“Riley Deboise,” I said back.

His head jerked up, and he stepped aside. “Sorry, Miss Deboise. I did not recognize the car.”

I waved a hand at him. “No problem. I’m just here to visit my dad.”

He smiled, and stepped away. “Have a nice visit.”

Not fucking likely, buddy.

When I got closer to the estate, I parked the butterfly beside some bushes, and went the rest of the way on foot. I knew it was going to be next to impossible to surprise her, considering all the security, and the fact that the front guards had probably called my arrival in, but I was at least hoping not to give her too much advance notice. She might take off. Or plan some horrible shit to do to me.

A surprise attack felt like the right move.

Out of the car, I checked that the safety was on on my gun, and slid it into the front pocket of my hoodie. Then, creeping around, I did my best to avoid the camera, knowing the angle where I could stand to be out of sight. I used a stick to press the buttons and unlock the gates.

A lot of my plan was relying on the hope that Richard had not changed the code he’d given me to enter with.

Sure enough, it opened smoothly, and I slipped inside. I wasted no time, sprinting like my life depended on it down the driveway. When I got closer to the house, I silently debated with myself about trying to sneak in, or just knocking on the front door and getting it over with. I’d almost settled on sneaking in, because I might get a shot at looking through Oscar’s room first, when something caught my eye.

I hit the ground hard, wincing as the gun rammed into my gut. I shifted to ease off the hard metal, while remaining partially hidden by the rose bushes that lined the circular driveway. Catherine was right there in front of me, on the front stoop, talking to someone who had his back to me. Someone who was definitely not Richard Deboise. The man was tall, standing above her even when she was in five inch heels, and there was something vaguely familiar about him.

I needed to get closer so I could listen in, but I was afraid any movement would draw attention to me, which would limit whatever I could find out from whomever Catherine was meeting so early today. It was probably a lover; wouldn’t surprise me at all if she was cheating on Richard.

Sure enough, she reached around and threaded her fingers through the back of his hair, blood red nails flashing as she pulled him closer.

I shook my head at the cliché of it all. Rich woman having an affair. My god.

They kissed for a long time, passionate, pressing their bodies together. Catherine was clutching at him like he was actually important to her, and that shocked me a little. I didn’t think there was anyone important to that bitch. As he went to turn, she pulled him back for one last kiss, and he must have said something nice, because she smiled, her face softening.

Then he turned around.

My gasp was muffled, because I’d managed to bury my mouth in my arms just in time.

Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck and more fucks.

Catherine wasn’t just kissing any old random.

It was Graeme Huntley.

Catherine was kissing her brother.