Dirty Little Lies by Julie Leto

toward the chapel. Frankie followed, giving the man a few feet of distance. Watching a friend nearly die was a life-changing experience—and one that gave Frankie a few ideas on how to deal with Marisela when the time came.
    And it would come. Very, very soon.
    * * *
    Marisela emerged from the chapel, followed by Ian, who led Denise Bennett out with his hand supporting her elbow. Once Evan Cole saw they were on the move, he jogged to meet them.
    “What do you want to do now, sweetheart?” Evan asked Denise. He cast suspicious glares at all of them.
    Oh, yeah, this guy had something to hide.
    Denise looked up at him with weary, bloodshot eyes. “I just want to wait for Craig.”
    Evan nodded sympathetically and led her down the hall. When they were out of sight, Ian turned to Marisela. “Well done, Ms. Morales.”
    “Shouldn’t I be Aphrodite again?”
    Ian quirked a grin. “No need for covert ops and code names just yet. Fill Frank in on the new information. I’m heading up to surgery to relieve Max. I want him to get his team started on investigating Rebecca Manning.”
    Frankie leaned back on his heels. “You doing grunt work? This I’d like to see.”
    Ian sneered. “You doing any work is something I’d like to see. Stick with Marisela. She’ll fill you in.”
    Marisela looked down at her feet and tried not to laugh. Not that Ian’s quip had been particularly funny, but Frankie hated being bossed around, by Marisela more than anyone else. She started toward the end of the hall, but Frankie stopped her before she could open the door, grabbing her hand and swinging her around until her back was against the wall and he was looming over her with those hungry dark eyes of his.
    Her ribs ached, but she wasn’t going to show her pain to anyone.
    “Blake says you’ll fill me in, huh?”
    “Someone has to bring you…up to speed,” she countered, easily twisting her words into a tease. Came so easy with Frankie. They could get each other hot reciting recipes.
    “I was thinking we could get in the back of that limo and I could be the one doing the filling, if you know what I mean.”
    She licked her lips, trying to ignore how her nipples pearled at the crude but enticing invitation. “I know exactly what you mean, cabrón , but we’re on the job. How about we put the client’s needs above our own?”
    “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” he replied.
    Marisela rolled her eyes, grabbed Frankie by the bolo tie he’d worn with his tux, and led him out the door. When they opened the back of the limo, they discovered that the decision to work rather than play had been taken out of their hands. Max sat in the center of the seat, a laptop engaged and operating, while two other units sat across from him, clearly waiting for their arrival.
    Once they were both inside, the door was locked and Max typed in the codes to bring the information they needed to the screen.
    The first image was of a newspaper headline, dated 1991.
    BEACON HILL BOYS SUSPECTED IN MURDER.
    “That about says it all,” Marisela said, her eyes wide.
    She read the first few paragraphs quickly. Rebecca Manning, seventeen at the time, had indeed been killed fifteen years ago, her body found two months after her disappearance in a marsh on Peddock’s Island, a national park campsite just a few minutes by boat out of Boston Harbor. The Manning family, which included a younger sister, Tracy, claimed that Rebecca told them earlier in the evening that she was going to meet her boyfriend, high school football star, Bradley Hightower. Hightower, who’d been camping with his younger brother, Raymond, and best friend, Craig Bennett, son of a state senator, denied seeing Rebecca at any time during the cold winter evening.
    The police found no hard evidence linking the boys to the crime and no witnesses that placed Rebecca on the island or near the marina, though a stolen dinghy with Rebecca’s scarf caught on the railing was recovered a few