by Jianne Carlo
“We don’t have all the answers, but here’s what we do know.”
During his explanation, she listened, her complexion paling and coloring alternately. Only when Terry winced and unclamped her fingers from their death grip on his hand did she react.
“Why didn’t my mother tell me about the money?” She opened her hands and touched the sides of her head. “How could she even afford these bonds? I don’t ever remember us being rich.”
“It’ll take time, but we’ll sort everything out, get you some answers,” he promised. “Geoff works with MI5. He’s got people working on it in New York, London, and here.”
“And my mother in Columbus without me knowing?” She squeezed her eyes shut and then her lids flew open. She snapped her fingers. “The gym meet in Springfield. Mom had been doing so well on the medication. I only went because I thought she could handle it. She’d cooked dinner for a whole month, had gone grocery shopping with me. I asked my neighbor to keep an eye on her. And when I got home, she was dead.”
“Don’t guilt yourself up, sugar.” Harrison’s thumb stroked her fingers. “There’s no freaking way anyone could have suspected this crap.”
“He’s right, darlin’,” Terry said and shifted her out of Harrison’s range. “Don’t play the what-if game. No one wins that one, trust me.”
“What am I going to do?” Su-Lin traced his collarbone.
“First thing we’re going to do is to determine if your mother died a natural death.” Terry gave in to temptation and wound a strand of Su-Lin’s hair around his finger. She sighed and snuggled into his chest. “Geoff’s obtaining a warrant to exhume her body. Can you remember the date you went to Springfield?”
She told him, and he punched in a text message on his cell.
Hurdles remained, but her quick recovery after vomiting relieved most of his apprehension. Terry’s gut clenched, and he skidded away from even contemplating Su-Lin’s reaction to the truth about him and Carol-Ann.
For a few hitched-breath seconds, he considered slipping and sliding around an easy lie of omission. If they married… His mind danced around the notion. If they married in Ireland… He let the notion percolate. The proverbial lightbulb decided in favor of a lie of omission. Divorce in Ireland would be a virtual impossibility if he played his cards right. A self-satisfied smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
She pushed off his pectorals. “Uncle James insisted on cremation.” Her lips turned down. “I still can’t grasp this. Nothing makes any sense.”
“Sugar, even a big-ass cowboy Rhodes scholar like moi…” Harrison jabbed a finger in the direction of his chest. “Couldn’t have figured this convoluted plot out.”
Su-Lin’s sassy little ass polished Terry’s groin, and he shifted so his cock could enjoy the delectable sensation, her pussy riding his needy prick. From worried to hornier than a ram sniffing a female in heat in less than three seconds. He shook his head.
“You mentioned you hadn’t met the new lawyer, the one who was taking Mr. Finklestein’s place. Can you remember his name?” Thomas asked.
“No, but I can phone Mr. Finklestein and find out. You think he’s the one who’s pretending to be my uncle?”
She adjusted on his lap, sitting up, and curled one hand on the ridge of his shoulder. Her finger fluttered the side of his neck, and he stifled an ecstatic groan. A quick, strategic revision hit his head. End the interrogation. Get his mouth on her pussy, pronto. He could almost smell her, taste the sweet honey between her thighs.
“It makes sense. As your mother’s attorney, Finklestein must have known about the bonds. With the time difference, he should still be in the office. Do you have the number on you?”
“Yes, it’s in my purse.” She twisted around, recovered a rectangular black leather purse, and rummaged through it. “Here it is.” She held up a plain white business card.
“Why don’t you make the call, Thom, lawyer to lawyer?” he asked his twin.
“Will do.”
“Darlin’, look at me.” Terry cupped Su-Lin’s jaw. “I didn’t want to tell you, because you don’t hide your feelings well. We can’t let them know we’re on to them, understand? If they killed your mother, you’re in danger.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Things like this don’t happen to ordinary people like me. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. You really think they could’ve killed my mother?”
“You’ve got to put it out of your mind. They can’t suspect a thing. Understand?”
For a few seconds, Su-Lin’s features crumpled.
