Sins, Lies & Spies (Black Brothers #2)

by Lisa Cardiff

  “You shouldn’t give up anything until you know everything. Maybe your dad left a message for you. Once you understand your rights and what the intent of the trust was, then you can do whatever you want, but don’t make a half-cocked decision.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.” She sucked her lips into her mouth, and her voice dropped. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  She turned her legs toward me. “Do you remember the night when you found me looking through your files?” Her voiced trailed off, and she picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

  “Yes. I think you tried to steal a couple of them.”

  A wobbly smile spread across her face. “Well, I found a file with my mom’s name on it. I didn’t get a chance to look at it. Why were you researching her?”

  My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What is your mom’s name again?”

  “Anna Jones.”

  I wiped my hand across my lips, hesitating for a beat. “I didn’t realize she was your mom.”

  “No.” She glanced out the window. “Probably not. The name is pretty generic. Can I look at the file?”

  “Sure.” I pulled into the parking spot across the street from her townhome. “There’s not much to see. I did a pretty basic background check on her. Nothing too invasive. Apparently, she worked in the Benton household for six months when she was eighteen. They terminated her employment and paid her twenty thousand dollars. I couldn’t find much else about her after that.” I squeezed her hand. “I thought she might know what Miles was using to blackmail Derrick Benton.”

  “I guess you were right.” Her fingers closed around the door handle. “Did you ever find any traces of her?”

  “She hasn’t used her social security number in over a decade. She’s never popped up on social media.” I rubbed my hand down the side of my face. “Honestly, I didn’t spend much time researching her because I concluded she was dead within minutes of scanning her background check. It seemed like a waste of time and resources.”

  She blanched, and a lungful of air wheezed between her lips. Tears brimmed in her eyes, overflowing down her cheeks. “My uncle thinks she’s dead, too.” She swallowed as if she was searching for courage. “He came to visit me this morning. That’s why I went to Miles’s house. I thought I could get him to tell me everything.”

  I reached across the console and pulled her into my arms. “It sounds like you did, but you shouldn’t have confronted him alone.”

  Her chest heaved. “Not really. He told me about the trust and my brother, but I didn’t get anything to help you find out who hired Miles.”

  “Shh.” I smoothed my hand up and down the back of her hair. “One thing at a time. First, we’ll deal with your brother. Then we can worry about Miles.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Darcey Benton

  I sat in a small artsy wine bar with exposed brick walls, round heating ducts spanning the length of the ceiling and wooden tables without tablecloths. I wore a black, blunt cut wig and a long black jacket with the collar popped. Luckily, I was able to secure a seat next to the window, which gave me a prime view of Trinity Jones’s townhome.

  Apparently, on Wednesday nights, the bar hosted aspiring musicians. A steady flow of melodramatic idiots with less than mediocre voices stood on a small stage, singing about hurt feelings, broken hearts and a bunch of other nonsense. The sheer silliness of it almost prompted me to abandon my plan, but I didn’t have a choice.

  Tomorrow would be too late. Derrick had caved to that opportunistic bitch’s plans. So instead, I concentrated on the clogged traffic on the street and the river of people pouring in and out of the front door.

  I should’ve eliminated my husband’s bastard child long ago. Forcing Trinity’s mother out of the house with a twenty thousand dollar check without making her take a pregnancy test was the biggest miscalculation I’d ever made. At the time, I thought I’d got off cheap. I would’ve paid ten times that amount to make my husband’s child mistress disappear.

  By the time I found out about the pregnancy, it was too late. For nearly ten years, Anna Jones drifted around the country, never staying anywhere for more than six months at a time. Finally, she settled down in that godforsaken town in Texas, and I lured her to her death with the promise of a huge monetary settlement in exchange for signing a non-disclosure agreement. I thought killing Anna Jones would be the end of the story.

  Instead, my piece of shit husband suddenly found God when he became sick, and begged his son to find Trinity and bring her into the fold. My spineless son did exactly that. Fortunately, my husband’s health deteriorated quickly, and I succeeded in persuading Derrick to keep the details of the trust private. He appeased his guilt by tossing money in Trinity’s direction on occasion and renting a townhome owned by a Benton subsidiary to her at a reduced rate. Until recently, I was satisfied knowing that the money-grubbing whore’s daughter would never get access to the Benton Family Trust.

  I had earned every penny of that money with blood, sweat, and tears. I overlooked my husband’s repeated indiscretions, ill-treatment, and forty years of all around hell. I’d never willingly hand over half of the Benton family fortune to some no name bastard without an ounce of class or breeding. That money belonged to my son and my grandkids. Everything would’ve been perfect if Trinity Jones heeded my warnings, and kept her mouth closed, but she hadn’t.

  So I waited, watching for the lights to turn off inside Trinity’s townhome. By the end of the night, I’d finally be rid of her once and for all. I’d kill her just like I did her mother. I couldn’t hire someone else to do my dirty work. It was too big of a risk.

  Derrick would go into a rage when he found I’d killed Trinity. He was a sentimentalist, and for some unknown reason, he had a soft spot for Trinity. This time tomorrow, Derrick would be having a tantrum rivaling that of a spoiled child, but I didn’t care. I was doing this for him. Sooner or later, he’d understand that.

