by Katee Robert
“It’s not nothing.”
“Yes, it is,” she said firmly. One of these days, it might even be the truth.
Not today, though.
Today, nothing was fine at all.
What the hell had her father meant about Beckett and her mother?
As the plane touched down, Beckett reluctantly turned his phone back on. It was tempting to tell the pilot to keep circling or, better yet, to fly him and Samara somewhere far away from Houston. It would only postpone what came next, though. If the thing growing between them couldn’t survive the reality of their respective lives, then spending more blissful time together would only make the hurt worse when it inevitably fell apart.
Nothing inevitable about it. I said I was keeping her, and I damn well meant it.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and Beckett frowned as voice mail after voice mail appeared. Three from the superintendent of his building and five from Frank. “What the fuck?”
Samara set down the magazine she’d been idly flipping through. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.” He bypassed the voice mails and called Frank directly.
The phone didn’t even ring before his friend was on the other line. “Thank fuck. I thought you were supposed to be back in Houston last night. I was just on the phone with the damn airport, threatening my way into getting your flight plans.”
Samara shifted closer, her dark eyes worried. Beckett was worried. Since they’d known each other, Frank was always the calm and measured one. He’d heard the man raise his voice only a handful of times in a decade. “Frank, what happened?”
“Someone broke into your apartment. The superintendent called me right after he called the cops. You weren’t home and I’m apparently your emergency contact.”
A break-in.
Beckett frowned. A break-in was bad, but it wasn’t any worse than the damn fire. “I don’t—”
“It wasn’t just a break-in, Beckett. There’s blood everywhere. I thought…” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was closer to normal. “It was a gut reaction. I couldn’t reach you, the police aren’t sure if it’s human blood or something else, but they’re treating it like a potential homicide.”
“A homicide.” Beckett pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. Samara could hear most of the conversation either way, but he wanted her fully looped in. “I have you on speaker. Samara is with me. Tell me what you know.”
“It’s not much yet. The police barely let me get a look at your apartment. I have a guy at the station waiting for an update, but it takes time for the tests they did on the blood to come back.”
Blood. In his apartment.
Was it meant as a warning or was he being framed? Only time would tell. “I’m assuming the police want to talk to me.”
“That’s a safe bet.” Frank hesitated. “There’s something else.”
For fuck’s sake. He braced himself, and nearly flinched when Samara covered his hand with hers. Beckett turned his over and laced his fingers with hers, taking her silent support. “Might as well spit it out.”
“Whoever got into the apartment got into the garage as well. They trashed your Harley. After the cops cataloged the scene, I had it sent to a mechanic I trust, but the guy said it’s a lost cause. They put sugar in the tank, and if that wasn’t enough, they set the fucking thing on fire. It was the bike that first prompted security to check your apartment out. The superintendent knew it was yours and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Beckett wasn’t okay.
The plane taxied toward the private hangars and Beckett allowed himself a full thirty seconds of mourning that bike. He’d had it since he was sixteen, and he’d rebuilt it himself and upgraded it over the years. Countless hours had gone into that vehicle, both with tools in his hands and with the road flying beneath him. Gone. All gone. There would never be another bike like it, if only because of the sheer history.
First Thistledown Villa.
Now my bike.
The apartment…His breath stopped in his chest.
Everything he’d taken from Thistledown was in that apartment. The baby book. The pictures. The other things he’d brought with him when he’d moved out after high school. It was all he had of his history, the only reminders that wouldn’t fade with time and distance. Fuck.
“Beckett?”
“Give him a minute,” Samara said.
Beckett realized he had her hand almost in a death grip, but he couldn’t make himself let go. She didn’t seem particularly worried about it. Samara shifted and rubbed his thigh with her free hand, offering what comfort she could.
He appreciated the gesture even if it changed nothing about what he was about to walk into. “We’re pulling up to the hangar now. We’ll be at the apartment inside of an hour.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Appreciate it.” He hung up and forced himself to let go of Samara’s hand. “I can drop you on the way.”
“What?” Her brows slammed together. “No way.”
He recognized the hurt that flickered over her face and reclaimed her hands, being careful to hold her lightly. “I’m not rejecting you, and I’m not trying to spare your delicate woman sensibilities or some bullshit. I don’t know what I’m walking into, and the acts against me are escalating. There’s no telling what they’ll do next.” But he could hazard a guess. As threats went, Lydia’s were textbook. First she took his childhood home. Then she proved she could get to him both at work and at home if he didn’t bow to her will. Next it would be Beckett or the people he cared about getting into unfortunate accidents.
Right now, the people Beckett cared about numbered at two.
Frank could take care of himself.
Samara likely could as well, but she wouldn’t be expecting danger from Lydia. Her eyes might be opening to what Beckett’s aunt was capable of, but she’d worked for that company for a decade. That was a whole lot of time and experience to be overridden, even when faced with mounting evidence.
“You think it’s Lydia.”
