Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  When he realized they were waiting for an answer, he said, “That isn’t possible. But I’ve put Auslo and Taft on it. They’re good for grunt work such as this. But let me make this clear, from here on out, no one makes a move without consulting me, understand?”

  His middle son Cade spoke up, “So we leave it up to Auslo and Taft? I don’t like it.”

  A rather loud knock on the door broke the moment. “That will be the police. You let me do the talking. Understand?”

  As heads bobbed in agreement, a butler in a black tux showed St. John and Holloway into the law library.

  The smell of expensive leather and polished mahogany hung in the air as Max took in the tight-knit consortium. They looked as if, for the first time in their lives, they’d suffered a major defeat. And they weren’t used to losing. Looking around at their faces, he remembered all the triumphant press conferences he’d seen over the years with these same people, touting their courtroom wins, and decided they didn’t look too victorious now.

  After introductions all around, the family listened as Max delved into the coroner’s preliminary findings, keeping most of the gory details to himself.

  Max had done this many times before. It was never easy. But he never failed to search the faces of family members for a certain type of reaction, an emotion, an indication of how they took the news. Now was no exception.

  Sumner Boyd had practical questions, so before wrapping up their visit, St. John briefly addressed the family’s concerns about how long it would take before the autopsy was completed and how long the body would remain at the morgue. After answering a few more pertinent questions about what happened next in the investigation, both detectives were escorted from the room by the butler.

  Once they were out of earshot, Dan turned to Max and said, “Well, they didn’t buy the suicide angle. But that’s the damnedest thing, Max. Did you notice the lack of tears, no crying, no hysterics, no emotion from any of them, just cool, collected faces? Am I jaded? What happened to telling the family about a death and having just one family member in the room show some grief, or shed a few tears over the deceased?”

  “The whole scene reminded me when we told Gloria Gandis the news about her sister. She didn’t shed a tear. And when we told Kit Griffin there were no tears there either.”

  “Might have been in shock.” Dan’s gut told him Max was heading down the wrong path as far as Kit Griffin was concerned. But he had no wish to butt heads with his partner.

  “They may not cry, but they do drink. There wasn’t a sober face in the crowd, and it’s what, a little after seven in the morning? You don’t find that odd?”

  “Yeah. Do you think old Sumner Boyd would do something stupid on his own?”

  “No. The family’s got more money than God though. He’d hire it out if he had to. Wouldn’t get his own hands dirty, now would he?”

  “So what’s the significance of those gold cowboys left behind? Any ideas?”

  Max shook his head. “Not sure. But I know we find out where our number one suspect was when Jessica Boyd died.”

  Baffled at his partner’s attitude toward Kit Griffin, Dan turned to stare before deliberately causing his face to go blank. “You think Kit Griffin did this?”

  Stubbornly, Max thought of Jake Boston and set his jaw. “Yeah, I do.” And he so wanted it to be true.

  CHAPTER 7 Book 1

  Kit’s eyes opened slowly, squinted against the bright sunlight pouring in from the skylight above the bed, temporarily blinding her. Intense pain in the top of her head made it feel twice as heavy, twice as big. The bed gently rocked. This wasn’t home. When she tried to sit up, the throbbing in her head increased. She tried to think, but it hurt to form a thought. Her fiber-dry mouth yearned for water. Her stomach flip-flopped.

  All she could think about now was the wine she’d had last night at dinner. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but last night, like the idiot she was, Jake had kept pouring and she’d kept picking up the glass.

  Now when she rose to a sitting position her head spun and matched the roiling in her stomach. It was then she noticed she wore only her bra and panties. She looked around the master stateroom. Her sand-stained black dress from the night before was nowhere in sight. Still a little dizzy, she eased her legs over to the side of the bed. A glance at her watch told her it was a few minutes past eight.

