ISAAC'S POV
Victoria's house looked like something from a magazine. White picket fence, rose bushes, the kind of place where normal families lived normal lives. I parked across the street and watched the windows for movement. Three days had passed since Deborah's public humiliation, and I needed to know where her head was.
More importantly, I needed to know where her father's secrets were hidden.
The front door opened before I reached the porch. Deborah stood there in wrinkled clothes, her hair unwashed, that bruise on her cheek faded but still visible. She looked like hell, which meant my timing was perfect.
"What do you want?" Her voice was flat, exhausted.
"To talk."
"About what?"
"About the fact that you're hiding in your sister's guest room while your husband fights to win back his ex-wife on national television."
She flinched. Good. I needed her raw, emotional, ready to make stupid decisions.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Then don't talk. Listen."
