by C. J. Miller
Marissa strode to Jack, guilt and annoyance pinging at her. “I was talking to Ambrose and I upset him. It was almost like he felt guilty about Avery. Which makes no sense. He isn’t any more responsible than me.”
Jack folded his arms. “You think Ambrose knows something he hasn’t told the police.”
Ambrose had been overly defensive and perhaps Jack’s questions were getting to her and making her question herself. “I’m starting to think he knows something and feels bad about it.” The words tumbled from her mouth and she was caught off guard at how true they were. Her instincts were telling her that Ambrose knew something about Avery’s death. “It’s not what he said that makes me wonder, it was how he said it. He was so upset.”
Marissa’s name was called. She looked over her shoulder. “I have to go. We’ll talk about this more later.” A squeeze of his hand and she hurried onto the set.
* * *
Jack hadn’t put together the pieces, but Ambrose was involved with Avery’s death. He knew who had killed her, or maybe he had a suspicion. Now that Marissa had spoken to him, he would be on edge. Would he unknowingly or intentionally tell the killer that Marissa was suspicious? If he did, it could bring another round of attacks against Marissa.
The killer was in their circle: either their social circle or their professional one.
Half the set was being used to photograph the models and the other half was set up for the gators. Jack could hear the gators moving in their steel cages. They sounded angry. He would be, too. The handlers were working with one of the gators, trying to move it into position and under the lights.
It wasn’t a great idea to work with the gators in this setting. Shots of them in the wild would be more practical and safer at a distance.
Ambrose was watching the photo shoot, standing behind the photographer’s lights. His shoulders were tight and he tapped his foot impatiently. Abruptly, he turned and left the set.
Jack followed him, staying out of sight.
Ambrose was talking on his cell phone, but Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying. The man paced in a small circle, irritation wafting off him. After several minutes, he tucked his phone into his pants pocket and strode toward the area with the gators. Alarm zipped through Jack.
Jack jogged toward the cages. Ambrose was standing on top of one, a determined expression on his face. One of the gators slithered out of the cage and began running in Marissa’s direction.
The screams of alarm were second to the sound of things smashing and breaking as the gator charged wildly, his tail hitting everything in his path. Lights on stands, the set, props and tables, tossed and overturned.
Jack saw a dart gun attached to the side of the cage. Ambrose had disappeared. Jack picked up the dart gun. He had never used one before. Was it as accurate as a gun? He could hit someone else. No time to waver, he aimed at the gator and shot three times. The gator made a rumbling sound and whipped its tail, smashing chairs and a half empty rack of clothing to pieces. Two of the gator’s caregivers had realized what had occurred and approached with nets and wire, trying to subdue the reptile.
Jack didn’t see Marissa. Most of the staff and models had fled.
He sprinted to her dressing room. It was empty. Where had she gone? Ambrose was also missing.
“Marissa!” Jack called.
The gator’s handlers were working with it to bring it back to its cage. The other gators were beating their tails, agitated about the situation.
Jack’s feet were moving before he realized his destination.
Ambrose was holding Marissa with one hand, trying to force her against the gator cage. The gator was slamming his jaws against the metal, desperate to escape.
“Ambrose!” Jack said.
Ambrose looked up and the distraction cost him. Marissa broke free and rushed to Jack. Jack put her behind him. “What are you doing?” Jack asked.
Ambrose was sweating. He wiped his forehead. “She tried to kill me. Like she tried to kill Avery.”
“I saw you release the gator. Give it up, Ambrose, and step away from the gators,” Jack said.
Ambrose was panting. “It won’t end this way. I can’t go to prison.” He unlatched the gator’s cage.
Jack reached for his gun, expecting the gator to rush forward.
Instead, it turned on Ambrose and attacked. Marissa turned her head away. One of the gator handlers shot the gator with a dart.
Jack led Marissa away, trying to block out the sound of Ambrose’s screams.
* * *
At the police station, after giving their statements, Jack had compared the drawing from Avery’s closet and the drawing the police had seized from Ambrose’s house as evidence against him. Though the designs were different, the creator was one and the same. A student in Ambrose’s fashion design class had drawn both. When Avery figured out that Ambrose was stealing designs from his students, she demanded he give credit to his students.
