He was lying. He had to be. But why? What did he stand to gain by besmirching my dad’s reputation? There were too many dots, but for some reason, they refused to connect.

Too many questions bombarded my brain like tiny meteors. I wanted to ignore them all. Ignore every deranged syllable Ryder planted into my subconscious. But it was too late. His words had already dug their talons into my brain, seeded doubt somewhere deep inside me, and now that doubt was festering.

If I followed through with any sort of investigation, I would be doing exactly what Ryder wanted: suspecting my own father of being a criminal. I had to be logical about this. Who should I trust: a registered sex offender, or my own father?

I had to trust my instincts. What were my instincts? My beliefs were muddy puddles at best. Why had I given Ryder Williams or Ainsworth or whoever he was such power over my thoughts and feelings? He was a nobody. A felon. A dangerous criminal. So why the hell did his words carry weight in my heart if they were baseless accusations?

Dad’s sixtieth birthday celebration was two days away. Would I be able to attend, look him in the eye, smile and joke with him, all the while remembering what Ryder told me? Impossible. I’d always been a bad actress and an even worse liar. But if I didn’t show up, they’d ask about me. If I pretended I was sick, they’d come over to visit. However, if I did summon the courage to visit, it would be the perfect opportunity to do a little snooping. I could do a sweep of the house, if only to confirm what I already knew: that my dad was innocent. Just seeing my parents again, a happily married couple of thirty-three years, would calm my nerves. I knew Ryder was lying. I wouldn’t let him win. And in the meantime, I could figure out what exactly he wanted.

What did he stand to gain from tearing my family apart?

* * *

“Cally.”

“Mom.” I scanned the living room and watched the catering staff scamper to and from the kitchen like nimble foxes. “Where’s Dad?”

Mom fastened pearl studs to her earlobes. “Upstairs. He’s got a migraine, so he’s taking a nap before dinner. Don’t disturb him.”

I studied my mother, ever graceful in her off-white sheath dress. Like a swan. A perfect beehive of platinum blonde hair sat on top of her head. Ever since I could remember, my mother was always perfect in every way. Celeste Rayner, philanthropist and entrepreneur, was the envy of every woman in Northbridge. My father, the envy of every man. Everyone always said they were a match made in heaven. For Ryder to come in and sully that perfection with his disgusting accusations…it was a low blow, a completely dick move.

“Do you need any help, Mom? Where should I put this?” I asked, holding up Dad’s gift. It was an Armani jacquard tie. I had been too overwrought by my meeting with Ryder to come up with a better gift, so before the party, I’d grabbed something off the shelf at Nordstrom and had it gift-wrapped.

“I’ll take that and bring it upstairs. Why don’t you have a drink? The staff is almost done setting up,” Mom suggested.

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

The big six-oh was a huge milestone, and Dad had invited all of his closest friends and colleagues. He had always been a flashy guy, nothing like the billionaires who hid their wealth behind a wall of modesty. Dad spent money on his family as if Benjamins grew on trees, but he was also incredibly generous to the community as well. Just ask the dozens of schools, libraries, and hospitals with wings named after him. Dad even spent a few hours every month reading to children in the cancer ward and walking SPCA dogs. He was an easygoing guy who sometimes drove to work in a dingy red Toyota pickup and other times in a shiny Bugatti Veyron. My parent’s main home in Northbridge was worth over $15 million, and they had about $180 million worth of real estate scattered throughout the rest of the States and even a couple houses in Canada. Dad’s company, Rayner Industries, was worth over $800 million USD, which made him one of the wealthiest men in the world. Ryder Ainsworth was trying to tell me that this sweet, round-faced man, who gave me piggyback rides and piggy banks as a child, was a villain? Impossible.

My mom disappeared upstairs while I made my way toward the bar. A bartender in his mid-thirties waved to me. “Ms. Rayner. Nice to see you again.”

I didn’t recognize him, but perhaps he’d bartended at another one of my dad’s events.

“Margarita?” the bartender asked, reaching for a bottle of tequila.

I smiled. “How did you know? Have we met before?”

