Devil's Cut

by J. R. Ward

  "And you believe that?"

  "It's what that footage shows!"

  "I'm talking about the premeditated part. You mean to tell me you haven't considered, even for a second, that that whole lack-of-malice-aforethought argument might not just be a smart guy trying to get the charge down so that he doesn't get the death penalty? Do you really know what your brother had in mind that night?"

  "He didn't come with a weapon."

  "He cut off that finger. With a knife."

  "My father wasn't stabbed."

  "My point is that who's to say your brother didn't sneak off the farm with a knife, in a truck with a winch, with the intent to kill the man--only to find that Mother Nature helped with his plan first."

  "Edward couldn't kill someone the size of my father with just a knife."

  "Most murderers do not have good plans, Mr. Baldwine. That's why we catch them." Merrimack got to his feet and smiled. "I'll turn this over to the D.A. But if I were you, I wouldn't plan on welcoming your brother home anytime soon. I've worked a lot of cases in the last decade, and they don't get much more solid than this one. I can understand your wanting to save the man, but that's just where things stand. I'll let myself out."

  As the detective headed back for Easterly's front door, Lane wanted to scream.

  Instead, he finished the bourbon in his glass...and poured himself some more.

  Lizzie woke up in the dark, and she was not alone. Strong arms were coming around her and she recognized instantly Lane's scent and warmth.

  "What time is it?" she asked as she lifted her head. "Oh, wow. Dark. Like, really dark."

  "I've been debating whether or not to let you keep sleeping." He stroked her waist. "I decided you might want dinner."

  As she turned and faced him, a shimmy of unease tripped her heart up. "When did you get home--"

  "I'm really sorry."

  "About being so late? Oh, listen, I was asleep--"

  "About what Chantal said to the medics. I made it clear to everyone down at the hospital that we were separated, also."

  "It's all right."

  "Not really."

  Lizzie had to agree on that one, but what the hell was Lane going to say or do to change the situation? Chantal was on the periphery of their lives until the divorce was final, and it felt like the equivalent of a hammer over a bare toe: You could only hope the damn thing wasn't going to fall, and if it did, that it missed.

  You couldn't take a deep breath, that was for sure.

  "Are you okay?" Lane asked as he brushed some hair out of her face.

  "Oh, absolutely. Sure. I mean, there's just a lot going on, and I really needed to sleep. Did, ah...did Chantal lose the baby?"

  "Yes. She was actually pregnant."

  Lizzie's stomach rolled. "Is she okay? I know that's a stupid question, considering everything, but I don't care who you are, that's a lot to go through."

  "I'm not sure. I called her best friend and had her come down so Chantal wasn't alone. It was...horrible. I don't want to get too graphic here, but, God, I've never seen so much blood. And she was in a lot of pain. There's some follow-up stuff that has to happen. I guess they need to make sure she passed it all?"

  As the bedroom went on a spin, Lizzie tried to keep calm. "I'm really sorry for her. No one deserves that."

  "Yeah, there's no love lost between Chantal and me, as you know. But she was suffering."

  There was a long pause, and Lizzie told herself not to jump into it. "Have you, ah...do you think about children? Of your own?"

  Crap, had that really come out of her mouth?

  Lane's headshake was immediate. "No. Absolutely not." Then he seemed to catch himself. "But you know, with you? That's a different story, of course. I mean, sometime in the future? I might be open to it if it was important to you, sure."

  Wow, there was a ringing endorsement of the prospect.

  "What about you?" he prompted.

  "I can't say as I've given it much thought." Then again, she hadn't had to. Until now. "I've always been too busy working."

  "Well, after the example my father set? I had decided no kids, for me."

  "And yet you married Chantal because of it."

  He shrugged. "I had to. I wasn't not going to live up to my responsibilities--and you know, I had certainly used protection with her. She swore it was mine, though, and sometimes things fail. I will never know the truth--and in quiet moments? And I hate to admit this? I'm...not glad, no...but I'm relieved that I don't have a child with her. Anyway, enough about Chantal and the past. I'm only about you and me and the future--and if, someday, you want to have kids, we can talk about it then."

