She turned her face to his and when their lips met, he circled his thumb once more around her clit and started to pump his fingers in and out of her sex in a quick, steady rhythm.
It didn't last long enough. Del responded to his touch like she'd been created just for him, made to react like this, only for him. When she came, she cried out, but he muffled the sound of it with his lips.
After it was over, he adjusted her clothes and then wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her as her breathing slowed. “You did that on purpose,” she said a few minutes later, her voice soft and drowsy.
“Damn straight. I don't know how I could get you to come on accident,”
Del snorted. “Smart ass,” she mumbled. Then she pushed lightly against his hands, straightening up so that she sat on his lap instead of sprawling back against him. “I meant you did that to distract me.”
“Guilty.”
Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”
Blake laughed, cupped her hips in his hands, holding her as he nudged his swollen cock against her butt. “Oh, don't thank me now.” He wagged his brows at her. “Thank me later.”
“This is insane.”
William Sanders listened as his wife spoke about killing her daughter the same way she’d speak about having a new room added on to the house. Calm and matter-of-factly, as though it meant less than nothing.
“William, we simply have no choice.”
He shoved a hand through his thinning hair and turned away. “The hell we don’t.”
From her chair by the window, she sipped her coffee and then leveled her pale green eyes on his face. “And what other choice do we have?”
William waved a hand. “It’s her inheritance that you’ve been spending. We’ll just pay her back.”
“And the house?”
He glanced around the opulent solarium and then back at his wife. “If it’s her house, she can have it.”
“Do you really think that she will be satisfied with that?” Louisa asked. Setting aside her coffee cup, she rose and smoothed down her skirt. It fell to her knees without a wrinkle, without a crease. “She hasn’t forgotten what you did to her, William. She will want to make us suffer for it.”
Wary, he eyed her as she moved closer. “I didn’t do anything to her, Louisa. She was a troubled child and she—”
In a calm voice, with a pleasant smile, Louisa said, “I know what happens in my house, William. Exactly.”
Fear wrapped a fist around his heart as she met his gaze. He saw the knowledge in her eyes and his mouth went dry as he realized what this could mean for him.
She reached out and patted his cheek gently. “Don’t look so frightened, William. I know what happens in my house but that doesn’t mean that I wish for everyone to know. If you had kept your indiscretions away from here, it would have been better but this is nothing that we cannot deal with. But we must handle Delilah before she ruins the both of us.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “We can’t expect to kill her and nobody look at us for it. We’d inherit everything. That will automatically make us suspects.”
Louisa smiled. “Now. Just leave that to me.”
William almost argued with her. Then he thought better of it. Whatever Louisa had planned, it was best that he knew nothing. If she actually did try to kill Delilah—worse, if she succeeded, then he wanted to be able to say he knew nothing about it.
“Idiot.” Louisa left William alone in the solarium a few minutes later. She had poured him a drink and stayed long enough to make sure he drank it, then she had carried the brandy snifter into the kitchen and washed it herself. It wouldn’t do for the police to find the glass. Surely the Xanax that she’d ground up would leave some sort of residue.
On her way back to her personal office, she’d paused by the solarium and smiled with satisfaction as she watched William dozing off on the sofa. She did like that sofa. It would be a shame to discard it. Sometime soon, she expected it would be liberally splattered with blood.
The solution to her problem had come to her on the way home and she’d known what she had to do.
If she knew her stubborn daughter, then Delilah would be at the house sometime tonight. Delilah’s own sordid past was going to provide the perfect cover up. Several suicide attempts, the drugs, even Delilah’s bizarre appearance, all of it would simply add more credence to the story the cops would hear.
As repellent as it was, even the meeting between Sam and Delilah would work in Louisa’s favor. Louisa already planned to explain that she’d kept the money from her daughter out of motherly concern—after all, a drug addict couldn’t be trusted with millions. Nobody would fault her, once they knew the truth about Delilah’s shadowy past.
