Fool Me Once (First Wives #1)

“How close are you?” Ruslan made each word sound like a command with the thickness of his accent.

“I’ve engaged. I will have what you need by the end of the week.”

“Irrevocable evidence, my dear. Not gossip or speculation.”

“I’m working on it. All my bait is sitting in wait until someone bites. And they will bite.”

Ruslan looked out over the cold, gray skies of London. “These are not people you have the opportunity to frame twice.”

“I understand that.”

“Until the end of the week.”

He disconnected the call as the clouds opened up and gave in to the rain. “Patience,” he told himself. He’d come this far, he wasn’t about to pounce without the guarantee his plan was moving forward.




“What do we have?” Sam sat across from Lori with stacks of files.

“Let’s start with the core players.”

Sam turned one of the files around. “What am I looking at?”

“Avery and Bernie. Our first contact with Avery was six months before Bernie showed up. We wrote up the prenuptial, presented it to Avery, made a couple of adjustments. No second attorney was brought in. Avery signed it two weeks after the final draft.”

“And they took two months to plan the wedding.”

“Right. So there isn’t any loophole for their agreement to be voided. Now, here is Shannon and Paul.” Lori pulled another file out, this one thicker. “No second attorney, and the agreement was signed within five days of presenting it to Shannon.”

“That’s because Shannon’s family ran in the same circles as Paul. It wasn’t a stretch that they could have known each other and fallen in love.”

“Doesn’t matter. This could be a sticky one,” Lori said. “If Shannon wanted to dispute the agreement, say she didn’t have time to properly go over it before signing it . . .”

“Shannon wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I don’t think so either,” Lori said. “But if she did, we would have a problem. Especially now that there is no safety net for litigation if a case like this was thrown into court.”

Sam took that in and looked down at the third file. “Trina and Fedor.”

“Yes. Not only were we the only representation, the agreement was signed within three days, and their marriage took place within two weeks.”

“Sticky.”

“Considering the payer is dead and can’t deny or confirm anything if someone brought this to court. This could end up in court for years if Ruslan or Alice’s surviving relatives attempt to void Alice’s will based on a fraudulent marriage between Trina and Fedor.” Lori’s blood chilled.

Sam’s lips pushed together. “What are all these?”

Lori attempted a grin. “Starting with your marriage to Blake . . . here are all the files of players we don’t need to worry about. Although you and Blake were married three days after the contract was signed, you had separate attorneys.”

Sam offered half a smile. “So these are good.”

“Yep. And in this pile are the cases with only me on file as representation, where the contracts were signed eight days or longer from when they were presented.”

“All good?”

“Yep.”

Sam laid her hand over a dozen other folders. “And these?”

“At risk. Easily rectified if we were to have them re-sign or make a small change to their current contract. So, after going through the files, I have some good news and the bad news.”

“I’m listening.”

“The good news is, Alliance doesn’t have to take the fall.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Sam said.

Lori pointed to her chest. “I do. I’m the one that will be brought before the bar. An investigation will shut down my practice—”

“Absolutely not.”

“We don’t want Alliance blown open.”

“We will lock it down tight.”

Lori waved a hand at the files. “Every one of those cases are public record.”

Sam picked her file out of the pile. “The only thing public about this one was my wedding.” She grabbed several others. “All of these are happy marriages. As for the rest, we tackle the current cases first. Have them re-sign.”

“And the others?” Lori asked.

“Nothing. Don’t act guilty of anything . . . we’re not. Nothing here was illegal.”

“Lawyers are brought up on ethics. We seldom break the law.” And that was where Lori was screwed.

“We know Petrov is after Trina . . . that is the case we need to focus on and do our best to make sure no one ever finds out the truth behind Fedor and Trina’s marriage. Carter is having lunch with Paul today.”

“And Shannon made it clear she had no intention of making any further claim to Paul.” Lori started to pace.

“It’s only right I take the fall if it comes to—”

“Sit down, Lori. No one is going to fall.”

Lori was leading with emotion, while Sam was deducing from the facts. In the back of her head, all she could think of was how none of this would have been brought up had she not gotten so close to Reed and said too much.





Chapter Thirty-One




Reed’s ass had melded to his desk chair as he searched the Internet for pictures from the cruise to get an image of Sasha. Trying to find out the names of the people on the airplane he had shared with Lori en route to Texas was a waste of time. TSA had shut those things down like the locks at Fort Knox.

Pounding on Reed’s front door shook him from his caffeine coma.

He reached for his gun, loaded the chamber, and slowly walked to his door.

“Put it away, Reed.”

Sad that Reed had already learned the sound of Rick’s voice.

He relaxed the grip on his weapon and opened the door. “What now?”

Rick ducked his head into Reed’s apartment. “Dude, you need to clean up around here. Women hate slobs.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” He opened the door wider.

Rick didn’t bother walking in. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sasha used the credit card.”

Reed shook the dark away. “’Bout time.” He ran through his apartment, turned off his computer, grabbed his cell, his keys, and put on a jacket to hide his gun.

“Where are we going?”

“Beverly Wilshire.”

“She checked into a hotel? We can’t be that lucky.”

“She bought a drink in the hotel bar.”

“Anything else?” Reed asked.

“Just the one drink, the charge batched through at midnight,” Rick told him.

“So she could have been there anytime yesterday.”

“She could be there right now. And since you’re the only one who knows what she looks like, guess what you’re going to be doing?”

“Barfly?”

“No, that’s my job.” Rick reached over to the glove compartment, opened it, removed an earpiece. “You’re across the street.”

“What if she leaves through the garage?”

Rick looked at him as if he was crazy. “Really? Name one woman who can resist shopping on Rodeo Drive?”

“Someone who doesn’t have money?”

“Like that stops them.”

“Fine.”

So as Rick walked into the finery of the Wilshire to pretend to be some kind of businessman, complete with a copy of the Wall Street Journal and a laptop, Reed loitered on one of the most prestigious corners in America. The only thing he was missing was a piece of cardboard asking for change.