Beautiful Girl

by Shiloh Walker

  But…no.

  She wouldn’t do it. Deep inside, in some small part of her heart, she still loved her mother—or at least, she loved the ideal of her mother, a woman that loved her, a woman that cherished her—a woman that would protect her.

  She could remember times when she’d been a child and her parents had come into her room at night time. Dad would read her a story while Mom brushed her hair. After Dad died, her mother had become more distant, but now Del realized that distance had always been there—it had just been buffered by the loving presence of her father.

  It would damn well serve Louisa right if Del did try to press charges. And she knew it was still possible it could happen even if she chose not to pursue it on her own. She knew enough about the law to know that the DA may decide to investigate the matter. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, possibly even millions, intended for Del had instead gone to Louisa. Each time the woman had signed one of those monthly checks and kept the money, she had committed a crime. Yes, Del had to be the one to sign the paperwork and take responsibility of her inheritance, but Louisa had deliberately set out to convince Junior that she was simply acting at her daughter’s request.

  Whether or not Louisa would be found guilty was meaningless, or at least it was to Del. It wasn’t all that likely that Louisa would ever be found guilty anyway. The woman was too slick, too adept at manipulating people. She’d play a jury like a master violinist could play a violin.

  Still, if the DA decided to press charges, Louisa would be humiliated—for that alone, Del was tempted.

  If Del had been eaten up with the idea of getting justice, she probably would have happily pursued it—but she was more interested in payback than justice. The thought of her mother in jail, although it was a slim chance, wasn’t one that settled well with Del. Having people see Louisa as she truly was…yeah, there was some appeal.

  Too much appeal. She wanted to see that just a little too much, and not for the right reasons. Or at least, not all of them.

  So she’d let it go.

  But by damn, Del was taking her house. She might even take a wrecking ball to the wing where Mommy dear and that perverted bastard Sanders slept. And her room was going to be gutted—she might even be the one to hold the sledgehammer.

  That was her house, damn it. Her dad had left it to her and she would rather shave her head bald than let Sanders live there another minute.

  Her voice was flat and steady when she finally replied, “I’d appreciate you coming with me to the bank. But the sheriff’s office isn’t necessary.” She smiled a little and said, “I know that this will be reported to the county DA and if he decides to press charges, so be it. I’ll do what’s necessary at that point. But on a personal level, I don’t need it. However…I’d like it if you would come with me to the house tonight, if you can.”

  Sam glanced at his watch. “We could go now, if you’d like.”

  Del shook her head. “No. I want to take care of the business at the bank and then I need some time by myself. And I want Blake to come with me.”

  Sam’s mouth canted up at one corner. “For legal support? Or personal?”

  With a smile, Del replied, “Personal. You’re the legal support.”

  Chapter Nine

  She was sweating.

  Louisa Prescott Sanders was sweating. With a surreptitious glance, she made sure the nursing staff was otherwise occupied. Twice monthly, Louisa volunteered at the small county hospital and she knew the middle of the afternoon was a chaotic time at the hospital. Shift changes, doctors making their rounds, family visiting, yes, it was sheer chaos.

  Chaotic enough that few would take note of a flower delivery. Now that Beaumont Junior was out of intensive care, the flowers were a wonderful cover up. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail and wore a disgustingly grimy baseball cap to cover her carefully colored and highlighted hair. The baggy T-shirt and jeans disguised her figure and she wore large, oversized sunglasses. It wasn’t, perhaps, the most clever disguise, but all she needed to do was avoid being noticed.

  With any luck, Junior would be in a narcotic-induced slumber and he would never realize she’d been there. One tiny little prick, a few moments, and then this would be over.

  There would, of course, have to be some sort of incident at his office. She imagined a fire would suffice and she already had a man in mind for that job. William did have a rather colorful, extensive network of people and with the right sum, she could buy the services she needed, and their silence.

