The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 85

“No, that’s not it…”

“Then what did you mean by that lucky charm just now?” Lindsay pressed. “Isn’t Ms. Green a designer? How does she know how to draw a lucky charm?”

They say people are scarier than ghosts. Lindsay didn’t fear spirits—her real curiosity was about people.

Her barrage of questions made Yves’ head throb. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the tension. After a long moment, he finally replied, “It’s just a simple protective charm—don’t overthink it.”

“But why would a designer know how to make one?”

Yves shot back, “You’re not just a designer, are you?”

That shut Lindsay up instantly. He was right—she wasn’t just a designer, and there was no reason Cheryl had to be, either.

They left the psychiatric hospital and drove straight back to Quigley Manor.

No sooner had they arrived than Lindsay’s phone buzzed with a message from Horace.

[Be careful these days.]

Lindsay frowned. Was that a warning, or just a friendly reminder?

She typed back: [Careful of who? You?]

Horace replied instantly: [The Quigleys.]

Lindsay shot back: [Which Quigley, exactly?]

Horace responded: [Who do you think?]

She thought for a moment. In the Quigley family, there was only one group that wanted her gone more than anything—Lester and his little clan.

[Lester?]

Horace: [Your personal information’s been put up on the dark web. Five hundred grand bounty.]

Lindsay’s jaw dropped. That much hatred? They’d gone as far as the dark web!

[Wow. Didn’t know my life was worth that much. Half a million—maybe you should cash in?]

“Here. Wear this—for protection.” Yves pulled a small card from his pocket. The strange markings on it looked nothing like any charm she’d seen before.

She studied it, intrigued. “Why does this one look so different from the usual charms?”

“I don’t know much about these symbols,” Yves admitted, “but if she gave it to you, it has to work.”

“You trust her that much?”

“She doesn’t have any reason to hurt you.”

That was hard to argue with, Lindsay realized. He had a point.

“Oh—by the way, Horace messaged me earlier.” Lindsay handed him her phone.

Yves read through their conversation, his expression growing darker with each line. “They’ve put your info on the dark web,” he said grimly. “That means your identity’s out there for anyone to see. The kind of people who take these jobs don’t back down—they’re killers. It’s either you or them.”

Lindsay gave a bitter chuckle. “They really are going all out to get rid of me. Guess I must be worth the trouble—half a million dollars for my head.”