Traitor in Our Midst
*Hezzlie*
“Hezzlie?” Rowan asks. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
I’m still having trouble getting my mouth to work after the last puzzle piece clicked together, and I know who the spy is. It’s so hard to believe, but this has to be it. After all, I saw her on the phone, and when she noticed Rowan was looking at the phone records, she freaked out and spilled the coffee.
“Wilma,” I whisper. It’s the best I can do. He’s not even going to believe me, I bet. “It was Wilma.”
“Wilma?” he repeats, no trouble with the volume of his voice whatsoever. “What are you talking about, Hezzlie? Wilma’s loyaly served my family for… over fifty years.”
“Are you sure about that?” I lean forward in my chair, looking into his eyes. “Rowan, I saw her. I was looking for Natalie to tell her that you’d given your permission for her to leave, and I opened a door and saw Wilma on the phone. I thought it was weird, but I didn’t think enough of it to question it at the time because I suppose sometimes people have to talk on the phone. At least, they do in my world, where we don’t have mind-link capabilities.” I shake my head, trying to get myself back on track. “Anyway, it makes perfect sense, right? She’s always sticking her nose in, always gossiping. She would know what was happening. And then… she spilled your coffee when she saw what you were looking at.”
Rowan looks from the coffee cup next to him to the papers in front of him and back again a few times before he lifts his gaze back to my face. “Shit.”
“I can show you which room it was, if that helps,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “No need. I believe you. I just… why would she do that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Is it possible she has a family member or a good friend who works for my father?” My mind plays over the faces of the people I met while I was in the castle, but hardly any of them are identifiable to me. I wasn’t there to make friends, after all. Most of the people ignored me, and I ignored them.
The only people I can name don’t seem like the type of people Wilma would have anything to do with. Zeb. Marcus. Alistair. Solomon. His wife. Abby’s parents. No, why would Wilma be involved with any of those people?
“Maybe it’s a servant or something,” I suggest. “Maybe it’s someone who used to live here and then moved over there?”
He shakes his head. “No one would do that, Hezzlie. Why would anyone want to leave the mansion and go work for that bastard?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. “It’s never happened?”
“I don’t believe so.” He lets out a sigh. “I suppose I’m going to have to talk to her about this. Fuck.” He lays his hands flat on his desk. “It’s almost as unreal to me as the idea that Mara would purposely kill our mother–without a magic spell forcing her to do it.”
I reach over and put my hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry.” I truly am. The last thing I want to do is cause him any more pain. He’s already been through so much, with his parents being murdered–his sister unfortunately being the cause of his mother’s death–finding out I was his mate even though he’d already decided to trade me, the surprise attack, and now this.
Rowan looks at me for a second and manages a small smile. “It’s not your fault, Hezzlie. It’s not like I can blame you for being clever enough to figure out who the spy is. You can see the situation more objectively than I can because you haven’t been here forever.”
“And I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” I add.
“That’s true. Still… I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head again slowly before releasing another deep breath. “I guess I’ll have to get her in here and interrogate her. Goddess, I hope she breaks easily. I don’t want to have to torture her.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You would do that?”
“Not physically. I mean… I have tortured people, if that’s what you’re asking. Sometimes, it’s necessary. I don’t typically do it myself anymore. Anway, I meant emotionally. But… if she doesn’t confess, I’ll have to do what I have to do.”
Now, it’s my turn to shake my head. “I’d hate for you to hurt her and for me to somehow be wrong.”
“I understand,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re wrong.”
“Neither do I,” I admit. Nothing else makes sense. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck… well, it’s probably a duck.
Or in this case, if it looks like a spy, hides like a spy, and makes secret phone calls like a spy… it’s probably a spy.
“I would prefer it if you weren’t in here while I question her,” he says, squeezing my hand slightly. “Getting a confession out of a traitor doesn’t fall under the job description for Luna Queen.”
“That makes sense.” I’m actually quite glad to hear it. It’s hard for me to accept that the sweet woman who’s practically been a grandmother to me the entire time I’ve lived here is actually plotting against my fiance.
I stand, and so does Rowan. He leans against the desk, and I press my lips against his. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I nod, run a hand down his cheek, and then walk to the door. Before I open it, I say, “Just… be sure I’m right before you… do anything you’ll regret.”
I notice the irritated look on his face and realize he’s talking in the mind-link. “Oh, you’re definitely right,” he says.
I pause and turn back toward him. “How do you know that?”
“Because… I just asked Dean to escort her to my office–and she’s gone.”
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