countered. “Really small. Teeny-tiny, actually.”

“What did you do?”

“Devvie …”

“Now.”

“It was your mother’s idea.” She dug her fingernails into her fists, looking unbearably embarrassed, her cheek turned in my direction. She couldn’t meet my gaze.

“What did you do?” I asked for the millionth time.

“I can’t tell you. You’ll hate me.”

“Too late. Already there. Now, for the last time, before I make you regret the day you were born—what happened between this morning and this evening to inspire my girlfriend to leave me?”

All the air was sucked from the room in the moment before her confession.

“I paid her.”

It was out in the open now. The admission.

And once it was out, Louisa proceeded, gingerly throwing another crumb of information.

“It’s Ursula, Devvie. She was relentless. Completely unhinged. Time is ticking. She got nervous … gutted, really … and …” She shook her head frantically, reaching for my face. I threw her hands away.