He’d killed her for it. Ambrose had wanted the success and fame. He wasn’t about to share the spotlight, or the financial windfall.
Avery’s death had been a crime of passion. Ambrose believed that Marissa had witnessed something backstage connecting him to Avery’s murder and he had hired professionals to silence her. Clarice had made the connections between the designs as well and had confronted Ambrose.
Ambrose had been willing to kill again and again to protect his empire.
His lies had cost him; he’d lost big, too. The gator attack has caused the loss of his leg. When he was released from the hospital, he would be charged with Avery and Clarice’s murders and with the attempted murder of Marissa Walker.
Another of the security guards had driven Marissa home. With Ambrose under arrest and in the hospital, Jack wasn’t needed. Marissa would be safe without him.
The idea struck him hard.
His phone beeped with a message from Abby. Rob had been discharged from the hospital. He was recovering in a rehabilitation facility for his drug and gambling addictions.
Jack parked in Marissa’s garage and entered the house. He found Marissa sitting on the balcony outside her kitchen. She held a glass of wine in her hand as she stared at the moon.
She glanced up when he opened the door. “Room for one more?”
“Always. Come on out,” she said.
Jack stepped onto the wood balcony. “My boss called. Wanted to know when I’ll have this wrapped up. He has another assignment in mind for me.”
Marissa swirled her wineglass. “What did you tell him?”
“That I need to see about a few things. Like if you would consider being a farmer’s wife.”
Marissa inclined her head. “A farmer’s wife?”
“I want to move back to Missouri. I want to work on my family’s farm and for you to live with me. We could travel when you had a job, but home wouldn’t be New York City. I love you, Marissa, and I can’t pretend that going back to work as an operative will make me happy. You make me happy. Being with you makes me happy.”
“A slower life?” Marissa asked.
Jack nodded. It was hard to read her. Was she into the idea? Thinking of a way to reject him?
“With time to paint?” she asked.
He nodded a second time and knelt on the wood next to her.
She broke into a million-dollar smile. “The next stage of my life with the man I love? I love you, Jack. I’m ready for my next adventure with you.”
* * * * *
Don’t miss these other suspenseful stories
by C.J. Miller:
SPECIAL FORCES SEDUCTION
DELTA FORCE DESIRE
GUARDING HIS ROYAL BRIDE
THE SECRET KING
TRAITOROUS ATTRACTION
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Don’t miss TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE!
A 6-part psychological thriller that will have you guessing till the very end!
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Collect all 6!
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first episode of
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Prologue
The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.
The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.
The thought of Elliot gets me moving.
Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.
An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.
“Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.
The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.
It’s no use, anyway.
The beach is empty.
Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.
The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.
I can’t lose him—he’s everything.
Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...
But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?
The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.
I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.
Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.
There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.
Waiting for me...
“Elliot!”
My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.
As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.
I run toward the dark figure on the beach.
Sarah
I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.
“Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”
Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.
“Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.
Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the good-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky...
One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”
I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn’t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.
“She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”
“But I’m not—”
I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?
Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”
“And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.
Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.
The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the pictur
e of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.
Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.
“So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be compatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”
The Taylor-Coxes are American royalty. Their East Hamptons home is even more luxurious than ours, and it’s close enough that it will be easy to shuttle Elliot back and forth during the party. Eleanor’s offer is meant to be generous, and certainly our friends will be impressed.
“If you’re sure...it’s a lot of trouble for you.” I hope my tone conveys the proper gratitude.
It could have been left at that. We could have enjoyed the gorgeous day, eating the glorious food Edward and Warwick grilled for us, and then stretched out for a nice long nap.
But of course Eleanor has to go too far.
“Your family must attend this time, Sarah—I insist.” Her lips purse into a moue of displeasure. Seeing her expression, Emily hurriedly hands me a glass of tepid water before vanishing into the house again. “It’s getting ridiculous. Why do they have such an aversion to us? People will talk.”
I shoot a pleading look at Warwick and his father, but they’re studiously ignoring us, piling steaming steaks on a platter. Once again, I’m left to fight my own battle.
