by Katee Robert
Anderson paused. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a declaration of intent.” He hung up. They could circle round and round for hours and it wouldn’t prompt his cousin into action. Thinking he needed to be back in Houston to negate a threat? His ass would be on the next plane out of DC.
There was a threat. It just wasn’t leveled at Anderson.
It was aimed completely at Lydia.
Satisfied he’d gotten the appropriate pieces in motion, he backed out of the space. Beckett searched the cars in the lot as he drove through it, but there was no one there. Must have been imagining things.
He couldn’t afford to ignore any possibility that he was being followed, so he took a circular route through the city, cutting back and forth across downtown until he hopped on the freeway heading east. Best he could tell, no cars had made the journey with him, but he still kept one eye on the rearview as he followed Frank’s instructions to the place where Walter had chosen to hole up.
The chic hotel wasn’t quite inside the city limits, but it was close enough to the Gulf to list it as one of the main attractions. Its claim to fame, though, was the spa it boasted with a list of services longer than Beckett’s arm. The same spa where Lydia goes for those appointments Samara makes her.
He walked through the lobby with purpose and no one bothered him as he took the elevator up to Walter’s floor. A quick look down the hall found it empty, and he strode to the door and let himself in, closing it quietly behind him and throwing the deadbolt.
A groan from the bed had him striding over and yanking the covers off the man. Walter Trissel cursed and covered his face with his forearm. He opened one eye and then shot up in bed and crab-walked backward until he hit the headboard. “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t just come into my room like this!”
Beckett grabbed a chair and swung it around so he could straddle it. “Morning, Walter. It’s time you and I had a nice little chat.”
Despite her bravado, nerves fluttered in Samara’s stomach as she walked down the hallway to Lydia’s office. She’d picked a pair of slacks and a simple blouse with sensible shoes. Being paranoid. Beckett has me thinking I’m going to have to run for my life, which is just crazy.
Isn’t it?
She could feel his note where she’d folded it carefully and put it in her pocket. We’ll talk tonight. —Beck. It was short, but it gave her hope all the same. Hope that they could find a way through this. Together. She didn’t want a man to sweep in and demand that she rely solely on him and bow to his will—not even Beckett. Samara trusted her instincts.
Right now, her instincts were hollering that this might be a huge mistake.
She forced a smile onto her face and opened the door to Lydia’s office. The woman herself sat behind the large desk, her red-nailed hands steepled in front of her equally red lips. Journey occupied one of the two chairs opposite the desk, so Samara strode in and took the other. “I got here as soon as I was able.”
“Did you know?”
No preamble. No explanation.
Guilt flared, because Samara knew exactly what she was talking about. She lifted her chin. “I found out late last night.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes as if she expected Samara to lie. “My darling nephew went around us to get that contract—a contract we need, I might add—and you didn’t deign to…tell me? Call Journey here and let her know she didn’t need to pull yet another all-nighter?”
Her guilt grew thorny spines that dug deep. Samara shot a look at Journey, taking in the circles under her eyes. Her friend gave the slightest shake of her head, but Samara ignored it. She faced Lydia. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I told you last night. It’s done. We lost the bid. I take full responsibility for not anticipating that Beckett would pull that move.”
“Yes, well, you should have anticipated it.” Lydia pushed slowly to her feet, sickly sweet menace rolling off her in waves. “You’re sleeping with him, after all. You have been for months.”
Samara went still. “Excuse me?”
“Did you or did you not have sex with Beckett King six months ago? You just happened to find your way up to his hotel room on that work trip in Norway and, how strange, you let him take you to bed.”
There had been no letting him do anything. She’d been a full partner in the seriously questionable decision to have sex that initial time. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business one way or another who I sleep with.”
“It is when you’re spilling company secrets because you’re so intoxicated with his cock.”
She flinched, and hated herself for flinching. “I would never do that.” Except she’d done exactly that by informing on Lydia’s inconsistencies to Beckett. Lydia, not Kingdom Corp.
Lydia is Kingdom Corp.
“You would say that now.”
More than anything, Journey’s silence next to her hit Samara right in the chest. She pushed to her feet. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not command me to get close to Beckett in order to distract him from whatever you’re up to, Lydia?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Lydia mimicked. “But I never once told you to have sex with him and lose all sense of loyalty.”
Another direct hit.
This time Samara didn’t flinch. She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Is that all?”
“Hardly.” Lydia pointed an imperial finger at her. “You’re fired. Sleeping with the enemy might be acceptable, but betraying the company because you’re fucking Beckett King is not. I sincerely hope you weren’t planning on continuing to work in the energy industry, because you’re going to have a difficult time finding a job.”
“That’s enough, Mother.” Journey pushed slowly to her feet, her mouth determined even as she seemed to shake. “You fired her. It’s done.”
“I’m nowhere near done.”
