Sutton thinks she can run away from the truth, can hide from me. She is wrong. She is so very, very wrong.

So, now that we’ve been properly introduced, I present: my goals.

I want to see Elizabeth Sutton Wilson Healy Montclair exposed for the fraud she really is. For the predator that she is. I could see it from the first moment I laid eyes on her. She has a coldness in her soul. You know how you can tell? Take a picture of her. In person, she’s this absolute glamour-puss with all that red hair and lissome figure. But try to capture her on film, and you can see who she really is. The lens is an inanimate object. It can’t be bewitched, can’t be fooled. No glamour can be put upon it. It shows the truth. And the truth is, her soul is empty. Black and rotted and bottomless. She is ugly, she is loathsome.

She is not a good person, and nothing will make me happier than taking her down.

And neither is Ethan. He is a cheat and a liar, the worst sort of man. Wait until you find out what he did. Then you’ll see. You’ll see exactly what kind of a man he is. You won’t blame me in the least.

They deserve each other. So I will make sure they get everything they deserve.

Everything.

I want them to bleed. And they will. Trust me. Ethan already is. I think I’ve broken his nose.

Oops.

So much fun to be had here. But first, I need to deal with something. Join me, will you?

About...Face

ABOUT...FACE

Holly’s desk phone rang, something that only happened if someone was calling in-house from another phone in the station, or the receptionist. Fifty-fifty shot. She much preferred in-house calls than the blind squirrel finds nuts ones she got from outside. Still, she had to answer. It was policy. She grabbed the receiver and kept typing with one hand.

“Graham.”

It was the receptionist. “I have a call for you. Paris police.”

“Paris?”

“That’s what she says. The accent is a bit of a giveaway, too. She certainly sounds the part.”

“Okay. Put her through.”

A click, then the static of an open line. “Graham here.”

“Bonsoir, madame. My name is Amelie Badeau. I am an inspector with the Paris Metropolitan Police. I have a woman in my custody by the name of Sutton Montclair.”

Holly stopped typing. “You’re kidding me.”

“I am not. We have her in custody on a double murder charge. She insists on her innocence. But I need more information. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Boy, do I ever,” Holly said, whipping out her notebook. “Please, tell me everything.”

“Are you familiar at all with the name Ivy Brookes?”