  "Well, that's good to know." Lizzie fixated on her nails, inspecting the tips. "Yup, very good."

  God, her heart was pounding in her chest. And not in a happy way.

  "So you'll never believe where I went after I left the hospital," he said.

  The change of subject was good. Yessir--ohdearGodwhatwasshegoingtodo? "Um, Disneyland?"

  "No." He smiled. "The Red and Black."

  With the efficiency she had always valued in him, Lane shared what Shelby Landis, a stable hand out at the farm, had told and showed him. Then he talked about his meeting with Detective Merrimack. Lizzie followed most of the update, which was a miracle considering the banging and crashing in her head. Part of her wanted to just blurt out that she was pregnant, but like he didn't have enough going on already?

  Take another test, she decided. In a day or two. Make sure before she jumped the gun.

  Snapping back to attention, she caught up with the story. Wait, what was this about Edward? "Holy crap, this is huge."

  "Not according to the police." Lane shook his head. "As far as Merrimack's concerned, they have their resolution to the case. The bus has left the station, as the saying goes."

  Lizzie opened her mouth to comment--but then remembered something. Shit, the test was still out on the counter in the bathroom.

  With a quick surge, she brushed his lips, rolled over him, and got off the bed. "Will you excuse me? Nature calls, you know."

  He nodded and eased onto his other side as she hurried across the carpet. "I mean, what if Edward didn't do it? So who's he covering for?"

  "Right?" she threw over her shoulder.

  In the dim bathroom, she made sure that she kept her back to the open doorway as she scooped up the pregnancy test, the wrapper, and the open box.

  "Did you see Miss Aurora while you were down there?" she asked to distract him.

  "Yes. It's not good."

  Lizzie froze with the positive stick in her hand. After closing her eyes briefly, she snapped back into action and went around the corner to the wastepaper basket. Picking up some Kleenexes and an empty bottle of her Pantene conditioner, she put the Clearblue stuff in the bottom and covered it up.

  "So what does that mean exactly?" she said as she went across and opened the linen closet.

  "It's time to bring the family in."

  Lizzie stashed the box with the unused test underneath the towels. One advantage of having no maid service and doing the cleaning herself? She didn't have to worry about anyone else finding what she'd thrown out.

  As she closed the door, she put her hand on her belly. The reality of miscarriages loomed, that image of Chantal on the steps of that crypt, looking down at herself in horror, the kind of thing that made nausea rise.

  "Are you okay in there? Still feeling sick?"

  "No, I'm much better." She ducked into the little private room and flushed the toilet for show. "Just waking up."

  Back out in the bedroom, she went over and lay down beside him. "I'm so sad for you about Miss Aurora. I'm really sorry."

  He put his arm around her and pulled her even closer. "It's killing me, to be honest. Seeing her there so damned helpless? It's as if she's already died."

  "I'd like to go with you next time."

  "Tomorrow. I'm going tomorrow--oh, shit, I have to meet with the board in the m
orning. Jeff and I are giving them an update. John Lenghe's cash infusion from that poker game has helped, but we need another way out of the crunch."

  "What can I do to help? Short of winning Powerball."

  "This is what I need." Turning to face her, he kissed her mouth. "And this..." Moving lower, he brushed his lips over her collarbone. "And this..."

  Lizzie felt her body uncoil from its tension, but she knew that it was only temporary. As he loosened the side tie on her dress, she wanted him, needed him, was hungry for their connection. This time together wasn't going to change anything, however.

  Fortunately, in the moment, that didn't matter to her.

  Lane moved on top of her, and then their clothes were gone, nothing but skin and love between them.

  Just as he was about to enter her, Lane pulled back. "Shoot, let me get a condom."

  "It's okay--" As a look of shock hit his face, she shook her head. "Just, you know, pull out. I trust you."

  "I'll be careful," he whispered against her lips.

  Lane entered her with a roll of his hips, and she closed her eyes and arched into the pleasure. It was all she wanted to feel. Nothing else was welcome.