Samara shifted, bringing Lydia’s attention back to her. “Seeing as how I’m fired, fortunately, I don’t have to sit here and listen to you rant.” She stalked closer and leaned over the desk, getting in Lydia’s face. “You are a vindictive bitch and you’re positively soulless for what you’ve done to Beckett.”
Nothing showed on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” She turned and walked out of the office with her head held high even as a black hole opened up in her chest. After all her promises that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes her mother had, she’d walked the exact blueprint.
Fall for a rich man from a prominent family.
Compromise everything she’d worked her entire life for.
Lose everything.
Not everything. I haven’t lost Beckett.
She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. She loved him. The hurt pounding through her, digging deeper with each heartbeat, didn’t have any effect on what she felt for him. It was just everything else that had fallen apart.
He’d still offer you that job.
If I take it, I owe him everything and we’ll never really be equals.
There was a way out of this—a way forward—but she couldn’t see it right then.
“Samara.”
She stopped in front of the elevators and waited for Journey to catch up. “I’m sorry.”
Journey shook her head. “I’m pissed. It was shitty of him to do, but that’s just business. I don’t get you not telling me immediately, but…” She sighed. “I don’t think you should be fired over it. I tried to convince my mother of that, but she’s beyond reason. She’ll cool down.”
“No, she won’t.” Because the real reason Samara had been fired wasn’t because of the bid. It was because of her relationship with Beckett—the appearance of putting Beckett over Lydia.
“She would if you’d dump him.”
Samara jerked back. “You can’t be seriously asking me to do that.”
“Yes. No. Maybe.” Journey shook her head. “He’s just a guy, Samara.
At the end of the day, he might be good in bed and not a total piece of shit outside it, but he’s still someone you hated a week ago. Is he really worth it?”
The choice lay before her, clear as day. She could dump Beckett today and come crawling back to Lydia, promising to spill every single secret he’d shared with her as payment to securing her job once again. Lydia would punish her for a while, but she’d still have her job. She just had to throw Beckett under the bus to make it happen.
Samara let herself imagine it. Continuing to work in this office, going about her days as if she didn’t have a gaping hole in her heart. She’d still have the job she’d worked her ass off for, but at what cost? Her mother never climbed over others to get ahead, even before she’d settled into the life she had now.
Her father had.
The realization slammed her thoughts to a halt. All this time, she was afraid of having her future cut off the way her mother’s had been. It never occurred to her that she might be in danger of following in her father’s footsteps.
She couldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t do it.
“I’m not…” She turned to face her friend. “I’m not making this call because of him, though it might look like that right now. The truth is that I can’t work for someone like Lydia when I know what I know.”
Journey huffed out a laugh. “I guess I can’t blame you for that.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if you think you’re getting rid of me that easily, you’re out of your damn mind.”
“Drinks on Saturday?” she offered softly.
“Definitely.” Journey pulled her in for a hug. “Now you better get out of here before she throws a hissy fit and calls security.”
Samara pushed the button for the elevators. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.”
She stepped into the elevator and took it down to the main floor. No one jumped out to accost her, and she sighed at the colossal waste of time this had all been. Not the last decade of work, but this morning. Lydia didn’t have to bring her in to personally berate her. It would have been just as easy either to wait until Monday or send a scathing email. She hadn’t even kept Samara long enough to warrant the trip.
Unless…
Samara picked up her pace and dug her phone out of her purse. She dialed Beckett, but it clicked over to voice mail. That doesn’t mean anything. He’s probably interrogating Walter Trissel and has his phone on silent. I’m being paranoid in thinking Lydia summoned me here to keep me out of that meeting.
Wasn’t she?
A man detached himself from the side of the building and fell into step next to her. She raised her eyebrows at Frank, not even remotely surprised. “I didn’t realize you had time in your busy day to play babysitter.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same for Journey?”
There was no point in answering, because she would. If Journey called her, she’d drop everything and go because they were best friends and both of them took that relationship seriously. Samara waved her phone at him. “I can’t get ahold of Beckett.”
“He should be at the hotel right now.”
His calm demeanor made her feel a little like she was being paranoid, but Samara couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that something was terribly wrong. She stopped. “You have a car around here?”
He gave her the look that question deserved. “Yes.”
“I think Lydia orchestrated this meeting to make sure I didn’t go to that hotel with Beckett.” It sounded even crazier saying it aloud than it did in her head, but she pushed forward. “I think…I think she was protecting me.” And putting Beckett in danger.
A stillness came over Frank that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Let’s go.” He hit the corner and cut across the street, leaving her scrambling to keep up. Two blocks later he opened the passenger door to an Audi R8 coup painted a deep gray. “Get in.”
Samara didn’t hesitate to obey.
Seconds later Frank was in the driver’s seat and they were shooting into traffic. He weaved between cars, heading for the 10. He didn’t speak, and she kept trying to call Beckett.
Nothing.
Visions of smoke and fire and his bloody baby book flashed before her eyes. He ignored the warnings. He went on the offense. She couldn’t have possibly anticipated this, could she? “He’s okay. He has to be okay.”