Terry braced himself for waterworks, but she shook her head.
Ponytail whipping her shoulders, she clamped her jaw together with an audible snap. “I fooled the whole town for ten years, Terrence. No one knew of my situation at home. You don’t have to worry. They won’t suspect a thing.” Su-Lin gritted her teeth. “Ooh, I’m getting so angry.” She banged a fist on a nearby side table. “I’m tired of people trying to tell me what to do, how to live my life. That money’s mine, and with it, I can be completely independent. Will you help me get it back?”
Her words clanged alarm bells. Terry didn’t want her too independent.
“We all will, sugar,” Harrison answered.
Dimming light set the sensors off, and Terry glanced at the porthole. Dusk; that meant dinner loomed. He dreaded the meal tonight. Being in the same room as Carol-Ann would test his stomach’s resilience.
“Anyone seen hide or hair of Austen?” Terry shot Harry a glance.
“Been on a bender since we left. I threw him in the shower a while back. He should be sobering up.”
Fricking great. Carol-Ann spouting innuendos, Austen skunk drunk, Su-Lin’s scum-of-the-earth relatives plotting murder. Terry couldn’t stifle his groan.
“I just figured it out,” Thomas said, sitting up straight in the armchair.
Jean-Michel ambled to it and sat on the padded leather arm, one hand cupping Thomas’s shoulder. “What did you figure out?”
“Papa and her uncle. Your uncle lives in Hong Kong, Papa’s there often on business.”
“Uncle, I mean that man, said they were business colleagues.”
“Darlin’, keep calling him uncle. He’ll notice immediately if you stop,” Terry said, burying his nose in her hair and taking some comfort from the familiar lemon scent. But the world and facts intruded on his moment of peace.
“After Papa told me he’d join me on the Glory, he requested we arrive in Nice to attend that cocktail reception in Antibes where we first met.”
“And this is important because?”
“I’m not sure,” Thomas answered. “Save that attending the reception was important to him.”
“I say we ask him why directly. Right now.”
“It can wait until morning. Sleep on the situation. You won’t keep a rein on your temper if you confront him now.”
“Thomas is right,” Su-Lin mumbled. “Your left eye’s jumping.”
“Wiser heads and all that, Terry. Sleeping dogs, you know, yada, yada.” Harry waved a hand in their general direction.
“I keep going back to Su-Lin’s drugging in Grasse,” Terry muttered. “I confirmed at the hospital this morning that both James and Emma spent the entire night there. The night nurse had to give him a dose of medication around eleven. If they didn’t drug her, then who did?”
“Did you find out anything about the basket, or the chocolates, or the absinthe?” Thomas asked.
“Absinthe?” Jean-Michel. “Mon dieu, I knew I’d forgotten something. The Gypsies on our estate brew a private brand we sell at the museum. Can either of you remember the label on the bottle?”
“I do. Jinava. To know.”
“Ours, Terry,” Jean-Michel stated.
“Helluva freaking coincidence,” Harry drawled. “There ain’t no straight line to connect all these dots. These are the Gypsies you want to save, sugar?”
“Yes. I refuse to believe that little girl would harm me.”
/> Miche pursed his lips and said, “There are only two ways to buy Jinava. From our museum or directly from the Gypsy camp.”
“Jaysus. I’m sick of this.”
“We’re spinning tops in mud,” Thomas declared, cricking his neck left and right. “Let’s give this a rest and see what Geoff comes up with. Maybe he’ll have news after dinner.”
Terry rolled his eyes. “I hope our new chef is creative. What’s she like, Harry?”
“Dunno. She didn’t show. Are you sure she was supposed to be on that flight?”
“Fricking Murphy’s law. What in hell are we supposed to do for food tonight? And yes, I’m fricking positive about the flight.”
“Austen found a caterer in Nice. He arranged for them to take care of tonight’s meal.”
“What time is dinner, Harrison?” Jean-Michel asked. “And has someone told the caterer about Su-Lin’s allergies?”