  Lane was the only thing that mattered.

  Pounding on the bedroom door woke Lane up and he jumped out of bed, twisting his ankle as he landed badly.

  "Lane?" Lizzie asked in the dark.

  "I've got it."

  Buck naked and not giving a damn, he marched over, and opened things a crack. When he saw who it was, he cursed. "Richard, what the hell are you doing--"

  His sister's husband pointed down the hall, in the direction of Gin's suite. "Where is she!"

  Lane glared at the guy. "Will you lower your voice--my mother is asleep next door."

  "As if she is ever awake."

  "Excuse me--"

  "Where is your sister? Is she out picking up men at the club--or maybe it's the street now--"

  Lane shut the door on the man's face, grabbed a pair of boxers from the bureau, and yanked them on so hard, he nearly wedgie'd himself.

  "Try not to kill him," Lizzie muttered as he headed back for the idiot.

  "I make no promises."

  Ripping the door back open, he nearly got his forehead knocked on as Richard warmed up for another round of pounding.

  "My sister," Lane hissed as he stepped out and closed things up behind himself, "has taken Amelia back to Hotchkiss for her finals."

  "You're lying."

  "I beg your pardon?" Lane resisted the urge to grab the man by the throat and shove him off balance just on principle. "Look, I can assure you, when it comes to Gin and you, I do not have a dog in this fight. But if you insist on disparaging my sister's character, that is going to change quick."

  "Don't threaten me, Baldwine. Your family needs me."

  "How do you figure that?"

  As Richard's thin face stretched into an ugly grin, Lane decided, based on the flush and the fact that it was after midnight, that the guy had been drinking.

  "I could sink the Bradford Bourbon Company like that." The man snapped his fingers right in front of Lane's nose. "I'm your distributor. If I want, I can stop your product from reaching all retail outlets. If I choose to, I can block you from the shelves, from restaurants, from bars. Do you think the BBC has enough cash on hand to last through a couple of months of bad sales? I'm very sure it doesn't. From what I understand, you can't even afford to buy corn to make mash."

  Okaaaaay, douchebag, Lane thought.

  "We're going to be just fine," Lane bit out. "Do what you want for whatever convoluted reason you wish. But I guarantee you, we will handle it--now go the hell to bed or get out of my house. Either way, shut your mouth in front of my mother's door and stop disparaging your wife."

  "This family is going under." Richard waved his arms all around, indicating the long hallway. "All of this? It's going away. You can't save any of it, Lane. You're nothing but a playboy slut, just like your sister--"

  Annnnnnnnnd it was lights-out time.

  Lane wasn't aware of snapping, but the next thing he knew, he had his hands around Richard's neck and was squeezing so hard, his arms were shaking. And Richard tried to fight off the attack, his fingers clawing at the hold on his throat, his body whipping back and forth like a fish on the line, but he couldn't break free.

  "Cutting off," Lane gritted as Richard stumbled back. "You want to talk about cutting off? How's this for cutting off?"

  As the other man tripped over his own feet, and his mouth gaped open, Lane followed Richard down as he fell in slow motion to the corridor's carpet--and still Lane cranked his hold tighter and tighter. Everything got channeled into the effort, to the point where, in the back of his mind, he had some thought he was going to murder the man--

  "Lane!" Lizzie came rushing out of their bedroom. "Lane! What are you doing--"

  "Go back in the room, Lizzie--go back in there and--"

  "You're going to kill him!"

  It was hard to disagree, especially as he'd come to the same conclusion. But he didn't stop.

  Lizzie grabbed on to one of his arms and started to try to pull him off--and then, from down at the end of the hall, Jeff broke out of his own suite of rooms and came hightailing over.

  "What the hell is going on!" the guy barked.

  Lane wanted to scream at them to just leave him alone with his brother-in-law a little longer--at this rate, he was only going to need about five minutes. Just three hundred seconds, max.

  Jeff had other ideas. He joined the fight to pry things free--and Lane kept the choke hold going for as long as he could. His woman was just as strong as his old roommate was, though, and the pair of them succeeded in getting him off of Richard, a bulldog no longer able to keep his jaws locked on the stick he'd claimed as his own.

