Dirty Little Lies Read Online Free

along the wall panels that encircled the inner part of the dome. On her second pass, she started to count. Belinda would be so proud of her. Her math-whiz little sister was forever preaching to Marisela about the virtues of using numbers to solve all her problems. Unfortunately, most of the time, Marisela needed a calculator to figure out a twenty-percent tip. But something about being surrounded by curves in the circular balcony sparked an idea. She counted the panels between the main stairwell and the secret staircase she and Frankie used to ascend to their private rendezvous.
    The numbers didn’t add up. On the left side, where they stood, there were too many panels.
    “Damn, where’s Belinda when I need her?” she said in a whispered hiss.
    “¿Tu hermanita?” Frankie asked, clearly surprised. Marisela didn’t talk about Belinda much. Mostly never.
    “There are twenty-three panels between the main staircase and the one we used. And forty-six…”
    As she spoke, the problem’s solution popped into her brain. So simple. She counted twenty-three panels from the main stairwell in the opposite direction of the secret staircase and stopped. She stretched up and smoothed her fingers into the grooves around the wood. She pressed on the left side. Then on the right. A spring released the panel, revealing another private staircase.
    “ Madre de Dios ,” Frankie said.
    Marisela shushed him, but inside did a mental salsa step. “Come on.”
    She could feel Frankie venturing away from her, exploring the darkness beyond the panel, which she closed so the cops wouldn’t follow. After a few seconds, their eyes and ears adjusted. Light glimmered from below. In the faint distance, they could hear footsteps moving downward.
    Frankie grabbed her hand. “This way.”
    Marisela followed, wondering how the hell she was supposed to walk quietly down creaky wooden steps in stiletto heels, but did her best to balance on the balls of her feet. She gathered the bulk of her skirt over her arm, preferring not to rip the damned thing to shreds chasing an assassin she hadn’t even been hired to find. But she couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. This was the stuff that had led her to Titan in the first place. The thrills. The excitement. The risk.
    At the bottom of the stairs, a partly opened panel led into a short, narrow service hall. Not too far in the distance, pots and pans clattered, steam and grease sizzled, and raucous conversations in rapid-fire Spanish rent the air. Marisela moved quietly toward the door and listened.
    What did she have in that bag? How much did she give you to stay quiet?
    Whoever had just sneaked through the kitchen had the tongues of the staff wagging.
    “Frankie,” Marisela whispered. “She went through here.”
    “She?”
    “According to the kitchen staff, yeah.”
    “Let’s follow her,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
    Marisela barred her arm across the door. “I’ll follow her through here. You double back and get outside. Cut her off.”
    Frankie narrowed his eyes and she blew out a frustrated breath. He didn’t want to miss all the fun. Well, hell. Neither did she.
    He turned back toward the stairwell. “Watch your step and where you wag that thing,” he said, gesturing to her gun.
    As if she needed Frankie Vega to give her advice on weapons. Marisela reholstered her LadySmith and slipped through the door into the small kitchen. Chatter came to an abrupt halt and serving spoons dropped in a clatter against the steam tables. Marisela pasted on her best smile and started talking in Spanish.
    “I’m looking for my friend,” she explained, thinking as quickly as she could. “She came through here, carrying a bag.”
    Six men and women with dark skin and frightened eyes all exchanged furtive glances. They’d clearly been instructed not to talk.
    “ Por favor , I have something she needs. She could be…hurt,” Marisela said, eyeing the door behind her, implying