by Amy Vansant
“So where to, m’lady?” he asked, putting the key in the ignition.
She stared at him, the whites of her eyes glowing in the parking lot light. “You’re really handsome.”
“Thank you. You too. I mean pretty.”
She scrunched herself closer to him and he smelled the booze on her breath. Some sort of coconut rum, if he had to guess. She put out her hand and rubbed his chest. His hand jumped off the wheel to block her paw before she felt the tiny recorder taped between his pecs. Between the petting and her coconut rum breath, he felt as if he were being groped by a handsy tropical octopus.
“Oh my god, feel your chest,” she mumbled. “It’s like rock.”
Blocked from reaching the opposite side of him, her hand swept down his stomach to the inside of his thigh.
“Oop.” He jumped and reached to catch her wrist. “Whoa.” He gently eased her back to her side of the car. “You’re going to make it impossible to drive,” he said as friskily as possible. She flopped back and slapped her hand on his knee.
“Take me home, James!” she shouted, raising her other hand before letting it fall to her lap.
“Home? I thought you were hungry. Want to hit a diner?”
She scowled. “There’s no place open now, silly. You like eggs?”
Declan looked at his watch. It was getting close to one a.m. She was probably right.
“Huh? Sure.”
“I’ll make you eggs if you take me home.”
He nodded. “Okay. Deal. Where do you live?”
“You know that big house out on route two-sixteen with all the horse pastures?”
Declan nodded. He did, because Charlotte had prepped him for this very moment. At the time, he hadn’t thought for a second Lyndsey would be asking him home, but now he was glad he’d paid attention.
“Sure. Didn’t someone just die there? It was in the news.”
“Kimber Miller.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Declan pulling from the lot. “Some rich guy. You’re related to him?”
“He was my dad.”
“Really?”
She giggled and nodded in large exaggerated sweeps as he pulled onto the road and headed for her home.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It happens.”
“How did he die?”
Lyndsey sniffed and looked out the passenger window. “He fell and hit his head.”
Something about her tone made it feel as if the conversation had ended, and Declan’s mind raced for a way to keep her talking about Miller’s death.
He heard a heavy breath and glanced over in time to see Lyndsey’s head drop forward. She took another loud inhalation.
Asleep. He wasn’t going to learn much with her in that state.
Declan decided he wasn’t great at covert missions. He preferred to be more direct.
He saw the mansion in the distance and pulled on to the crunchy stone drive.
Did she tell me she lived over the barn? He was starting to get confused between the things Charlotte told him and the things Lyndsey had shared.
I’m pretty sure she told me.
He pulled past the house following a divergent stone path leading from the front parking area toward the back and spotted the barn as he rounded the house. He pulled up to a set of stairs on the side of the barn and parked.
Lyndsey awoke and stared at the barn before turning to him blearily.
“We’re here.”
He nodded.
“Home sweet home.”
He unfolded himself from the Miata and moved to catch her as she struggled to slide from the car. She clung to him like a lapel monkey.
“You are such a gentleman.” Her eyes watered. “You’re so nice to bring me home. Nobody is ever nice to me.”
Oh boy. Here comes the emotional part of our evening.
Declan talked fast to distract her from her tears. “No problem. Where do you live? Upstairs here?”
She nodded. “I’m such a mess.”
“No, no, you’re fine.”
He helped her up the stairs.
“Where are your keys?”
“It’s unlocked.”
He tried the door and found it open. Struggling to get them both through, he picked her up and swept her over the threshold.
She whooped as he lifted her and melted into giggles.
“You’re so strong.”
“You’re just small.”
She beamed as he set her down in a ratty padded chair.
“You want a drink?” she asked, springing back to her feet. She wobbled and he steadied her.
One more drink and she’ll be unconscious. That wouldn’t get her talking. He wanted to tell her what she was doing was dangerous. He had no evil intentions—sure, he wanted to trick her into incriminating herself so she went to prison for murder—but she was lucky he wasn’t a predator. He restrained himself from scolding her like a father-figure. That would kill his chances of extracting what she knew about Miller’s untimely death.
He waved off her drink offer. “Actually, I’m good. Want me to make you something to eat?”
“I was going to make you eggs.”
“That’s okay. I can make them for you instead.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “You are so handsome.”
She leaned on him, pushing him across the room as he wrestled to keep her upright. He looked behind him to be sure he wasn’t about to trip over anything and realized where they were heading.
Her apartment was one large room. Behind him, her bed sat waiting, strewn with the clothes that hadn’t made the cut for that evening’s outing. She was definitely steering him towards it.
He stood firm to stop her progress and she peeled herself away from him to take the lead. Her hand eased down his arm until she could take his. She pulled him towards the bed.
He kept his feet planted on the floor.
“Let’s talk a bit, huh?” He gave her a playful tug back toward the living room area.