  She tucked a hand into the baggy pocket on her left hip and wrapped her hand around the syringe. Last week when she had heard Delilah was indeed back in town, she’d realized she might have to take drastic measures. The insulin had been in Marcy Baylor’s refrigerator, left over from her pregnancy and after she’d delivered a rather large baby, the woman hadn’t discarded the vial. Marcy’s pregnancy-induced diabetes was now under control and it had given Louisa the perfect way to kill.

  Nobody could track the medicine back to her and after she was done, she would dispose of the vial in a way that it couldn’t possibly be found. She doubted Marcy would even remember that she had left the vial in her refrigerator. Quite perfect, all in all.

  Louisa had intended to use the insulin on her daughter. Upon Delilah’s death, everything reverted back to the last living relative and that was Louisa. But Junior had been too persistent, determined to get Delilah into the office to discuss the last will and testament of Louisa’s late husband. Her lip curled in a sneer but it lasted only a second before she made the conscious effort to smooth her features. Every ugly emotion would show on the face in time and Louisa worked hard to maintain a flawless visage.

  If Douglass hadn’t been such a fool about his beloved Delilah, none of this would have been necessary. She had imagined that Douglass would see to it that Delilah was provided for, but to leave her nearly everything? As his wife, Louisa had been entitled to a third of his estate—perhaps, if Douglass had left her Prescott Manor and some of his other properties, Louisa might have been satisfied.

  But the man hadn’t done that, now had he?

  It was his fault, his mistake, but it was up to Louisa to rectify it. She kept a watchful eye out as she eased open the door to Junior’s room, but a familiar voice had her freezing in place.

  “Now if I get caught serving you up this chicken, it’s your boy’s fault,” Paulette said.

  Louisa was too much of a lady to swear, but at that moment, several very colorful phrases danced through her mind. She heard footsteps and quickly, she lifted the huge vase of flowers, shielding her face. With one more glance around, she backed away from the door and then, spying the empty room next to Junior’s, she slid inside. The door to the bathroom was open and she ducked inside, turning the lock and then setting the flowers on the sink so she could lean against the connecting door and listen.

  Paulette had a voice as big as her body, deep and booming, and it carried. Junior’s voice was stronger than it had been and as he spoke, it sent a fission of nerves coursing through Louisa. “So Sam was with Delilah as you left? The papers are all signed?”

  “Finally,” Paulette said, heaving out a loud sigh. “‘Bout time, too. I’m telling you, Junior, that mama of hers ought to be strung up, letting this carry on so long.”

  Junior chuckled while, hiding inside the bathroom, Louisa burned hot with fury. That nasty, insolent bitch, she thought. How dare she? Junior was too magnanimous by far, letting a paid employee speak like that about any client—but especially one of Louisa’s background and breeding.

  “Louisa just has her own way of doing things, Paulette. We know that. Although I must admit, I’m very glad that Sam took this mess into his hands before Delilah tried to slip away again. I’d already made up my mind if I didn’t manage to speak with her while she’s in town, I was going to hire a private investigator to track her down. I let this go on far too long.”

  “Well, it’s done now. I saw them on my way out of the
diner and they were going into the bank. Going to speak with Stu, I’d say,” Paulette said. “I’ll tell you, Junior, Delilah did not look happy. Not one bit.”

  Junior said something else, but Louisa was already backing away. She slid out of the room, her mind working furiously. She forgot about the flowers until she was at the stairs and at that point, she was too worried to go back for them.

  It was too late to silence the Beaumonts now—either of them. She hadn’t ever expected Sam to step into his father’s shoes and that had been a foolish mistake on her part. She had been prepared to deal with Beaumont Senior when he returned. Very little would have been necessary after she’d dealt with the law office. One couldn’t read a will if it was all in ashes. Louisa had destroyed her copy in a fury of pique years earlier and she already had plans on how to get the one from the bank manager’s office.