Frank said nothing, but the speedometer crept into triple digits as they flew out of town.
Chapter Twenty-One
I want answers, Walter.” Beckett leaned against the chair he occupied, watching the other man closely.
Walter scrubbed a hand over his eyes and then up over his head, making his thin hair stand on end. “Am I allowed to get dressed, or are you planning on having this conversation while I’m half naked?”
Beckett reached down and snagged a pair of pants and tossed them onto the bed. “That’s good enough.” He didn’t think the man was a direct threat, but he’d been wrong about such things before. He wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks. This was Texas, after all. Walter no doubt owned a gun or three.
Maybe I should have brought mine.
But no. He wanted Walter to talk, not to piss his pants in fear. Beckett brushed his hand over his phone in his pocket. Recording should be going. He waited until the man had pulled on his pants to speak. “You drugged my father at Lydia’s command so he’d will her Thistledown Villa.”
Walter froze, his pale eyes going wide. “You can’t know that.”
That’s almost an admission, right there. “And yet I do. How much did Lydia pay you? I want to know what your loyalty cost.”
Walter’s shoulders bowed half an inch before he seemed to make the effort to straighten them again. “Four. Million. Dollars.”
Beckett didn’t blink. The house and surrounding property was probably worth a cool ten million, but it wasn’t money that had driven his aunt to such lengths. She would no more sell Thistledown than she’d sell Morningstar if she managed to see her plan through.
All we have in this world is family, even if we can never forgive them.
“Four million dollars just to drug my father.” He caught the slight tightening around the man’s mouth. “Ah. Four million to ensure she got Thistledown—and to make sure Nathaniel got behind the wheel the night he died.” It was a shot in the dark, but Walter looked like he might throw up right then and there, which was all the confirmation Beckett needed.
Fuck.
“People drive drunk all the time.” Walter looked out the window, seeming to shrink in on himself. “How was I supposed to know he’d drive himself right into a telephone pole?”
“That’s not even close to a good excuse. You might not have put a gun in his hand and cocked it, but you directly set him on the path that resulted in his death. That’s manslaughter at the bare minimum.” Beckett leaned forward and lowered his voice. “She wouldn’t let you off the hook after that, would she? What’s a little fire after you killed a man?”
Walter pushed to his feet and weaved, almost floundering back onto the bed. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know that fire had to start right around the time you walked out of your office to accept an offer from Lydia. Strange coincidence, that. What do you think the fire investigator will find when he starts sifting through the evidence? You’re no good at being a criminal, Walter. Look at you—you’re still drunk from last night. Have you been sober since you killed my father?”
“He deserved it.” Walter swung around, his face a mottled purple. “That bastard was going to fire me. Did you know that? Ten years of being the sole attorney on retainer for Morningstar and he just up and decides that I’m no longer needed.”
Beckett hadn’t known that, but it didn’t surprise him. Walter was crafty and conniving, which were positives in his business, but he was also lazy and drank too much for it to be completely casual. It was only a matter of time before he did something that forced Nathaniel’s hand, a
nd it must have happened while Beckett was out of the country, because his father hadn’t had a chance to communicate the plan to him. “You had to know it was coming.” He watched every move Walter made, ready to burst into motion if the man did something threatening. “Even if you didn’t, why target me? I had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re Nathaniel’s son.” As if that was reason enough.
“How did you manage to break into my place without anyone seeing you—including the cameras?”
Walter gave a little smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I’m just that good.”
Not a chance. “Maybe you had outside help.”
“You’re just mad because you didn’t see it coming.” If anything, Walter’s smirk widened. “You never saw me coming.”
Beckett replayed the whole conversation in his head. Got everything I need. That’s about enough of that. He pushed to his feet. “Get a shirt on. You’re coming with me.”
“The hell I am.”
He pointed at Walter. “Get your fucking shirt on or I will drag you out of here as you are now. Your choice. You have five seconds to decide.”
Walter glared. “Fine. I’ll get my damn shirt on.”
“Thought you’d see things my way.” He stepped back as the man went to round the bed, but Walter stumbled and fell against Beckett.
He caught the thinner man easily, but the second his hands closed around Walter’s arm, a pinprick of pain hit him in the other shoulder. Beckett looked over to see a tiny syringe sticking out of him. “What the fuck?”
“She said you might come here. I was prepared.” Walter leaned in, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
He tried to respond, but his tongue felt too big in his mouth and his lips were numb. “What…”
“Just a little something to make you more agreeable.” Walter caught him as he tipped sideways and shoved him onto the bed. “Hold still, Beckett. We’re going for a drive.”
Just like my father did.
Tingling spread through Beckett’s body, followed by the damn numbness. He could move his arms and legs, but they wouldn’t translate his brain’s commands into anything but faint twitches. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He strained, but nothing happened. It can’t last forever. I can’t drive like this and there’s no alcohol in my system, so he can’t fake it as another drunk driving accident. Lydia has something else planned, which means I have time.