And it gave Delilah a motive for murder without Louisa having to share tawdry, tasteless information with public servants.
William was already dealt with—between the Xanax and the brandy, William would be sound asleep when she killed him. He’d never even know what hit him.
It wouldn’t be long before Delilah was as well.
Louisa had already rehearsed what she’d say…I came in when I heard the noise. William was taking a nap. He’d been so upset lately…A few tears, a wobble in her voice, and then she’d sigh, and force herself to continue. I grabbed the gun from William’s office and ran to see what had happened. I saw Del standing over him with a gun. She shot him, and then she pointed the gun at me. I thought she’d shoot me… I screamed, and I… Oh my God. I shot my daughter. I just…I was so terrified…
Louisa ran through the plan in her mind once more. When Del arrived, Louisa would lead her into the living room—then she’d shoot William. Perhaps a few tears, on Louisa’s part, a few false sobs. He told me, darling. He told me what he’d done to you, and I simply had to do it. I wanted you to see how sorry I was… She’d get Delilah into the living room, close to William, and then Louisa would shoot the selfish bitch.
Louisa had dismissed the staff shortly after coming home. She had tearfully explained to Trish, their housekeeper, that she needed some time alone. Delilah still refuses to come visit. Whatever did I do to make her hate me so? Trish was everything that Louisa required of an employee, prompt, honest, hardworking and discreet. She knew when to speak and when not to. When the police questioned Trish, she would share with them how distraught Louisa had been since her only child had come back home but refused any contact with her family.
She’s a troubled girl, Sheriff. Since she left, she’s had problems with drinking, with drugs. I just never imagined she’d do a thing like this. Louisa was glad she’d kept tabs on Delilah, now more than ever. The private investigator had been hired out of Louisville and paid cash and it was one of the best investments she had made. She knew Delilah’s history of alcohol abuse, her drug abuse. It would all work very well for Louisa.
With her right hand gloved and the gun ready, she sat down at her desk and watched outside. Waiting to see Delilah’s beat-up car come around the corner.
“Some things never do change, Delilah.” Delilah had Douglass’s sense of justice and this one time, it was going to help Louisa instead of irritate her.
Hearing the car, she stood up from her desk and hurried downstairs. A quick glance into the solarium assured her that William was still asleep. The car stopped and she listened for the knock, keeping her gloved hand tucked behind her back. The gun was growing heavier and although she wouldn’t dare to admit it, she was sweating from nerves.
As she rounded the corner, she forced herself to smile so she’d be ready when she greeted Delilah. But there was no knock.
Instead, she heard the snick of a lock and she stopped in the hallway as the door opened. The smile on her mouth wavered and fell away completely as she realized that while she had guessed right on Delilah coming to confront her, she hadn’t counted on one simple thing.
Delilah wasn’t alone.
Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the man stan
ding just behind her daughter. A few phone calls had assured her that Sam Beaumont was at the hospital with his father. Fate for once was working in Louisa's favor because just before five, Junior had started running a fever and if Louisa knew anything about the Beaumonts, then she knew Sam would remain by his father's side until the doctor convinced him that Junior would be fine.
Had Sam accompanied Del, Louisa would have altered her plans accordingly. She could have dealt with this in a different matter and already had a few back ups in mind.
But she hadn’t planned on Blake Mitchell. He wore no uniform but she could see the gold of his badge glinting from his belt and fear streaked through her. If he had his badge, did he also have his gun? Shaken, she fell back a step. Truly, she had to quell the urge to run.
But a Prescott never retreated. Right now, all she had to do was hide the gun. There would be another way to handle this.
A chill raced down Blake’s spine as he met Louisa’s gaze. There was a manic look in those eyes, eyes so similar to Del’s on the surface. Hell, she looked like Del, ageless beauty, class and intelligence. But Louisa was usually ice cold, cold enough that a lot of the guys like to joke that Sanders was either immune to frostbite or that he had a woman on the side that he kept damn quiet.
