He had not worked alone.
The hotel telephone rang.
The sound made me jump.
I answered slowly.
“Evelyn,” Julian said.
His voice was no longer warm.
There was no tenderness in it.
No charm.
Only impatience.
“You read the instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Then follow them.”
“You planned this from the beginning.”
He gave a quiet laugh.
“You were sitting alone in a hotel bar on your birthday. You told a stranger you missed passion. What did you expect?”
His words struck exactly where he intended them to.
But this time, they did not make me smaller.
They made me angry.
“I expected you to be human.”
“I need the money by noon.”
“And after I pay?”
“The photographs disappear.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“You believed everything else.”
The line went dead.
I sat there staring at the receiver.
He was right about one thing.
I had trusted him.
But he was wrong if he believed that trust made me weak.