“Talk?”
“Sure. I mean, I just met you and I don’t know anything about you.”
She scowled. “Are you gay?”
“What?”
“I knew you were too good-looking.”
Declan sniffed, trying to decide if pretending he was gay would immediately end the evening or if maybe she’d be willing to spend some time chatting like friends. He judged her expression. She really didn’t seem to like the idea of Gay Declan.
“No, I’m not gay.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing, I—”
“You don’t like me?”
“Of course I do. I’m here aren’t I?” He flashed her what he hoped was his most charming smile.
She melted a little.
There’s a little something. Declan felt as if he needed a moment to collect his thoughts. Maybe he could sneak away and text Charlotte for a little advice on how to get Lyndsey talking.
He noticed Lyndsey was standing in front of a door.
Bathroom.
“Is that your bathroom? Mind if I—”
“No!” Lyndsey fell back against the door and slapped her palms to it like she was about to start climbing it, backwards Spiderman-style.
Whoa.
“It isn’t a bathroom?”
Lyndsey held his gaze, breathing heavily. “It’s broken.”
“Oh.”
She lunged from the wall and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back towards the living area.
“Fine. Let’s talk. What do you want to know?”
Declan glanced back at the mysterious bathroom.
Ah well. I guess I should take advantage of her willingness to talk while I have it.
She flopped into a threadbare stuffed chair. “Come on. Bring it.”
“Well… How long have you been working with horses?”
“Since I came here when I was ten.”
“Why did you come here?”
Lyndsey opened her mouth and then shut it again. She waved him away. “That’s too long a story.”
“Okay. But you came here with your dad?”
Lyndsey tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. “No. He was already here.”
“Oh. So it was like a divorce thing.”
She shrugged.
“Do you have any sisters or brothers?”
Lyndsey’s expression soured. “No.”
“I thought I read your dad had twins?”
“He’s not their dad. He’s my dad.”
“So they’re not rich too?” Declan tried to say it as playfully as possible, hoping she wouldn’t notice him probing. It didn’t seem to be the sort of probing she had on her mind, so hopefully he’d be in luck.
“No. I got it all. Most of it.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair. “Mina got some.”
“Whose Mina?”
“She’s like my mom.”
“Oh. She was married to your dad?”
“Sister.” Her voice was fading, the muscles in her face falling slack.
“She’s your sister?”
“His sister.”
“So, your aunt.”
Lyndsey opened one eye to look at him. “Yeah.”
Declan dropped his head into his hand. This wasn’t working out the way he’d hoped. He needed her to talk about the paternity test, maybe get her to show some hate for the man she’d supposedly killed, but she was so drunk…and every topic that could lead to a useful conversation she blew off.
“When you said long story—” He looked up to find Lyndsey’s mouth open. She’d begun to snore.
Hm. I’m going to have to work on my conversational skills.
“Lyndsey?”
She didn’t move.
Declan’s gaze shifted to the bathroom.
Maybe a peek.
He tiptoed as best he could across the creaky floor and pulled the knob.
Locked.
Shoot.
Declan pulled out his phone and texted Charlotte.
*She fell asleep.*
She answered immediately. She fell asleep?!
*Can’t get her to talk. She’s too drunk.*
That’s when people are most chatty!
*She went from chatty to comatose.*
Fine. Abort mission. We gave it a shot.
Declan slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the screen door, wincing as it creaked.
“Where’re you going?” mumbled Lyndsey. She didn’t really sound awake.
“I have a car waiting outside.”
Lyndsey reached out, her voice whiny. “No. Stay.”
“I can’t. I should head home. I have work in the morning.”
“No.” She lifted her head and then her wrist to squint at her watch. “Stay until, like, seven.”
“In the morning?” That seemed really specific. “Seven? Why seven?”
She hooked her mouth to the right as her head fell back against the chair. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”
“What?”
“Nothing. He would have seen you. That would’ve…” She faded into an intelligible mumble.
“What?”
Lyndsey smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “Him and those little bitches.”
“Did you say bitches?” repeated Declan, hoping she’d expound. “Did you say something?”
Lyndsey grunted and began to snore softly.
Declan sighed.
Foiled again. Mission over.
He made his way out and walked up the drive to find Charlotte parked there waiting for him.
“How’d it go?” she asked as he slid into her Volvo.
He huffed. “It was a disaster.”
She pulled away and headed toward home. “She looked a little wobbly.”
“It’s a good thing we did show up. I think she planned to drive home in that toy car of hers.”
“She seemed to be getting friendly in the car,” said Charlotte with a giggle in her tone.
“You could see that?” Declan felt his cheeks grow warm. “She was out of her skull.”
“Did she say anything useful?”
“Not really. For some reason she wanted me to stay until seven, though, which I thought was weird.”
“It was pretty clear she was attracted to you.”