  She wondered if Baylee had opened up the shop. Right now, with her head doing a drum solo, she didn’t much care. When she tried to move, tried to look around for her cell phone, her head and stomach had other ideas. Okay, so she hadn’t been up at the crack of dawn to bake goodies this morning. So what? First time in four years, she thought, as she sunk back down a little. So, she’d be late. And she wouldn’t have baked goods to offer. Big deal.

  And oh, how her head hurt.

  A soft knock on the door gave her reason to finish the weak crawl the rest of the way out of bed. She stood up on shaky knees. Grabbing the top sheet from the bed, she loosely held it around her body before answering in a weak voice, “Come in.” The sudden reach for the sheet left her lightheaded. Her head hurt so badly she thought she might go cross-eyed.

  Jake slid open the stateroom door and asked, “How you feeling?”

  “I’ve had better mornings.”

  He walked further inside the room, dressed ready for work in tailored pants and a white shirt, tie-less. Why did he always look like he’d just come from an executive version of a hot body contest while she resembled a drunk on a three-day binge?

  He reached his hand out to hers and turned her palm up, dropped three aspirins into it and waved a cold bottle of water in front of her. As if reading her mind, he said, “The aspirin is for the pounding in your head and the water’s for your dry throat. I’d take several sips of water before trying to swallow the aspirin.”

  Grateful for the thought, she reached to take the water and lost her hold on the sheet. It dropped to the floor in a puddle at her feet. Her head was pounding so hard she let the sheet fall without contest as she stood in the man’s bedroom in her black underwear.

  Having seen the underwear in greater detail last night and for a good deal longer, in a playful mood, Jake’s eyebrows went up as he told her, “I like this view way better than with the dress on.”

  Self-conscious, she tried to disregard the moment and in a hushed voice simply said, “Thanks for the water and aspirin.” Per his instructions, she opened the bottle of water and took several gulps before downing the aspirin.

  He laid two towels on the bed and some clothes. “Why don’t you take a shower? You’ll feel better. You can wear one of my shirts and a pair of my shorts.”

  With no intentions of arguing the point, she merely nodded, and muttered, “Good idea.”

  Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the stateroom carrying her dress, which she’d found hanging in the head, but was now wadded up in a ball under her arm. She sat carefully down in the salon with her wet hair braided down her back, dressed in Jake’s clothes: a dark blue Cal Berkeley T-shirt, and a navy pair of baggy athletic shorts that Kit had pinned to fit.

  At that moment, Jake grinned at her and she recognized it for what it was. That delicious smile of his had been at the root of her drinking one glass of wine after another trying to prove to him she was no longer a kid. As if he knew what she was thinking, he avoided the obvious, quietly asking, “Feel better? How’s your head?”

  She didn’t answer, but instead looked down at her bare feet, and mumbled, “I can’t find my shoes.”

  “They’re around here somewhere. They can’t go far on a boat. They’ll turn up before we leave.”

  Barely audible, she asked, “Why are you so cheery?”

  “Am I? I’ve been up longer. Would you like some breakfast?”

  If she ate right now, she’d up-chuck for sure. “Coffee. Black.”

  He poured her a steaming cup and set it on the table in front of her, then slid in across from her.

  Th
e aroma of the brew gave her hope. She didn’t trust one hand to hold the cup steady, so she used both to pick up the mug and hold it to her lips. She blew into the liquid until it cooled enough to drink, then took a long, slow sip. Never one to remain quiet for long, she asked in a low tone, “How long have you been up?”

  “Long enough to pop a couple of aspirins. I had a hangover, too. Finishing off that third bottle of wine might have been a mistake.”

  Kit nodded slightly, beginning to enjoy the jolt of caffeine kicking in. “I like your boat.”

  “You didn’t get dizzy or seasick last night, did you?”

  “Oh no.” She’d slept like the dead. “Not at all. Well, I got dizzy this morning when I got up, but it certainly wasn’t from the boat, more like from an intense alcohol stupor. Poor Pepper’s been home alone all night. He probably thinks he’s been abandoned.”

