The Inheritance Part III

by Olivia Mayfield

  The Inheritance

  Part III

  Olivia Mayfield

  INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK

  INTERMIX BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  A Penguin Random House Company

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE INHERITANCE PART III: THE BETRAYAL

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / October 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Rhonda Helms.

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  ISBN: 978-1-101-62604-7

  INTERMIX

  InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group

  and New American Library, divisions of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  The Betrayal

  Chapter 13

  Maggie wasn’t sure how much time passed as she waited, tears pouring ceaselessly down her face. It felt like hours. She lingered on the sidelines of the car accident in the dark, cold night, watching police and then the EMTs show up and take over the situation. They had to slip in on the passenger-side door to get Joel out, his body heavy and limp in their arms.

  When his blood-soaked face flopped to one side, his fixed eyes rolling over her, she bent over and dry-heaved for another painful minute. An EMT walked her over to her car and wrapped a blanket around her, speaking in soothing tones and making sure she was okay.

  Her fingers grew cold and tight with the phone clutched in her hand, and the knees of her pants were icy stiff from her kneel on the damp ground. It was quite possibly the worst night she’d experienced since her sister’s disappearance.

  And poor Joel . . . he was dead, his secrets going to the grave with him. Her heart lurched in guilt.

  The responding officer, a trim man in his middle forties with salt-and-pepper black hair, came over to her. “Ma’am, did you witness the event? Is this a hit-skip?”

  She swallowed. “I suspect it’s worse than that.” For the next twenty minutes she explained the entire situation to the officer, from the inheritance, to her phone call with Joel, to driving past his car and seeing it in the ditch. He interrupted the story with questions of his own, scrawling down information the whole time she was talking. “So given the circumstances,” she concluded, running a hand over her hair in a nervous gesture to smooth it down, “I think it’s not random. That’s far too much of a coincidence.”

  The officer’s face was drawn in a frown. He flipped through the notes he’d written and reread them. “I’ll call the precinct in Bay Village and get case information from them. If these two are related, we’ll note that. An officer will probably be calling you later with more questions. But for now, please give me all your contact information, and I’ll need to see your license.”

  She dug her license out of her purse and gave it to him. “You can talk to Officer David Burke at the Bay Village station—he’s an old high school friend of mine. I haven’t explained to him the actual reason I was investigating my sister’s disappearance, but I’m sure he’d be happy to help you with this case. And with my sister’s,” she added. Perhaps this would nudge the police into focusing some manpower onto Cassandra as well.

  He scrawled down information from her license, then handed it back. “Okay, ma’am. I think we have all we need here tonight. Go home and get some rest.”

  Maggie walked woodenly to her car and sat down. She dialed David’s number and left him a voice mail, briefly explaining the situation and asking if they could talk tomorrow. Then she dumped her phone in her purse and drove away.

  What now? This was getting out of control. Someone was dead—a tragic event far, far worse than her stuff being stolen and destroyed. Her breath came in small pants as she clenched the steering wheel, hot tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away furiously and kept her focus on the road as best as she could.

  Who had murdered Joel? What was he going to tell her that had been worth the price of his life?

  She should quit this stupid inheritance contest. Just up and leave, tonight. The money wasn’t worth it, and she knew her sister would be devastated that someone had died because of it.

  But leaving meant her sister might possibly never get her resolution. And that was why Maggie was hanging around . . . and would continue to do so, despite these increasing threats. Maggie was making someone nervous. Someone who had a lot to lose if she uncovered what had happened to Cassandra.

  Quitting meant those truths might be buried for good.

  Maggie huffed out a sigh and pulled into a nearby grocery parking lot, thunking her forehead against the steering wheel. Her chest felt impossibly tight and heavy, like an elephant was sitting on her. She wanted to scream—how had this turned so complicated and deadly so fast?

  She needed to focus, to calm down before getting back on the road, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. The full impact of what just happened to Joel hit her once again, and she gasped in a shaky breath.

  Before she realized what was happening, Maggie dug into her purse and flipped through the business cards stuck in a front pocket. She stopped when she saw Andrew’s. It was late, well after eleven now. Would he still be awake?

  She dialed his number and waited, her heart trapped in her throat as the phone rang.

  “Hello?” he said in his deep, husky voice. She could hear soft jazz playing in the background.

  “I . . . I need to talk,” she managed.

  Instantly his tone changed. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. “Can I come over?” For whatever reason, whether foolish sentimentality over their shared past or their current tentative partnership, Maggie needed to see him right now.