“Caterer and staff arrive at seven. Meal’s scheduled to begin around eightish. Austen should have told them,” Harry answered.
Thomas checked his watch. “It’s seven forty-five.”
“If Austen’s been on a bender, I doubt he remembered to tell the caterers about the bacon and macadamias. I’ll go speak with them.” Terry shifted Su-Lin onto the sofa. “I don’t want her alone for a minute. Why don’t you freshen up, darlin’? Thomas, go with her. There’s a connecting door to her cabin, keep it open and stay with her till I can get away.”
“Done.”
“Let’s wrap this up, then.” He gave Su-Lin a hasty kiss and shoved off the couch.
“Is Thomas going to shower with me too?”
She sounded disgruntled and had one of those too-sweet smiles pasted on her face.
“I have to go, Su-Lin, but I won’t be long.” Snarling fingers in his hair, he did an about-face and left the library.
Recessed track lighting gave the corridor a soft glow, but Terry never noticed, shifting puzzle pieces in his mind. Nothing clicked, and he stepped into the galley to find a crew of three people bustling about in the small space. Steam billowed from a stainless steel pot bubbling on the black ceramic cooktop, and a spicy scent he couldn’t identify tickled his nose.
A tall, thin youth chopped carrots in the far corner, while a stout woman used a wooden spoon to stir the confection on the stove. Another female, wearing a classic maid’s costume, black dress with a frilly white apron tied around the waist, arranged food on a plate.
Terry cleared his throat, and the thickset woman whipped around, sending a spray of liquid against the metal backdrop.
“Don’t let me interrupt. I’m Terrence O’Connor, the Glory’s captain. What’s the arrangement for tonight?”
Austen buzzed through the doorway at that precise moment, eyes bloodshot, dark hair plastered to his scalp. “Hey, boss. Buffet-style meal, served inside. We rearranged the entertainment area. One long table, open seating. Pass muster?”
He groaned. “Fricking great. Why not on the deck?”
“Eighty percent chance of rain tonight.”
“Terrific.” Terry stepped into the hallway and Austen followed.
“Did you inform them about Su-Lin’s allergies?”
Austen nodded but avoided meeting Terry’s gaze.
“Spill it, Austen. What’s wrong now?”
“Here, today’s Matin.” The bosun thrust a folded newspaper into Terry’s hands. “This is the only copy on board. The lawyer mentioned in the article? He’s the one who called your father the other day.”
Terry knew before he unfolded the newsprint. He read the blurb anyway, a reprint of the article from four weeks ago with a stellar addition, that of his father’s conviction his son was a murderer.
“What’s wrong?”
He spun around to face his twin.
Thomas’s gaze dropped to the unfolded newspaper.
“Bleeding hell, not that again.”
“You knew about it?”
“My maman’s brother officiated at your hearing.” Jean-Michel stood next to Thomas. He angled a chin at the paper. “Thomas wanted an impartial judge.”
The barometric pressure in the hallway dipped, and each of Terry’s senses intensified. The clinking of cutlery behind him, the smell of onions sautéing, all contrived into a wave of nausea so intense he had to swallow the sourness rising up his throat. “Why? If my own father believes me a murderer, why would you want to prove me innocent?”
“I don’t know what happened that night, Terry. I suspect you don’t either. But you’re my other half. I know you’re not capable of murder. The press was screaming for a conviction. They’d already crucified you. I knew you’d get fair treatment if Miche’s uncle conducted the investigation, and I pulled a few strings.” Thomas shrugged. “And for the record, Papa wouldn’t dream of washing dirty linen in public. This story’s a plant.”
“It is curious, non, that the newspaper chooses this time to revive old scandals?”
Something in Jean-Michel’s tone made Terry narrow his eyes and examine the youth’s features. “You’re not surprised. About the article?”
“Non, Terrence. My maman’s cousin works for a rival newspaper. He warned us about the article. The reporter who wrote that” -- he pointed to the newspaper -- “is known to steer just short of libel, and if you notice, there is no direct quote from your papa.”