  He rested his chin in his hand and enjoyed the view from across the table. Even dressed in baggy men’s clothing she was all woman. A simple shower had her smelling like spring flowers. Listening to her voice, watching her mouth move as she talked, he knew what he’d like to do with that mouth. And the recent memory of getting her out of her dress would stay with him for some time.

  Kit felt his intense stare and glanced up. Her eyes found his, locked. She steadied her gaze. Even with the throbbing in her head still evident, she picked up on the heat between them, a sexual energy she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt until now. Below the pit of her stomach, a spark of lust ignited, settled in. Wetness pooled between her legs. And she was pretty sure it wasn’t leftover from her shower.

  If her head hadn’t been pounding, she might have acted on the urge. She tried to tell herself it was the hot coffee making her feel so warm, not the sparks of lust from his gaze.

  Why was he staring at her like that? Never dropping her eyes from his, she said in a soft voice, “I didn’t mean to put you out of your bed last night.”

  “How do you know that isn’t where I slept? I just got up first.”

  Her face flushed crimson. “Oh really? Then maybe next time I’ll be awake and you won’t have to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Next time…you’ll be awake. Probably all night. And if I had wanted to take advantage of the situation, I pretty much could have. You were out for the night. Do you always snore so loudly? You should probably get that snoring checked. I’m hoping I don’t have a complaint from the neighbors.”

  She chewed on the inside of her mouth. “I see. You’re rather self-assured there will be a next time. Just so you know I don’t make a habit of falling asleep in strange beds without my clothes on. Don’t you think I deserve to know how I got out of my dress?” With green fire lapping in her eyes, she added, “And I don’t snore.”

  “Getting you out of the dress was the easy part. Your dress was wet. You can’t sleep in wet clothes. But the moral dilemma hit me when I got down to the black bra and thong. Leaving those on, now that was much more difficult. It took all the restraint I could muster, a great deal of willpower to take the high road when you were so out of it. I deserve a reward for being such a saint.”

  This playful side to him was new. And the tide had turned. There was heat here, enough to light a match. “Did you develop a sense of humor in Japan, Jake?”

  He ignored her comment. Instead his thoughts drifted to the sort of activities they could spend the day doing if they both cancelled work. The idea hit him that maybe he could persuade her not to be in such a hurry to leave. “Let’s blow off work, take the boat out. I’ll take you to Catalina for the day.”

  “The workaholic playing hooky? Okay, what have you done with the real Jake?”

  “When you own the company you can take the day off.”

  “Since when? This from the man who’s known on three continents as Mr. Software, the one who’s the first to get to work in the morning and the last to leave. I’ll say it again, what have you done with the real Jake Boston?”

  “Maybe I’m changing.”

  “What’s the old saying, something about a leopard can’t change his spots? I won’t believe you can change until I see proof.”

  “You want proof, fine. Let Baylee handle the shop. Let’s spend the day sailing. We go out now, come back late this afternoon. How’s that?”

  Kit had to admit, the invitation was tempting. Loving the outdoors like she did, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to sail. But then she thought of Baylee and then little Sarah. Her face fell. Baylee would have to deal with customers both in the bookstore and the coffee house, knew she’d be jumping all day and with Sarah she’d have her hands full.

  “I can’t,” she finally admitted. “I only have Baylee part-time and she’ll have Sarah with her today. It’s too much to ask with the baby. Maybe we could do it another time, unless of course you’re planning to take off again.”

  “How long do you plan on throwing that up to me?” Then he quickly changed tactics. “And what’s this about Baylee and Sarah? When I left last year there was no baby.”

  “Baylee’s not talking. See what can happen when you disappear for a year.” She stood up, downed the last of her coffee, and headed into the galley to wash her cup out in the sink. “As soon as I find my shoes, I’ll be ready to go. The aspirin’s starting to kick in, my head feels better.”