  “Absolutely.” He gave her the address, and she plugged it into her GPS. Luckily he didn’t push her more to talk—perhaps he sensed she needed to discuss this in person.

  She remained quietly on the line, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder as she navigated her way to his place in Avon. Only the next town
over, which kept him close to his relatives, who were still in Bay Village. While she drove, Andrew sat patiently on the line, saying little. But the sporadic silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It actually made her feel a bit less stressed, knowing he was right there.

  “I’m at the gate,” she said when she pulled into the driveway leading up to his condo complex. Her heart rate picked up a bit.

  “My condo is just a few up from the entrance. I’ll buzz you in.”

  The pain in her chest eased up a little more. She could sit down and talk to Andrew about what had happened, maybe try to drive the horrific image of Joel’s lifeless face out of her mind. Even if just for a little bit.

  The gates swung open, and she entered the complex. The condos were big and spacious, a newly built development that screamed expensive. Andrew was doing better financially than she’d realized. Didn’t seem like he needed the inheritance money, so why was he really in this competition?

  Could he really be in it just to help locate Cassandra?

  She found his driveway and turned in, surprised to realize her heart slammed in her chest. Naturally she was nervous about telling him what had happened with Joel. He was going to be mad at her for withholding that information, and frankly, she almost couldn’t blame him.

  Andrew’s door opened, and he stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded gray T-shirt. His hair looked a bit damp, and his face was etched with concern, eyes dark and hooded. The light above his door cast him in a soft, golden glow.

  She got out and locked her car, then followed him inside.

  “Here,” he said, helping her out of her coat and hanging it in his closet. He gave her a polite smile. “Please, come in.”

  The massive space was an open-floor concept, with exposed brick walls on one side and wooden beams bracing the top. His furniture was modern and sleek in neutral colors, complementing the dark gray wall opposite the brick, and rugs covered large areas of the pristine teakwood floors. The kitchen gleamed, its dark green granite countertops shining.

  Not a typical bachelor pad. It looked like she’d walked into a home-design magazine spread.

  “You look nice,” Andrew said, gaze moving over her in a quick brush as they sat down on the couch.

  With all the shit that had happened, she’d forgotten about her dressy clothing. “Thanks,” she replied, giving a self-conscious tug on the sleeve that was draped off her shoulder.

  He peered at her for a long moment then stood. “Let me fix you a drink.”

  “That would be great,” she said gratefully. Something to take the edge off her horror. She hoped.

  Her gaze followed him to the kitchen, where he moved around with ease, grabbing a bottle of white wine from the fridge door and pouring two glasses. He returned and handed her one.

  Maggie took a sip and peered down at the coffee table. Where to start? She swallowed a deep gulp and then said, “So, I arranged a meeting tonight with someone about the investigation, but I didn’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” The words themselves were casual, but there was a strain in his voice that made her snap her attention to him.

  How could she tell him she didn’t quite trust him yet? She decided to focus on explaining the details first, evading his question. “Well, I got a call yesterday from a guy we used to go to school with. Joel Neumeyer. He said he had information for me about the investigation. Remember him? He was on the football team, and—”

  “Yeah, I know who he is.” Brows furrowed, Andrew gave a curt nod. “So . . . you met with him and talked about Cassandra?”

  “Um, not quite.” She gulped a mouthful of wine. “I’d called him a few days ago, asking if he remembered anything about the night of the party. He finally called me back last night and sounded really skittish, so I thought I’d meet with him alone tonight and then share the information with you afterword.”

  Andrew’s lips thinned. She wasn’t sure if he was fully buying her explanation, but he didn’t push it. “Go on.”

  “So I went to the meeting place, and he didn’t show up. I waited, like, over a half hour. Then I left.” Her throat squeezed up, and she drew in a ragged breath. “And on my way home I . . . I saw his car. In a ditch. And he—” She couldn’t say any more.

  “He what?” Andrew insisted. “What happened?”

  She put her glass on the table, afraid she’d break the stem because of how tightly she was gripping it with her shaky hand. The golden liquid sloshed lightly in the glass. “Someone killed him because he was coming to talk to me, Andrew. He was dead. Dead and staring at me with these lifeless eyes. And there was so much blood—” A sob broke free from her chest, and she buried her face in her hands. Self-reproach welled to the surface. “Who could have done this?” She gulped hard, another cry bubbling out. “I’m really scared.”