In the soft lighting, Jean-Michel’s features appeared sculpted, angel-like, and radiated purity and innocence. Terry’s stomach cramped; he couldn’t remember ever feeling anything but a soiled specimen of humanity.
“Is there new evidence as this implies?” He waved the folded newsprint.
“Non, not according to my relative.”
“I don’t want Su-Lin to know.”
“Is that wise?”
Every muscle bunched, his fading control shattered, and he snapped, his voice ringing in the hushed corridor. “I don’t give a fricking leprechaun if it’s wise or not, Thomas. The minute I know she’s safe, I’m taking her to Ireland and we’re getting married.”
“No, not that way. Tell her the truth.” The plea in Thomas’s gray eyes begged an answer.
“And watch her leave? No fricking way. I’m tying her to me first.”
“She’s in love with you. Can’t you see? She’s not going to leave you.”
“After I tell her I screwed my own stepmother? After I tell her I betrayed my own father? After she finds out I’m an accused murderer? What sane woman would stick by such a sick, perverted specimen of manhood?”
“I guess you’ll never know.”
His gut slammed up his throat. Terry stared into green eyes welling with moisture.
Hands clenched into tight fists, lower lip caving, Su-Lin stood in the hallway behind Thomas and Jean-Michel, tears streaming down cheeks blanched so white, he feared she would faint.
Giving a little shake of her head, she knuckled the liquid off her right cheek, whispered, “How could you?”
He couldn’t move, couldn’t shake the paralysis that left him immobile, watching her retreating form.
“Go after her, Terry.”
Thomas’s words careened around his brain.
“Why?”
The simple question reverberated and sent him into a mechanical trance.
One where he appeared to function.
One that kept him from drowning in pain.
He left hearing Thomas’s warnings but not registering the words, operating on a remote autopilot, knowing he needed space, time. Terry gave Austen orders to head to Monte Carlo, and he penned a quick note to Thomas explaining he would meet him in New York in two weeks’ time.
Then he motored the Boston Whaler back to Nice and headed into the city’s slums.
The following morning, he woke to a blinding headache and a room littered with empty glasses, half-filled liquor bottles, and a seminude woman lying next to him. Terry squeezed his eyes shut when he recognized the girl from the sex shop.
What had he done?
Stifling a groan, he edged off the soiled mattress and combined waves of nausea and relief hit him when he realized he was still fully clothed. The fog in his brain lifted when he caught the time on his wristwatch.
Three in the afternoon.
Jaysus.
Terry gunned the Range Rover on the way to the Glory’s Monte Carlo berth. A swath of uniformed French policemen prevented him accessing the dock’s parking lot.
Alarm slithered up his spine, and his stomach listed.
“I’m the captain of the Glory. I need to get to my ship,” he said to a man with an inspector’s insignia on his shoulder.
“Terrence Gore?”
“Terrence O’Connor.”
“Where have you been, monsieur?”
“Why?”
“Two women, both your passengers, are missing.”
Instant replay of a morning four years earlier kicked in, and a series of images filled his mind, superseded in an inhale by Su-Lin’s sad green eyes.
Before Terry could formulate the question he didn’t want to ask, three uniformed men rushed onto the dock and surrounded the inspector. Rapid-fire French bounced back and forth between the four men, the words ebbing and flowing as cars sped by. A custom Harley raced past them and came to an abrupt stop about five feet away.
“Yo, Terry. This way.” Harry unstrapped his helmet and slapped it onto the motorcycle’s black leather seat. “Hurry, man.”
Adrenaline surged, and it took only three strides to reach Harry’s side.
“Who’s missing?”
“Su-Lin. Carol-Ann.”
“Jaysus. Both of them?”
“When?”
“Sometime last night. After your little show-and-tell performance, Su-Lin locked herself in her room. This morning, the aunt and uncle raised Cain when they couldn’t find her. You should have told me where you were going.”
“The relatives called in the police?”
“The wannabe uncle did. Had to admire the bastard’s nerve. Cool as a cucumber. Never batted an eyelid.” Harry jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Do you have an alibi for last night?”
Chapter Sixteen