  Jake followed her, watching as she rinsed out her cup. When she turned around, he moved to stand directly in front of her, blocking her way before placing a palm on either side of the counter, boxing her in. “I’m not running now, Kit. The question is what are you going to do about it?”

  His nearness made her pulse quicken, her breath become erratic, but she didn’t move, just looked into the depth of his lake-colored eyes. This is what she’d wanted…for…years. She didn’t answer him. Instead she stood there staring up at him in wonderment. No longer one-sided, this mutual attraction took some getting used to.

  He took her demeanor for something else, though, and drew back. “There’s no reason to be afraid of me, Kit.”

  That brought her back to earth. “Afraid? Of you? No way. Nervous maybe. But I’m not scared. I’ve been waiting for you too long.”

  That was all he needed to hear. His hands went around her waist, bringing her into him. He intended the kiss to be tender, gentle. But then their lips met. Sizzle met burn. Opened-mouths devoured each other. This was exactly what she’d wanted for so long that now that it was happening she ached with such longing she didn’t care about work or anything else. She could stay here in the moment wrapped in his arms for an hour, a day, a week.

  Kit ran her fingers through his hair, took a good hold on his head. Their tongues played tag until a burst of need had his hands rubbing at her lower back, and then dropping further to her rear, molding her, fitting her body between his legs.

  Kit felt the hardness and moved to wrap him into her. She couldn’t get close enough. She wanted to eat at him, be devoured by him. The heat between them was enough to melt arctic ice. When they at last came up for air, Jake rested his head on her forehead just to get his balance back. Kit tried to recover by cracking a joke. “I waited a long time for that. And I just want to say, it was worth the wait. Can we do that again?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  As he bent his head to show her, his cell phone went off. He swore. Within minutes, he was embroiled in the middle of a conversation that sounded to Kit like a crisis situation with Dylan Burke, his VP of Research and Development.

  At that moment, she heard a muffled ringing coming from her handbag. As she rounded the counter to reach her purse, she felt her swollen lips and reluctantly snapped open the bag. The ringing grew louder and brought back the heavy pounding in her head. When she retrieved the annoying phone, the number appearing in the digital readout belonged to Aunt Glo. Stepping back into the stateroom, she answered a bit breathlessly, “Hi Glo.”

  “Where are you, sweetie? I’ve been trying to call you all morning. It’s all over t
he news.”

  “What is?” Kit tried to sound as if she hadn’t spent the night in Jake’s bed.

  “Jessica Boyd’s dead. It’s on the news. She’s dead, Kit, just like Alana.”

  Kit spotted his car, a sporty little black BMW convertible, parked haphazardly on the street in front of her house with the driver’s side door open and music blaring from the car stereo.

  But it wasn’t until Jake pulled his Mercedes into her driveway that she actually caught sight of Collin Boyd sitting on the bottom step with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

  Jake pointed to Collin and said, “What the hell is he doing here?”

  As soon as he cut the engine, Kit grabbed his arm and pleaded, “Don’t leave me alone with Collin.” Kit saw his questioning eyes and quickly added, “Please. He’s an asshole in the best of times, but drinking makes him impossible to handle.”

  Jake looked past the fear in her eyes and sensed there was something more. He didn’t want to believe what he was thinking. But he’d been gone a year. Anything could have happened during that time. He had only to think about Baylee and how a year had changed her life.

  Not one to act without having the facts at hand, he wanted to know what he was walking into. “Am I stepping into the middle of something personal between the two of you?”

  Kit gave him an incredulous look. “Personal? You mean like couple stuff?”

  “Yeah, like couple stuff.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “No. You should know me better than that. I’ve known him my whole life. We kind of grew up together, but we’ve never gone out. Think for a minute. He’s just found out his mother’s dead and it looks like he’s already three sheets to the wind.”

  At that moment her cell phone rang and she looked to see who was calling. When the digital readout displayed the number of the bookstore, she pushed the button to answer. “This is Kit.”