  As Lane went flying back and slammed into the wall, Richard rolled over and coughed into the carpet. His suit jacket had split open in the back--amazing, considering how baggy the thing was on him--and one pant leg was halfway up his pasty white calf.

  Jeff got between them, splaying his arms wide as if he expected Lane to charge again. "Come on, buddy. What the hell are you doing here?"

  Lizzie, meanwhile, went over to Richard. "Are you okay?"

  Pford was coughing and dragging in air, a man who had nearly drowned on dry land. And when he could, he lifted his head. "I'm...going...to...ruin this family." His voice was harsh, his breathing ragged. "I'm going to make you all pay. Every one of you. All of you!"

  Lurching to his feet, he stumbled down the corridor, bouncing off the wall, crashing into one of the decorative tables, tripping over his own wingtips again.

  Lane put his head in his hands and let himself slide until his butt hit the carpeting. "You can back off of me now."

  "You sure about that?" But Jeff stepped away. "And can I just say, you people in Kentucky--never a dull moment."

  Glancing up at his old roommate, Lane noted the dark circles under the guy's brown eyes and the smudged black hair and the--

  "You're still working?" Lane mumbled while he nodded at the button-down and business slacks Jeff was wearing. "Or did you pass out in your work clothes?"

  "I think it's important to remain professional at all times." Jeff took a load off in the hall, too. "And also I passed out reading spreadsheets."

  "Again," Lane tacked on.

  "Again."

  After a minute, Lizzie sat down with them, her baggy T-shirt and set of boxers from his own closet--and he loved that. "So, boys, what are we waiting for?"

  As if on cue, Richard stormed back out of his room and came at them like a freight train.

  "Oh," she muttered, "this."

  The man had a suitcase in one hand and that busted-up jacket in his other. "I'm leaving, but I'm coming back for my things. You can tell your sister when, and if, she gets home that I want the ring returned or I won't annul her. Don't worry, I won't ask for any money--I'm going to take it out of your fucking hides at the B
BC."

  Jeff spoke up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Wait and see, CEO. Just wait and see--oh, and this is personal. It's not business."

  Richard lanked off, his long strides taking him quickly to the grand staircase. Seconds later, the front door was slammed shut so hard, they heard it all the way up on the second floor.

  "He can't actually hurt us," Lane asked. "Can he?"

  Jeff shrugged. "If he acts within the law, not really. But if he doesn't? The cash-flow analysis I just ran is as tight as we can get. He might be able to sink us."

  "Even with John Lenghe's help?"

  By some stroke of amazing luck, John Lenghe, who owned about half of all the corn and wheat crops in America, had offered the BBC financing while they rode out the cash crunch.

  In spite of the fact that he'd lost a fifty-million-dollar-plus poker pot to Lane just last week.

  Lenghe was the father Lane wished he'd had.

  "Yeah, even with his help." Jeff peeled one of his eyes wide and looked to the left like he had an eyelash problem. "I was going to tell you this before the board meeting tomorrow. It's even worse than I thought it was. Your father's off-balance-sheet financing is all coming due. The bank debt is piling up left and right and there's no end in sight. Pretty soon, those creditors are going to start dialing their legal departments and when that happens? Paying for production essentials like corn and rye is going to be the least of our problems. We're going to be dealing with summary judgments for millions of dollars and bankruptcy."

  As Lane considered the embezzlement, he had to admit his father had been crafty about transferring assets into his control. If the man had just written himself a bunch of checks from BBC accounts, it would have been clear that he was stealing from the company. Instead, he'd identified other businesses and endeavors around the world and put himself in an ownership position in those entities, using both BBC funds transferred into something call WWB Holdings as well as bank loans that had the BBC as collateral. When those other companies failed--or didn't even exist--as John Lenghe had disclosed? The banks still wanted to get their loans paid off and had the legal right to come knocking on the BBC's door for all that interest and principal.

  Lane shook his head. "My father's ability to pick bad investments was unparalleled."