  Stu Harding was her age and the man had always had his eye on her. She had plans to visit him the very next day, right at closing. She’d express some concern over something in the will—and with Junior being indisposed, naturally, she had thought of Stu. He would open the safe and while he was doing that, she’d pour them both some of the bourbon he kept there.

  A few drinks, a little flattery—as well as some Xanax slipped into his drink and Louisa would be gone and Stu’s copy of the will destroyed. It was a joy living in a small town. Stu wouldn’t even remember her visit, she knew because the man had a poor head for drinking. He lost entire hours to the drink if he wasn’t cautious and Louisa would see to it that Stu lost all caution.

  All of her planning, though, and it was for naught.

  She took the stairs at a fast clip, determined to get away before one soul recognized her. On her way out the door, she tucked a hand into her pocket and closed it around the syringe. It would have been easier to take care of Junior. In a hospital, people received the wrong medicine from time to time but it would be harder for people to see that happening to Del.

  Still, all Louisa needed was a plan. Nobody would believe she was capable of killing her own daughter. Louisa truly hated that it had come to this, although not because she had fond feelings for Delilah. The girl hadn’t ever been the daughter that Louisa had imagined. More concerned about herself and her own needs than that of the family name and the responsibilities that came with it.

  Delilah was such a waste and sadly, it was up to Louisa to deal with the mess.

  It was all Douglass’s fault that this was necessary.

  Her soft mouth set in a frown, Del glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. Blake noted with some surprise that Del had painted her nails. It wasn’t the pale cotton candy pink he remembered her wearing so often in school, rather an intense, crimson red. The strong, bold color suited the woman before him better than pink ever could.

  “You don’t look all that surprised,” she said, her voice cool and flat.

  With a shrug, Blake replied, “Honestly, I’m not. As long as she doesn’t have to get her lily-white hands dirty, Louisa’s capable of a lot of things.” Leaning back in his chair, he studied the sheaf of papers she’d thrust into his hands the second she’d stalked into his office.

  He skimmed over the notes jotted down in Junior’s sweeping scrawl, noting the dates and times that Junior had made attempts to speak with Louisa. Hundreds of messages left. Ideally, Blake figured the best thing Junior could have done was contact a private investigator to track Del down, like Sam had done. He grimaced as he thought of how Del’s privacy had been invaded, but she shouldn’t have spent the past twelve years struggling. There was enough money that she shouldn’t have spent even five seconds worrying about money.

  Juggling the figures in his head, he came up with some numbers. Assuming that until Del signed whatever papers were required, there was six thousand dollars a month coming out of the trust fund that should have been used for her needs, food, clothes, rent if she was so inclined, that was almost three quarters of a million dollars that should have been hers since she turned eighteen. The majority of her father’s estate should have gone directly to her upon her twenty-first birthday, including the house, and still Louisa and Williams lived there, in Del’s home, like royalty.

  Money set aside for college that Del had never received. And all the money that had been set aside while Del was still a minor, money that should have been used for her and it was made out to Louisa. No, Del hadn’t ever lacked for anything. Louisa was too caught up in her own self-importance to let her daughter go around dressed in clothes from Wal-Mart. But how much of that six thousand a month had actually gone to Del? Very little.

  Millions of dollars, he figured. Louisa had been reaping the benefits of Del’s inheritance, probably ever since Douglass Prescott had died, and she would have gone on doing just that if Del hadn’t come home. Louisa was accustomed to a certain life and he knew she loved her money, but Douglass’s will had set aside a decent monthly sum for his wife upon his death. Why had she worked so hard to keep Del from getting what was rightfully hers?

  “So will you?”

  Blake glanced up and swore softly. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking about something.”

  Del rolled her eyes. “I need to go out to the manor tonight. I want you to come with me. I was asking if you would.”

  Oh, there was no way in hell he would let her go out there alone. “Absolutely.” With a wicked grin, he asked, “You want me to bring a few deputies and you can watch while we make them vacate the premises?”