He picked his words with care. “Even without her pulling that stunt with you and basically flaunting her knowledge of the fire, the timing would be more than suspicious. My sparkling personality might piss people off sometimes, but I haven’t been back in town long enough to inspire murderous rage in anyone but my aunt.”
The plane jolted as it stopped completely, and Samara pushed to her feet. “Beckett, this is serious.”
“I know.” He had to put a stop to it and do it now, but if he didn’t deal with the apartment first, he’d have to handle both the police and his plans, and that would only hold Beckett back. He stood and grabbed their bags. “I don’t want you in the middle of this, Samara.”
“I’m already in the middle of this. I have been since it started.”
He couldn’t argue that, so he didn’t bother to try. The door opened and he headed for it. They could stand around talking about this all day and get nowhere.
Samara followed closely, frustration rolling off her in waves. She didn’t speak, though, as he tossed their bags into the trunk of the waiting car and drove them away from the airport. Beckett gripped the steering wheel and tried to find the right words to say. There were no right words. Until he knew the extent of the damage—and whose blood the police had found—he didn’t have any answers for Samara. It was entirely possible that Lydia had decided to frame him for some crime, though murder seemed going a bit far, even for her.
Except it wasn’t going too far when it came to my father.
“Beckett.” She spoke softly, not looking away from the windshield. “Promise me that you won’t do anything in retaliation for this until we know for sure who’s behind it.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “If, by some chance, it isn’t Lydia, then you risk creating two enemies instead of one.”
What she said made sense, even though her determination to point the blame at someo
ne else aggravated him. Most of the time, the simplest answer was the real answer. Lydia had the most to gain by ruining Beckett’s life and effectively running him out of town. Even if this was all to keep him distracted while she put something else into play, it all revolved around their competing businesses and, even more so, around the split in the family thirty years ago. It obviously didn’t matter to her that he was a nephew—he was an obstacle to be removed by any means possible.
The chances of the perpetrator of all the acts against him being some shadowy villain who hadn’t been revealed were astronomical. It didn’t make any sense.
Telling Samara that wouldn’t change her mind, though. She might not be blindly defending Lydia any longer, but she was just as obviously resistant to the idea that the woman she’d trusted for so long was capable of this level of attack.
“I promise that I won’t retaliate unless I have to.” It was all he could give her. Beckett had no intention of sinking to Lydia’s level. A war between them would hurt more than just his aunt. It would hurt his cousins whom he hadn’t had a chance to know. It would hurt employees at both companies.
It would hurt Samara.
No, Beckett would do this his way.
And he’d remove Lydia as a threat. Permanently.
Chapter Seventeen
Samara barely stayed home long enough to shower and change. She didn’t trust the wild look in Beckett’s eyes as he’d driven away. There was a confrontation between him and Lydia coming—and coming soon—but he’d be occupied for the next few hours at least dealing with the police and figuring out what was salvageable in his apartment.
She hurried down the sidewalk toward Kingdom Corp, feeling like a spy sneaking into the enemy’s camp. It didn’t make a bit of sense. Kingdom Corp was her territory. There was no reason for the guilt gnawing away at her stomach.
No reason except she was up to no good.
Samara took the elevator up to the twenty-fourth floor and then used the stairs the rest of the way to the executive level. She checked her watch. Noon. Lydia should be out to lunch with her “friend” right about now. She disappeared every Wednesday like clockwork for an hour, and since Samara handled her calendar, she knew Lydia took lunch in a hotel room a few blocks away.
An hour wasn’t much time for what she’d set out to do, but she’d make it work. She padded out the door and down the hallway, her flats not making a sound on the floor. The door to Journey’s office was shut, and the whole floor felt almost deserted. Samara used her key to unlock Lydia’s office and shut the door behind her. She tensed, waiting for alarms to blare or someone to rush in and demand to know what she was doing there.
Nothing happened.
Stop wasting time being afraid of getting caught and do what you need to do before you actually are caught.
She hurried to Lydia’s desk and typed in the password to the computer. Thanks to her years working directly under the woman, what passwords she didn’t know she could guess. It seemed counterintuitive that Lydia would keep something incriminating on her computer, but the woman’s entire life was synced electronically. She abhorred traditional mail, paper notetaking, and anything she considered too luddite. Technology is the future, Samara.
She signed into both of Lydia’s email accounts and did a few quick searches. Nothing popped up for Beckett or Nathaniel’s names beyond a couple of old documents from last quarter about Morningstar Enterprise’s reported holdings. The company itself was in more emails, but they were all directly business related and not any more sinister than normal.
Samara sat back. This was getting her nowhere. What had she expected? A smoking gun with Lydia’s name engraved on the side? Even if she was involved, her boss wasn’t an idiot.
On a whim, she brought up Lydia’s calendar. It was synced with Samara’s system so she knew where her boss was at all times, and anything important was flagged accordingly on both hers and Lydia’s account.