She was an icy piece of work, that was certain, but right now, all that ice was gone, melted into nothingness by something that made her eyes go wild. Almost insane.
Instinctively, he placed his body in front of Del’s. Louisa’s body stiffened.
“Miz Sanders,” he said, keeping his voice soft and slow. “Del here needed to talk with you and your husband.”
Louisa laughed but it was a false, high-pitched sound. “Delilah is welcome at any time.” She retreated a step. Her right arm was behind her back and Blake reached out as Del tried to brush past him. Using his arm, he barred her way as he skimmed the grand foyer. There was an elaborate mirror to Louisa’s right, hanging over a console table that gleamed from a recent dusting.
Her angle was wrong for him to see clearly, but the flash of something dark and matte was enough. Throwing himself backward, he grabbed Del and shoved her to the ground. He drew his weapon with one hand, the phone on his belt with the other.
Del lay on the ground, staring at him with stunned eyes. “Blake?”
He didn’t answer, too busy dialing the phone and listening for the sound of movement inside the house. Del’s eyes narrowed. Then there was a familiar sound—familiar to him, at least. He didn’t know how long it took Del to figure it out but by the second gun shot, he could tell she had put it together.
“I need all available men to the Prescott manor,” Blake said when dispatch came on the line. “ASAP. We’ve got shots fired.”
Still crouched on the ground next to him, Del muttered, “Shots fired—by my mother.”
He gave her a narrow look and she clamped her lips shut. He tried to give a little more information to dispatch but another shot rang out, this one bursting through the wood and glass door frame just to his right. Wood and glass exploded and he ducked, throwing an arm up to protect his face.
“Stay down and head down the porch,” he said, keeping his voice low.
The click of heels on polished hardwood came from the house and he ducked down, swatted Del on the butt and snapped, “Move!”
“Not without you,” she returned, glaring at him over her shoulder.
“Right behind you, Deedee, now move.”
She scrambled on her hands and knees and Blake backed along behind her, keeping his gun up and ready, one hand holding the butt of the gun and using the other hand to steady it. That long, white painted wrap around porch suddenly seemed about a mile or two in length. They were only halfway to the corner when Louisa stepped outside.
“Delilah, dear, you should really call before dropping in on somebody,” Louisa said. Her voice sounded oddly disconnected and Blake saw next to no sign of sanity in her pale green eyes. She’d snapped, he realized. The woman had downright snapped.
Her voice pithy and sarcastic, Del replied, “Sorry, Mama. Didn’t realize I needed an invitation to come inside my own house.”
“Your house,” Louisa said and this time, her voice shook. “Of course, your house. Because of your selfish bastard of a father. Should have been mine, Delilah. All of it. I earned it.”
Del laughed, a brittle sound that seemed to echo in the silence. “You want it? Hey, that’s fine. It’s all yours.”
Louisa sniffed and her face was once more all prim and proper, although her eyes, they were still wild and unbalanced. “It’s too late now. You had to come home, didn’t you, Delilah?”
“Louisa.”
Blake placed his body between mother and daughter, drawing her eyes to him. He continued to back away. With his peripheral vision, he saw that they had reached the corner of the house and he heaved out a sigh, taking advantage of the cover and pressing his body to the wall. Still watching Louisa make her slow way towards them, he said to Del, “Keep moving. Get off the porch and get someplace out of sight. Get to the car if you can.”
“No fucking way.”
“Del, damn it,” he growled at her.
“I’m not leaving you.”
He snarled. “Then will you at least get out of sight? I got enough to worry about.”
A quick glance around the corner told him that while Louisa didn’t appear to be in any hurry, she sure as hell managed to cover a lot of ground in a hurry. “Louisa, if you don’t put the gun down, I’m going to have to shoot.”
He heard Del’s harsh intake of breath. Softly, he said, “I don’t want to shoot you in front of your daughter, but I will.”
