Page 68 of Perfect Liar

“Secured. You don’t want more security?”

“Not this time. Let’s roll.”

My lurking anxiety made its move…I squeezed Will’s thigh and chewed on my lip.

“Is it safe?” I whispered.

He tightened his arm around me.

“It’s safe. Locals aren’t aware anything’s going on. They might be confused when they first meet you, but these people aren’t our enemies. They’ll become protective of you.”

“What about…you know?

“There’s no intel saying assassins are here. But it won’t be long, so I want you to experience Old Town while it’s still quiet.”

I took in a deep breath.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, baby.”

He winked and kissed my forehead.

I trusted Will, and if he said it was okay, then it was okay.

“I’m going to teach you to properly use a handgun. I have a small Glock for you. You’ll handle it only when I give it to you,” he said.

“What?”

“I’d be foolish not to prepare you.”

A gun wouldn’t be much use for me, not in the UK, where they broadly prohibited firearms possession. But Will’s family was well connected, knew the policy loopholes, and I understood his goal—I would be exposed to guns, so I needed to know what to do with one.

“Will, I should learn to fight.”

“No,” he snapped.

“But—”

“—no, I won’t see you get beaten and bruised.”

I leaned over his lap to gawk out the window at the scenery. Wild forget-me-nots bloomed along the edge of the forest. The sun broke through the trees, warming everything.

“We’ll see,” I said.

He dismissed my challenge, pointing at the deer in our path.

When the estate ended at the bottom of the ridge, Ben took an old main route leading into the heart of Hastings, the area they referred to as “Old Town.”

The ancient little town could’ve easily been the model for Stonington, though it did have an edgier feel—like it dangled from a precipice, working hard to hoist itself up and evolve with the younger, hipper generation.

People and celebrations filled the streets for the annual week-long summer festival.

Vendors sold fresh-caught fish and seafood, crafts, and other goods. Local artists painted portraits. Solo musicians and a traditional marching band dueled for attention. The carnival queen and her court paraded through the cobblestoned streets.

Only limited parking existed, and most streets were closed to vehicle access.

Ben pulled the car into a gated lot behind a pub that had a crown sculpture mounted above its entrance.

Will caught my unasked question.