The Best Revenge It Wasn't Even Your Child novel Chapter 660

But the second part was dropped to a fierce whisper, meant only for Harrell's ears.

"Her coat, phone, and bag are in the entryway. Make sure you don't forget anything."

Catherine followed behind them, helping gather their things.

Harrell was in a complete scramble. By the time he managed to wrestle Lorinda into the passenger seat and buckle Jasper safely into his car seat, he was drenched in sweat.

Standing outside the passenger door, Catherine rested her hand on the window frame.

"Come clean and I'll go easy on you; lie to me and you'll regret it. Don't think you can fake being drunk to get out of this. Start talking—what exactly did you do?"

Lorinda squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to be dead to the world as she smacked her lips and turned her head, presenting the back of her skull to her friend.

A scoff escaped Catherine's lips. Standing up straight, she took two steps back to clear the way.

"Head back inside, Catherine. I'll take care of them."

"Drive safe." Bending down slightly to look at him, she added, "Shoot me a text when you get there."

He nodded and pulled away from the curb.

Only when their car vanished from sight did she turn back to the house.

Lance was out in the sunroom with Lanny, staring up at the starry sky.

The moment she pushed the door open, the faint scent of alcohol drifted over.

It was then she realized that he had been drinking too—Harrell had kept him company with tea while he drank.

He had downed half a bottle of high-proof vodka.

The corners of his eyes were slightly flushed, but his gaze was sharp and clear. He wasn't drunk; just pleasantly buzzed.

"Go on up and get some rest. I'll take Lanny to his room."

She bent down and scooped the baby up.

Reluctantly releasing the tiny foot he had been holding, he said, "If he starts fussing tonight, bring him to my room."

"No need. You've been drinking, just get some sleep."

She carried Lanny upstairs.

After washing the little boy's face and wiping him down, she turned on a dim nightlight, lay down, and played with him.

He was surprisingly well-behaved tonight. After eating his fill and playing for a bit, he drifted right off to sleep.

Reaching over, she clicked off the lamp, only to notice that the lights in the sunroom were still glowing.

Had he not come upstairs yet?

Hesitating for a second, she crawled out of bed and followed him downstairs.

The living room lights were blazing, as bright as day.

He strode into the center of the room and stopped, his tall frame planted firmly.

"What is it?"

She walked over, coming to a halt a safe distance away from him.

He turned around and, without a word, began unbuttoning his shirt.

One button. Two buttons. His tanned, sculpted chest came into view, followed by the hard lines of his abdomen.

"What... what are you doing?"

Panic spiked in her chest, her eyes darting everywhere as she tried not to stare.

In a few fluid motions, he shrugged the shirt off completely, then turned his back to her. "Put the medicine on."

"Huh?" Her gaze snapped back to him.

Across the broad, tightly muscled expanse of his back were several red, swollen mosquito bites.