  At ten o’clock in the evening, the lights in Trinity’s townhome dimmed. I lingered for another two hours, ordering enough drinks not to raise any flags or trigger anyone’s memory. For the tenth time that night, I checked the syringe in my pocket loaded with potassium chloride. Within minutes of injecting her, Trinity’s heart would beat out of control and then stop functioning altogether. The coroner would rule sudden cardiac arrest as the cause of her death. And the nightmare that started over twenty-five years ago would finally be over.

  With my head down, I slipped out of the restaurant, darted across the street, and pulled the spare key to Trinity’s home from my coat pocket.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  Trinity

  My head pounded from crying and not just in one area. It was the whole damn thing from the top of my head to the bottom of my jaw. Even my scalp hurt. I rolled onto my side, but that only increased the dull throbbing in my head. It was official. This had been one of the worst days of my life.

  My emotions were all over the place. This morning I’d hopped out of bed determined to find the truth, then by mid-afternoon everything had exploded. The truth didn’t seem so valuable any longer. I didn’t know what I would’ve done without Knox. He hired an attorney to represent me who somehow finagled a meeting with Derrick and his attorney tomorrow evening. Then he carried me to bed and held me for hours while I’d wept over my mother, my relationship with Derrick, and the overall chaotic state of my life. Finally, I’d fallen asleep, but now I was wide-awake again.

  Knox looped his arm around my waist, yanking my back flush against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

  I twisted in his arms so I could see his face. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. His eyes were heavy-lidded, yet beaming with love. His lips were soft, almost gentle looking. And at that moment, it hit me with the weight of a ton of bricks. I was meant to be with Knox. That explained the instant attraction. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my mother had put Knox in my p
ath to take care of me during this time.

  “I’m just thinking about my mother. It kills me that I’ve spent the last fourteen years being mad at her for abandoning me.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know.” I leaned into him, inhaling his spicy scent. “Did I tell you how lucky I am to have found you?”

  His gaze focused on my lips, his hand slid up my waist, curving around the back of my neck and his warm mouth grazed mine, sliding dreamily back and forth, turning me into knots within seconds.

  “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured against my mouth before deepening the kiss. His tongue breached the seam of my lips, moving against mine. I pushed him onto his back and straddled him.

  His fingers slipped under my shirt, caging me with his strong arms, and my breath shortened. “You need to sleep.”

  I raked my teeth over my lower lip. “I need you more.”

  Shaking his head, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Not now. Tell me more about your mom.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “What do you want to know?”

  “What’s your favorite memory of her?”

  I rolled off him on to my side, bracing my head in my hand. “She took me to see The Nutcracker every year. I think I already told you that.”

  He nodded, his lips curling up at the corners. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, so anyway, until I was eight years old, we floated around a lot.” Warmth radiated through my chest as I recalled her bright smile and tinkling laugh. She was so beautiful. I couldn’t believe she was dead. “Sometimes we lived in a big city and sometimes we lived in a tiny town, and The Nutcracker would be some low-budget, no-name production in a school gym. When I turned six, she promised me we’d go to New York City that year. All year, I did favors for neighbors, and we collected our spare coins in a jar. Then she told me we couldn’t go because her car broke down and she used the money for repairs. We ended up at some free show of The Nutcracker put on by three-and four-year-olds.”

  “What happened?”

  “Obviously, I was a little upset,” I confirmed.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Just a little?”

  I snorted. “I threw a tantrum in the parking lot and pouted the entire ride home.”

  He grinned. “I can see you in the back seat, arms crossed, and your nose in the air. I bet you were a cute kid.”

  I smiled back. “Not so much. My freckles were much more noticeable back then, and my mom dressed me in clothes two sizes too big hoping they’d last longer.”

  He tapped me on the tip of my nose. “Still cute.”

  I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t stop my insides from warming. “When we got home, I ran to my room, intending to lock her out, but when I opened the door, there was the most beautiful sugar plum fairy costume on my bed with matching ballet shoes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I put it on, of course, and we stayed up until the middle of the night baking gingerbread cookies. It was the best Christmas Eve ever.” I yawned. “It’s weird—looking back, I can’t believe how young she was. She had me when she was nineteen.”

  He brushed his lips across mine. “Are you tired?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for asking about her. It helps to remember the good times. I tried to push all of that out of my mind so I didn’t miss her so much.”

  “Glad I could help.” He pulled me into his arms. “Close your eyes and try to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Knox

  It seemed like I had only drifted off to sleep five minutes earlier when something woke me. The hair on my arms lifted and my ears zeroed in on the noises inside Trinity’s townhome. A soft click sounded somewhere in the distance. It could’ve been the icemaker or the furnace, but something told me it was much more than that. We weren’t alone.

  The floorboards creaked, and Trinity squeezed my hand. “What was that?”

  I shook my head and held my finger to her lips, my arm rustling against the sheet. With practiced ease, I slipped out of the bed and grabbed the switchblade inside the pocket of my pants. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my gun. I knew Trinity had one, so I didn’t bother. I should’ve put it on the nightstand before we fell asleep, but I forgot.

