Betrayed by a Kiss by Kris Rafferty

friendship. They had each other’s backs.
    That night, Dane saw Marnie hurrying to his truck even before it came to a stop. It was near nine p.m., and the porch light was on. Her face was in shadow, but her body language telegraphed pissed . He didn’t blame her. He’d been gone all day, making calls, following up on a few things. Joe had called him a few hours ago, reporting no record of any videos. It troubled Dane, because it meant the video Marnie found was only in Whitman Enterprises’ files, and stealing those files were now unavoidable. He couldn’t make this go away with a trip to the Cayman Islands. Stealing the files had to be his endgame. Anything less ran the risk of not revealing the entirety of Whitman Enterprises’ offenses against his family.
    She strode across the driveway and slapped the door to his truck as he parked. Bristling with energy, she was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a good long while. He opened the truck’s door with anticipation and waited to see what she’d do. She didn’t disappoint. She crowded him as he stepped to the ground, forcing him to lean against the driver’s seat or press against her body. As much as he would have enjoyed pressing against her, he bowed to convention. They barely knew each other. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that? Dane kept a foot distance between their bodies.
    “We need to talk,” she said.
    He folded his arms across his chest, forcing her to step back a bit. “I agree.”
    Today he’d played with the idea of having Joe do a background check on her, but he was afraid it might tip off the turncoats in the department and put a target on Joe’s back. So he’d instead contented himself with contacting some of his snitches in Manchester, trying to suss out any dirt he might find on her. They had nothing for him, but the internet came through. He discovered Marnie Somerville didn’t exist beyond a hit at a high school in Manchester. The online yearbook stated her interests were pottery, boys, and the periodic table. Her senior year quote was an obscure Latin phrase, Ire cupis te , which loosely translated meant go screw yourself . That sounded like Marnie.
    “Are you driving me out of here or what?” She glanced over her shoulder. Elizabeth had followed her out of the house, and the screen door slammed behind her. “She’s been following me like a puppy. I can’t figure out what she wants from me. She keeps asking questions. What’s my favorite color, favorite food, my favorite band? It’s like fending off the Spanish Inquisition. And then she wanted to paint my nails, for shit’s sake. And Harper keeps feeding me, asking if she can do anything for me. Too much pressure, MacLain! You’d think the world was going to explode if I stayed in my room. I don’t belong here. You have to get me out. One wrong move and I might screw up Elizabeth’s recovery or frighten Harper. It’s too much responsibility.”
    Elizabeth was upset, too. She was staring at them from across the yard. For some reason, his daughter had latched onto Marnie in a big way, which was weird, because Marnie was as maternal as a rock. “Elizabeth won’t talk to me.” His envy was hard to disguise.
    “Well, I can’t get her to shut up.” Her words contradicted her expression. Marnie, keeper of secrets, disposer of bodies, was terrified of upsetting his daughter. Elizabeth approached them. Marnie backed away, looking between him and his daughter. He held his hand out to Elizabeth, but she shied away, like she always did. It hurt, like it always did.
    “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?” She wasn’t wearing a coat, and with the sun down, it was even colder than it had been earlier.
    Harper raced out of the house, her breath fogging before her. “Oh, Dane! Good! You’re back! Elizabeth ran out and I didn’t know why. June shouldn’t be this cold. Are you hungry?” Marnie backed away even farther, looking ready to bolt into the darkness. “Elizabeth. You