  A pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around her, and she was pulled into Andrew’s embrace. “Shh,” he soothed, stroking the top of her head. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  Emotions swirled in her—anger, frustration, fear. She tugged him closer, suddenly desperate for a reprieve from her guilt, and let the tears flow onto his strong shoulder. Shudders shook her body.

  Andrew freed her hair from its loose bun and let it spill across her back, running his fingers along the nape of her neck. All the while, he continued to murmur soft words to her about how she was safe and that she wasn’t to blame.

  Logically she knew it wasn’t her fault; after all, who could have predicted the night would turn out like this? She just hadn’t realized the stakes could escalate in such a horrible way. She’d forced someone’s hand, and now Joel was dead.

  After a few minutes, the tears finally subsided, though a hint of guilt still burned in her chest. Her eyes ached from all the crying, and her stomach was cramped. She sniffled, pulled away and swiped a hand across her eyes and nose, looking around the room as she regained her shaky composure.

  Emotions tucked back in place, she took a sip of her wine and let the delicate flavor and alcohol wash over her. A calm numbness settled in her chest, spread through her limbs, and she welcomed it. “I’m sorry to dump this all on you. And for not telling you about the meeting. I should have told you.”

  Despite Andrew’s frustration, she appreciated that he wasn’t trying to make her feel bad right now. After all, she’d gone behind his back, but he wasn’t holding it against her. Instead, he was soothing her, easing her pain.

  She drew in a slow breath and peered up at him, pouring her thanks into her eyes. Then a mirthless chuckle slipped out of her. “God, I must look like a total mess,” she said as she smoothed her hair back from her face. She could tell her eyes were swollen, and she probably had ugly red splotches all over her face, her typical crying response. Nothing like being her most vulnerable and unattractive right now to make her embarrassed.

  He cupped her cheek and stared down at her. “You’ve never been anything less than completely beautiful.” There was no guile, no art in his gaze. Just pure blue, intense honesty.

  Mere inches from him, Maggie could see the small, dark whiskers from his five-o’clock shadow. The last remnants of her anguish slid away as she stared at his face, his jaw, the curve of his mouth. A flutter lit in her lower belly when his thumb caressed the curve of her cheekbone. There was a rapid pulse at the base of his neck, which nearly throbbed in time with her own wild heartbeat.

  Andrew was aroused.

  The realization unfurled the coils of her desire, making her skin tingle and her lips part.

  “Maggie,” he whispered, looking down at her mouth, eyes darkening. “I want to kiss you.”

  Her breath locked in her lungs. She could only nod in response.

  Andrew dipped his head down and brushed his lips across hers in the gentlest of kisses. That simple gesture heated her, and she found herself drawing her hands up his lean, muscled arms, across his shoulders.

  Then he slanted his head and opened her mouth with his in a sudden, into
xicating kiss, and blood rushed in her ears, throbbed in every cell on her skin. That low flutter in her belly became an aching pulse, and her pelvic muscles tightened in reflexive need. He tasted of wine and something purely male. She couldn’t get enough.

  Andrew’s tongue slipped along hers, drew deeper in as he possessed her mouth, covered it completely so they were seamlessly fitted. She melted against him and breath for breath dragged his soft exhales into her lungs. God, she craved this. Had craved it from the start, if she were honest with herself.

  She tangled her fingers in his messy, slightly damp hair. The hand on her cheek swept to cradle the back of her head and he gripped her firmly, the other hand sliding down to stroke the curve of her waist.

  There was something purely invigorating about him. Potent. His kiss lit her on fire, owned her, and she needed more. She pressed her tightening breasts against his firm chest, which made him lower his grip to her hip and tug her into his lap. When she felt his lengthening erection along her thigh, she gasped in surprise. He was rock hard.

  For her.

  The realization made her sex grow wet, dampening her panties, and she ground herself against him, only mildly surprised at her wanton behavior. She wanted him to touch her everywhere, take her. She hadn’t felt anything like this with David—not even close.

  Andrew was everything Maggie had remembered from all those years ago and far, far more.

  He tore his mouth away from hers, pressing a hot, wet kiss to her throat. “God, I want you,” he said against her skin. He tightened his grip on her head, making her scalp tingle beneath his firm fingers, and tilted her so he had full access to the line of her neck. His tongue slid up her neck and teased her earlobe.

  “Yes,” she breathed, arching back and rubbing against him. God, yes, she wanted him inside her, slamming deep. Her lower muscles contracted at the thought, and she grew wetter.

  Andrew pulled back and drew in a ragged breath. His eyes were half-lidded pools of dark blue. “You sure this is what you want right now?”