  I reached the door to the bedroom and cracked it open without a betraying squeak of the hinges or click of the door handle. The cool air wrapped around my chest from the hallway. My gaze shifted through the shadows, finally landing on a darkened silhouette pressed against the wall.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Trinity. She sat with her back pressed against the headboard, clutching the sheets against her chest. I pointed to her and then to my feet, hoping she understood I wanted her to come stand next to me. I didn’t know what kind of weapons this person had, but Trinity would be a sitting duck in the bed.

  Without vacillating, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, stopping only when her front pressed against my back. Her warm exhalations whispered along my skin.

  “Someone’s here,” she mumbled.

  I nodded and pulled our bodies flush against the drywall, waiting for the person to move to the bedroom. After a minute that felt like an hour, I sensed someone just outside the door. My muscles tensed, prepared to strike, disarm, and kill if necessary. I hadn’t killed anyone since I left the military. I never liked that part of my job. As a Naval Intelligence officer, it didn’t happen as often as someone on the front lines, but I had killed people to protect and defend others and myself.

  The door floated open, almost in slow motion, and a person dressed in black tentatively stepped over the threshold. I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around the person’s shockingly small waist. We hit the ground with a loud thud.

  The intruder kicked, bucked, and hit. I straddled the person’s waist and immobilized his arms above his face. Trinity flipped on the overhead light, bathing the room in a yellow glow and I froze. It wasn’t a man. It was a woman. Even in a dark wig, I knew it was Darcey Benton. She had icy blue eyes, a long angular nose, and sharp cheekbones. I’d never talked to her, but our paths had crossed many times since I started investigating Derrick Benton.

  My muscles tensed. “Why are you here?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Get off of me. I just wanted to have a little conversation with Trinity Jones.”

  “I don’t think so.” I kept her arms pinned to the ground with one hand as I searched her for weapons. I didn’t find anything except a syringe filled with clear liquid. I pulled it out of the pocket of her black wool jacket.

  I waved it in front of her face. “What’s this?”

  She pursed her lips together, and hundreds of tiny wrinkles burst from the skin around her mouth. “It’s nothing.”

  I held it out, and Trinity scooped it out of my hand, placing it on top of the dresser.

  “Trinity,” I said, keeping my eyes glued on Darcey Benton. “Grab my phone from the pocket of my pants and call Ben Livingston.”

  She crouched on the floor and stuffed her hand into the pocket of my discarded pants. “Who’s that?”

  “My contact at the FBI.”

  “No.” Darcey Benton shook her head back and forth, strands of hair from her black wig sticking to her face. “Just hear me out. I want talk to Miss Jones about solving this mess amicably without involving the press or anyone.”

  “Let her go, Knox,” she said, her voice lacking emotion. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  I relaxed my hands around her wrist, but I didn’t move off her yet. “I think you’re making a mistake. Wait until you have the benefit of your attorney’s counsel tomorrow. You can’t trust her.”

  ***

  Trinity

  “I know that,” I answered with growing numbness as I stared into Darcey Benton’s icy blue eyes.

  In truth, it didn’t matter what she said, tonight or tomorrow. I was done with my life being stuck in neutral while I followed the Bentons’ r
ules. I might not want my half of the trust, but I didn’t think Derrick or his mother should get the money either. They didn’t deserve it. With my back to Darcey and Knox, I propped his phone against a book and pressed the red button on the video camera of his phone. I spun around and used my body to shield the red light from Darcey and Knox.

  “Go ahead.” I planted my hands on my hips. “I don’t have all night. I have an early morning appointment with my attorney.”

  Knox stood and Darcey climbed to her feet, brushing the invisible dirt from her long jacket.

  “Your share of the trust is worth roughly fifteen million dollars. However, the terms of the trust restrain your ability to access the money. You are entitled to a small yearly allowance starting at the age of twenty-five and continuing for the remainder of your life. If you don’t have children, the money will revert to Derrick or his heirs when you die.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “So what’s your point?”

  “If you agree to sign papers giving up any right to the Benton Family Trust, and you publically deny Richard Benton was your biological father, I’m prepared to wire seven and a half million dollars into your bank account immediately.”

  “You want me to settle for half of the money?” I shrugged. “Why would I do that?”

  She took a step forward, shrinking the gap between us. “Because you’ll get all the money now and you can do whatever you want with it. You can spend it however you wish, whenever you wish.”

  “Hm.” I leaned my hip against the dresser, pretending to consider her offer. “What do you think, Knox?”

  His jaw was clamped tight. His eyes were hard. His body vibrated with anger. “That we should call the police and report a break in. I’m sure whatever is in that syringe is sufficient to charge her with attempted murder.”

  She curled her hands into balls and the corner of her jaw twitched. “What he thinks is irrelevant. This is between us.”

  “And when would I have to decide?”

  “You have until seven in the morning to give me an answer. My attorney will have the documents ready to sign by ten a.m., but you have to fire your attorney. I want as little people involved as possible.”