Louisa laughed. It was a sane, almost logical sound and it scared him more than if she had broke into maniacal high-pitched cackles. Hell, he’d rather have the insane sound. It was damn disturbing to look into a face that looked completely sane, but stare into eyes that were completely not. “My darling daughter.” Louisa sneered. “She’s never been anything but trouble, from the time she was born. Her father actually expected me to breastfeed her—let some squalling, red-faced brat attach herself to me. He didn’t like the idea of a nanny and refused to let me hire one. He wouldn’t pay for one. He wanted more children. Didn’t like to think of her being alone.”
“Louisa, put the gun down. I’m not going to let you hurt her.”
“She’s taken everything else, Blake. My peace of mind, my home, my money. The only time she was ever useful was when she kept William out of my bed.”
Fury pummeled him. His hand tensed and he could all but see himself squeezing the trigger. “How is shooting her going to get back your money? Your house? You don’t think you’ll get away with this, do you?”
“I would have. If you hadn’t come,” Louisa murmured, shaking her head. “I had it all planned out.” She rounded the corner and Blake shifted so he could face her, and still check to see if Del had listened this time. She hadn’t. Of course. She’d stood up and was staring at her mother with dark, angry eyes.
“I’m awful glad I didn’t agree to that party of yours, Mama,” Del said, her voice derisive.
“You never could do anything I asked,” Louisa said. Then she gave Del an icy glare. “There is one thing I’d like—don’t come to my funeral. I despise you.”
I despise you.
So baldly, flatly stated. Del had always suspected that but still, hearing her mother say it hit her with the force of a backhand across her face and she stumbled back, reeling from the blow.
“I’m sorry for that, Mama.”
“Sorry. Yes, you are sorry. Pathetic,” Louisa said. Del watched as her mother smiled. “Darling. You really do need to do something about your hair. It’s atrocious.”
Then, with that smile still curling on her lips, Louisa lifted the gun.
Dread curdled inside Del but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t say anything. Even though she knew what was coming.
“Damn it, Louisa. Don’t!” Blake sho
uted.
But she did anyway.
One final shot rang out. As Louisa’s body crumpled to the floor, sirens rose up in the distance. Del staggered and if Blake hadn’t wrapped his arms around her waist, she would have fallen to the floor.
Chapter Ten
I never could do what you wanted, Mama, Del thought as she stood over the grave, watching as the gleaming, pale pink coffin was lowered into the ground. It wasn’t in the one adjacent to Del’s father. Maybe it was petty of her, but she couldn’t let her mother be buried next to a man she seemed to despise.
“Let’s go, Del,” Blake murmured, dipping his head to kiss her shoulder.
She shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
Under her lashes, she saw her step-father standing on the opposite side of the grave. He’d been admitted to the hospital the day her mother committed suicide and released the next day. A tox screen revealed that he had a high amount of sedatives in his blood, although Blake had grudgingly told her that William denied taking any medicine, just a glass of brandy that Louisa had given him.
The theory was that she had drugged him and planned to shoot him and blame it on Del. Whether she’d planned to kill Del and claim self-defense or make it look like suicide, they’d never know. An investigation of the grounds revealed that Louisa’s black BMW wasn’t on the premises and just last night, they’d tracked it down to a repair shop in Nashville. It had already been repaired and the only thing left was the paint job, but the pictures taken from when the car was brought in revealed front-end damage. They’d never know for certain, but it was entirely possible that Louisa had run Beaumont Junior off the road to keep him from speaking with Del.
William Sanders hadn’t been much help but he did give a statement. According to that statement, Louisa had plans to kill Delilah but Sanders wasn’t sure how or what she had planned beyond that.
Blake had a hard time saying Sanders’s name without his face taking on a furious scowl. The protective way he hovered around her at the funeral and the visitation would have made her fall in love with him—if she wasn’t already there. Sanders had attempted, one time, to approach Del and Blake had threatened bloody and very painful bodily harm if he tried it again.
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