“No, I mean why seven? It was such a specific number to mention.”
“Hm. True.” Charlotte seemed to think on it. “Maybe that’s when Todd, the barn boy, comes in. She might have wanted to make him jealous.”
“The barn boy?”
“He’s like a pool boy only with horses.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Bow chicka bow wow...if you know what I mean.”
“Was that your attempt at porn music?”
“Yes. Why? Do you know it’s off?”
He chuckled. “She mentioned she was rich and admitted her dad died, but she said he fell and hit his head.”
“It’s widely known they think it’s murder now. It was in the papers, so she was probably avoiding talking about it as a murder on purpose.”
“I tried to probe but—”
“That’s what she was hoping.”
Declan squinted at her. “Enough of that. You’re the one that put me in this pickle.”
“That’s what she was hoping,” she repeated.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“But you said pickle. There has to be something there.”
“Are you like five years old now?”
Charlotte giggled and covered her eyes with her hand. “It’s late. I’m regressing. Mina said she likes to drink. Maybe she’s suffering some guilt.”
“She’s suffering something. She was crying when we got out of the car at her house.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She seemed overcome by how nice I was to take her home.”
“It was awfully nice of you. She’s lucky some other jerk didn’t pick her up. Who knows how that could have ended.”
“You have no idea. I don’t think the whole evening was her finest moment.”
“Anything else?”
He unbuttoned his shirt and tried to peel away the recorder. “She came alive like a vampire at the end there and I think she said something about little bitches. You’ll hear it at the end.”
“Bitches, plural?”
He nodded. “Isn’t there something about dogs?”
Charlotte smiled. “Puppies. But I don’t think those are the bitches she means.”
He winced as the tape pulled at his skin. “This is going to hurt.”
“I’ll do it.” Charlotte pulled over. “Turn toward me.” He did and she picked away the edge of the tape until she could get a grip on it.
“I’ll pull it quick. Ready?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fine. On three. One—”
Her arm jerked.
Declan yelped and collapsed back against the seat, his palm pressed where the recorder had been taped.
“I am never doing this again.”
Charlotte grinned and peeled the tape from the recorder. “Oh come on. You’re a natural.” She looked at the sticky side of the tape. “Do you want this skin back?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lyndsey awoke certain there was a drummer in her head pounding out the Morse code for p-a-i-n. She recalled the handsome stranger who’d given her a ride home and rolled over smiling.
She found nothing but sheets.
He’s gone.
Her expression darkened like a thunderhead.
No one cares about me.
He didn’t even want to stay.
What guy doesn’t want to stay?
She sat up and hung her head in her hands. She’d so wanted to trot that hot hunk downstairs in front of Todd. That boy. Show him how little he means to her. Show him what a real man looks like.
Bastard.
<
br /> She grabbed the plastic cup on her nightstand and threw it against the wall. The water splattered but it wasn’t as satisfying as throwing glass. The plastic just doinked across the floor.
She knew it served her right for messing with someone five years younger. She’d felt so in charge at first, and then even her relationship with the boy had turned on her.
She sighed.
As usual. She was never really in charge, was she?
But all that was changing now. She had Uncle Kimber’s money. She could do whatever she wanted. First she’d move into the big house. Kick the girls out. Bankrupt them first. Find a way to keep them from getting their measly hundred thousand. Never let them touch the horses again. Maybe keep Mina around to keep the place clean, though she didn’t relish the idea of those eyes watching her everywhere she went. Mom would move in, of course.
She stood and padded over to the window to peer outside. One of the girls was already riding. She couldn’t tell which one. Couldn’t see if it was Payne’s smug face or Gemma’s wishy-washy stare.
Trying to blackmail me? Who do they think they are? They have no idea the storm headed their way. They don’t know anything.
But what if they do.
Could they? No. They would have said. But she couldn’t have the slightest hint of guilt in her—things could snowball.
Kicking them out and ruining their lives wasn’t good enough.
They have to go.
Permanently.
Why not? In the end, she hadn’t felt bad about killing Uncle Kimber at all. In fact, she felt powerful. For the first time in her life she was taking control. Living life on her terms. She wouldn’t be the red-headed stepchild anymore.
She looked up as the other twin appeared in the ring.
Why did there have to be two of them? How could she kill two people without it looking like a murder? If she took out one, the other would tell everyone about seeing her the day Uncle Kimber died. Her alibi would unravel. They’d look into the paternity test, maybe even re-test her. Everything would come undone.
Maybe if I killed Payne first. Less chance meek Gemma would come after her, except Gemma was the one who’d actually seen her.
Lyndsey kicked the baseboard of her wall.
I knew I’d been too lucky.
By serendipity, the front cameras had been turned off. Probably Payne had done it last time she wanted to sneak out of the house. Everything had played out so perfectly.