  She laughed and he felt his heart clench at the sound. “No. But I do want a witness when I tell her she has thirty days to find someplace else to live.”

  “You’re too nice,” Blake said, shaking his head. “I’d kick them out tonight.” Pensively, he studied her face. “Sanders will be there.”

  As though she was chilled, Del rubbed her arms with her hands. “Yeah, I know.” She shrugged, but the movement looked oddly mechanical and he knew she was nowhere near as calm as she wanted to be. “Got to face him sooner or later—and telling him to get out of my house sort of sounds like fun.”

  “Fun.” Blake grinned and shook his head. “No, sugar. Fun would be letting me pound him into a pulp. That would be fun.”

  Then he cocked a brow at her. “Hey, I can think of something else that's fun.”

  The grim look in Del's eyes faded, exactly as he'd hoped, and she smiled at him. “Knowing your mind, I can only guess.”

  “You know me so well.” Glancing at the door behind her, he said, “Why don't you turn that lock?”

  Del slid him a narrow glance but then reached behind her and locked the door. Then she hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans and gave him a teasing smile. “Why am I locking the door, Blake?”

  Instead of answering her, he crooked a finger at her.

  Del sauntered around the desk, coming to a stop just beside him and leaning a hip against the edge. “You know, I have a feeling that whatever you're planning could get the two of us in trouble.”

  Spinning around his chair, he reached out and grasped her hips, tugging her close. Through the thin cotton of her shirt, he could feel the warmth of her skin, could smell the soft, female scent of her. “Hmmm. Maybe. But I don't plan on telling anybody. Do you?”

  She brought up a hand, curved it over the back of his neck. “Oh, I dunno. Blackmail material could always come in handy, especially with you law enforcement types.” She smiled at him but when he cupped a hand between her thighs, rubbed the heel of his palm against her sex, she blushed and sent a worried look towards the door.

  “Blackmail material, huh?” He turned her around, tugged her down until she was sitting on his lap. “Well, considering the way you scream…”

  It didn't seem possible, but she blushed even her harder, red all the way to the roots of her hair. Squirming against his hands, she mumbled, “You're awful, Blake.”

  “Hmmmm. And you're sweet,” He trailed his fingers up her thigh, over her hip until he could stroke the bare skin
of her belly under the waistband of her shirt. When he slid the button of her pants free, he paused, gave her a minute to refuse, but she didn't breathe a word. “Real sweet. And hot…” He pushed his hand inside her jeans, inside her panties and then dipped two fingers, quick and light, inside her pussy. “And wet… Damn it, Del.”

  She whimpered and rocked her hips upward against his hand.

  “Shhh,” he murmured into her ear. “Otherwise you and me really might get in trouble here.” He circled a thumb around her clit. “I want to make you come, right here, right now. You think you can do it without screaming?”

  Del swallowed and looked once more towards the door.

  Blake nuzzled her neck. “Nobody can come in. The door’s locked, remember? And as long as you don't scream…” As he spoke, he screwed two fingers in and out of her sex and when her lips parted, he used his free hand to angle her face around and he caught her mouth with his own.

  “Don't scream,” he warned against her lips.

  “Blake, please…” She rocked against his hand, worked her hips in a desperate circle.

  He continued to stroke her, toying with her until she was whimpering and pleading in a low, hoarse whisper. “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this,” he rasped, lifting his head and staring down at them. His hand lost to sight inside Del's pants, her chest rising and falling with harsh, ragged breaths. Through the layers of her shirt and bra, he could see the hard, pebbled crests of her nipples. Her head rested against his shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her lashes low over her eyes. She was so damn beautiful, it hurt to even look at her. All he wanted to do was tell her that, but memories of what had happened over the weekend still loomed like in an ugly shadow in his mind.

  So instead of telling her that, he feathered a kiss across her cheek and whispered, “Kiss me, Del.”