Except…
She frowned and leaned forward. There was a tab at the bottom of the screen, similar to the ones used in her spreadsheet program. Samara clicked it and blinked. New appointments appeared over the top of the ones she recognized. What the hell? She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture, pausing to make sure it came out clear, and then she shut everything down the same way it’d been before she got into the office. There were only ten minutes until Lydia got back into the office and she wanted to be long gone before she had to explain her presence there.
She took one last look around the room to make sure everything was exactly how she’d found it and then slipped out of the office and locked the door behind her. She made it halfway down the hall before Journey’s office door opened and her friend stuck her head out. She frowned. “Samara, what are you doing here?”
“I—”
The elevator dinged and she watched the doors open in slow motion to reveal Lydia herself. Oh no. The woman paused, a frown marring her face as she took in Samara and then Journey. “What’s going on here?”
I’m done for.
Journey sighed dramatically. “What does it look like, Mother? We’re plotting your downfall, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Get a grip. I asked Samara to stop by and explain some of her notes to me.”
If anything, Lydia’s frown grew more severe. “I specifically sent her on vacation. If you’re not capable of handling this bid—”
“You’ll find someone else,” Journey finished. “Considering the bid is Friday, that threat doesn’t work on me right now. Come on, Samara.” She grabbed her hand and towed her into the office.
Journey shut the door and held up her hand. They waited in silence as Lydia’s heels clicked down the hallway and then her office door opened and shut. And then they waited some more. Finally Journey let out the breath she’d been holding and turned to Samara. “Since we both know that was a crock of shit, do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”
Samara opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Journey and Lydia already had a tumultuous relationship, but there was real love there when they stopped fighting long enough to acknowledge it. All she had right now was suspicions, and if she laid them out for her friend it would look like Beckett had gotten into Samara’s head and poisoned her. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Honey…” Journey pointed to the couch. “Sit. I think we need to have a conversation about what’s going on, because even with your superior lying skills, you have guilt written all over your face. If my mother wasn’t so distracted from her lunch date, she would have noticed.”
“I do not have guilt written all over my face.” She strode to the couch and dropped onto it. “Things are so damn complicated.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
She twisted to look at her friend. There were shadows under her hazel eyes and she looked a little pale. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, no, we’re not switching things around to me. Even if I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to be here, the fact you’re wearing those proves you’re up to no good.” Journey pointed at Samara’s ballet flats. “Spill.”
When she still hesitated, Journey’s open expression closed like a flower retreating into itself. “You don’t trust me with whatever it is.”
She could beg off and walk out. Journey wouldn’t like it, but when things fell out one way or another, Samara would make it up to her friend. Except…She made herself meet Journey’s gaze directly. “I think Lydia has something to do with the attacks against Beckett.”
“What?” Journey dropped onto the cushion opposite her. “You can’t be serious.” She frowned harder. “Of course you’re serious. You wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t pretty damn sure my mother was behind it. Beckett doesn’t have much to lose accusing her, but you do.”
She hated the reminder that, no matter how tempting the fantasy they’d woven, she and Beckett weren’t really equal. Maybe they never would be. She steeled herself against that truth. It wouldn’t help now. “Lyd
ia also knew details about the fire at Morningstar Enterprise that she shouldn’t have known.”
“The media has been trying to sniff out the details, but everyone is keeping really closemouthed about it.” She shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that—you were in that fire. I want answers about what happened just as much as you do. I don’t know if you noticed it, but you’re kind of only mostly my best friend and I care about you.”
Samara warmed even as she felt sick to her stomach. “I don’t want to get between you and your mother. If I’m right…if Beckett’s right…it could mean bad things for Kingdom Corp—for Lydia.” No matter how strong their friendship was, she didn’t like being the one having to break this potential news to Journey. “She could be facing jail time.”
“If that’s where the answers fall out…” Journey looked away. “She wouldn’t be the first member of my family that deserved to be behind bars.”
“Journey—”
“I’m okay.” She shook her head. “That’s a lie. I’m not okay.” She pushed back to her feet. “But don’t you dare let that stop you from finding the truth. Kingdom Corp can weather the fallout. We can weather the fallout.”
Something was seriously wrong. The loyalty among the King family was legendary. No matter how crappy a mother Lydia was, Samara had fully expected all her children to close ranks around her at the first sign of trouble. For Journey essentially to give Samara the green light to continue digging… “What’s going on?”
“You’ve been here a long time, and you’ve seen a lot of the inner workings of this place and our family.” Journey walked to her desk and sat in her chair. “But even you haven’t seen everything, Samara. Some skeletons are just too ugly to see the light.”
The suspicion dug deep that they weren’t talking about Lydia’s theoretical attacks against Beckett. Samara walked to the desk and leaned down, forcing her friend to look at her. She spoke slowly and clearly, wishing she could imprint the words on Journey to chase the darkness from her friend’s face. “I don’t care how ugly your skeletons are. You are my best friend, and you always will be.”
