Fidelity (Infidelity #5)

Text message from Patrick: “POLICE ARE HERE. THEY’RE ASKING FOR SPENCE AND UNCLE ALTON. THE STAFF IS TRYING TO KEEP THEM AWAY. GUESTS ARE GOING CRAZY. THIS IS FUCKED UP.”



Text message from Patrick: “I SAW HER. SHE’S OK. SHE’S STILL IN HIS OFFICE. POLICE ARE THERE.”



Text message from Deloris: “DON’T GET ARRESTED. USE YOUR HEAD.”



Fuck her. Fuck them all.

At least I knew Charli was still there, seemingly safe in her stepfather’s office.



I sent a text to Patrick: “I’M HERE. WHERE ARE YOU?”



Patrick: “THANK GOD. THEY CORRALLED US TO THE BACK. SOMETHING IS HAPPENING UPFRONT.”



Me: “THERE ARE SEVEN POLICE CARS.”



Patrick: “WHERE ARE YOU?”



Me: “NEAR THE FRONT OF THE MANSION.”



Patrick: “OUTSIDE? I’M COMING AROUND.”



Me: “LEFT SIDE IF FACING FRONT.”



With my back against the side of the house, I gripped my phone tighter. I was prepared to walk into a party, but not past a shitload of policemen. And then it hit me.



I sent another text. To Deloris: “HOW DID YOU KNOW THERE WOULD BE POLICE?”



Deloris: “IT’S ON THE NEWS.”



“Shit, I almost walked right past you.” Patrick’s voice stopped me from replying to Deloris.

I stood taller as Patrick slipped into the shadows.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure Aunt Adelaide and Chelsea are safe.”

I nodded. “Yes, I just read the texts. Now I need Charli.”

We both stepped quietly from around the corner of the house at the sound of voices. Still within the shadows, the scene played out in our full view. Edward Spencer was being led toward a waiting police car with his hands secured behind his back.

“Fuck!” Patrick whispered.

“Take me back around,” I whispered. “With all the chaos back there, I can slip inside the manor with you.”

Patrick nodded. “Take off that security coat. I’m not going to ask how you got it.”

“Good,” I said as I shrugged it from my shoulders.

He eyed me up and down. “I think this is the first time I feel better dressed.”

Only Patrick would think about our attire during a time like this.

“Follow me…” he began.

Suddenly we both stopped as the police cars began to move. One by one, like a parade, they drove away from the manor and toward the front gate.

“I wonder what in the hell happened,” Patrick said. “This place is a madhouse.”

“Just get me inside…”

Before we took off toward the back, the LED-blue cast of headlights skirted the front of the mansion. With our backs against the limestone we stood and waited as a long black limousine came up the driveway.

Patrick tugged at my sleeve. “Come on.”

“No,” I growled. Whatever was happening, it was big. I felt it in my soul.

Patrick sucked in a deep breath as another fuck flew from his lips.

Fuck was right.

I’d seen the pictures, the surveillance. I knew these damn people better than I knew my own family. The woman leading the way, the first to descend the front steps, was Suzanna, Edward’s mother. Dabbing her eyes, she was a step ahead of the other voices as they made their way toward the bottom of the steps. Slowly the car came to a stop and an older driver walked to the rear and held open the door.

It was as the others came into view that my blood heated, going from ninety-eight to 212 degrees in a second flat. Heat radiated from my skin as my fists once again clenched.

Alton Fitzgerald had Charli’s arm in his grasp and was leading her toward the car. Her steps were tentative as if she were resisting his intentions.

“No fucking way this is happening again,” I vowed.

Her voice was strong. “I shouldn’t be going. We have guests.”

My teeth clenched as my hands balled tighter. Charli’s pleas were the last bit of fuel my body needed, the spark to my already combustible rage. No other sounds registered as I ran toward the limousine.





THEY HAD PLANES specially made and outfitted for medical transport. There were companies that included air ambulances, who boasted of their competence with such perilous dealings. I wasn’t a stranger to risks or dangerous encounters. I also wasn’t stupid when it came to announcing our intentions.

A medical transport would require names and medical records. They would need clearance and authorization. We were without any of that.

The last thing I planned on doing was alerting anyone that I was transporting Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald in an unconscious state across state lines. It wasn’t that I’d ever balked at breaking the law, but this was a federal offense. Even that wasn’t new to me. Murder was a federal offense. If we were to be apprehended, officially this was kidnapping.

Unofficially, this was a rescue.