“Our company catered your twenty-first birthday party, your high school graduation, your parent’s tenth, twentieth, and thirtieth anniversary parties—”

“Ah, gotcha. Sorry I didn’t recognize you before.”

“Why would you? I’m just one of three bartenders. We’re the invisibles.”

“Hey, no need to—”

The bartender’s expression darkened. “So, have you changed your mind about my offer?”

“What—”

“It’s only been two days. Forgot what I looked like already?” I studied the clean-shaven bartender, and recognition eluded me for several more seconds. But when my gaze finally met his and I saw the hunger in his eyes, my heart rate spiked.

“Ryder?” I hissed. The guy looked nothing like Ryder, but somehow, I knew it was him. Was he wearing…makeup? “What the hell—”

“Filling in for Jonah. He’s got the flu,” Ryder explained.

Goose bumps spiked along my arm. “You shouldn’t be here. Make a scene and I’ll have security—”

Ryder put down the shaker, tipped up my chin, and flashed me a cat-like grin. “It’s six o’ clock and you’re already waving threats around? The night is young, Miss Rayner.”

“Screw you, Ryder. What the hell are you doing here? Where’s your manager? I need to—”

“I’m just filling in for a friend, I told you,” Ryder insisted.

“Then why the hell are you in disguise?”

“Clean-shaven, with a little bit of foundation, isn’t a disguise. And everyone has to wear this hideous uniform.”

I studied his face. The powdery foundation made his skin tone several shades lighter and more blemish-free. “There’s no way in hell the catering company hired you.”

Ryder’s nostrils flared. “Why? You mean because I’m on parole? Because of my history?”

“You should leave. I—excuse me.” I pushed off the stool and turned for the kitchen.

“Just do a little digging in your dad’s office,” Ryder hissed. “That’s all. If you don’t find anything, I’ll leave you alone for good. Deal?”

“Are you even allowed to be here?”

“No,” Ryder admitted. “But it’s too late now. If you won’t go upstairs, I will.”

“You’ll get yourself arrested again. My dad has really tight security.”

“I got past them earlier. Wasn’t too difficult.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell me what I’m looking for. And if I don’t find anything, you leave me and my family alone. Forever,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the anxiety in my voice. Because what if I did find something? Then what?

Ryder ignored my last comment. “Receipts, checks, photos, computer files, anything. I don’t really know what I need. Just anything that might seem suspicious.”

“And then what? I can’t take anything out of the house. He’ll notice. He also has security cameras.”

“I’ve disabled them.”

“What—”

“I’m a crook, remember?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is so fucked up.”

“If anyone catches you, just say you wanted to write a card for your dad and you were looking for stationery. No one will question you.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes. My ass is on the line here. It’s kind of important this goes off without a hitch.”

“What makes you think I’ll turn over any evidence to you, even if I find it? I don’t owe you anything.”

“Cally—”

“Well?”

Ryder lowered his voice down to a whisper. “Orielle was only eighteen. She was heading to Northbridge U in the fall. She didn’t deserve to die. I was thirty-six when I went to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. Now I have to remain on parole for five more years and be listed as a registered sex offender for the rest of my life. I know you have no reason to care, but if you have a single feeling bone in your body…” Ryder held up a crinkled newspaper clipping featuring the photo of a young woman with reddish-blonde hair. “This is a picture of Orielle. Taken a week before she died. Do it for her, then.”

I studied the photo, blinking hard. Now I knew why the name Orielle rang a bell. I sighed. “I’m probably going to get caught. Mom’s upstairs. The office—”

“Later. After dinner, when the guests are mingling. I’ll cover for you if need be.”

“What is this, some sort of sting operation?” I mocked.

Ryder’s jaw hardened. “You could say that.” I could see small red bumps where he’d cut himself shaving. I liked him better when he had a beard.

“You better uphold your end of the bargain. This—snooping through my dad’s stuff, is plain wrong.”

Ryder took my wrist, tracing circles around my sensitive skin. “Doesn’t it feel good to be bad?” Then, he leaned in closer until his breath caressed my cheek. “I promise, this will be all over soon, Cally.”

I shuddered and ran off before he could poison me with another word.