Page 178 of Twisting Beauty

Fuck. He was right. She might have my DNA in her cells but Alistair raised her.

I had forgotten.

Am I doing this with him too?

I shoved it down before I could dwell on it.

“Think, Liath.” He kept moving toward me. “You know I wouldn’t have kept her hidden if there wasn’t a good reason.”

The surveillance photos slid into my periphery. Fight back. He’s setting the ground beneath you on fire.

“What about Powell?” I demanded, forcing my voice level. “You drugged him. Sent him insane. Just so you could take his position.”

“Jesus, he’s one of Alistair’s men,” he said, a hardened edge in his tone. “He’s not innocent.”

The cold table. The white sheet. Maeve’s open eyes.

Maeve had been left in Powell’s lab.

Coincidence, maybe.

Maybe.

But Maeve was not a coincidence I was prepared to accept.

The ground under me seemed to shift as I reached the long worktable in the center of the basement, beakers rattling on the top as my hip caught the edge.

“And the doctor before you at Magdalene?” My voice tightened. “The one who vanished?”

Fuck. I didn’t even know her name.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Deargán said in the same insulted register. “I gave her money and she left.”

The doubt crept in and my step faltered.

Rua let out a small whine. “You promised you wouldn’t let him hurt me.”

“Don’t trust her.” Deargán’s gaze shifted past my shoulder and twisted into something like disgust. “I treated her for six months, Liath. You’ve known her six minutes.”

I shifted around the end of the long table as Deargán narrowed the gap between us. Across the table from where Deargán was advancing, a clear path led to the stairs.

I might be able to make it if I ran. But Rua wouldn’t.

Before I could even consider my next move, he backed up around the other end of the table to the position where he could cover both ways past it.

Dammit. He’d read my play.

I registered, too late, that the cell doorway was right behind us. Closer now than the stairs.

“She’s been shaped by Alistair her whole life. This fragile little victim is just the version that gets you to open the door.”

God. What if he’s right?

I rummaged through the last few minutes, looking for evidence one way or the other. I couldn’t find anything to hold on to.

Rua’s grip on my sweater loosened as she took half a step away from me.

Her act is failing.