Killian sniffled. “Or was it the right place at the right time? Have we all considered the idea that she may very well have been the target? And whoever did this ran out of patience waiting for her to get there?”
Locking eyes with Garabaldi, Killian could see the detective had considered it. He just hadn’t voiced it.
“That theory,” the detective began, “opens up a whole new can of worms. It means that they knew Cece and Everett were meeting, they knew that Cece is a dominatrix, they knew that Everett was a submissive, and they knew their schedule. It also means that this John Smith was still not on their radar.”
Nick pointed out, “Which is good. It means that there’s about ninety percent certainty whoever did this is not from the Club.”
“But now we have a slew of new potential suspects.” Garabaldi took a deep breath. “Did you all get what we needed here? Anything else?”
“I’ve had enough gore,” Nick said. “There’re photos of all this anyway, right?”
“Burned into my brain,” Garabaldi answered.
The four men agreed there was nothing more to be gained there, and they headed out the door.
Hearing the click as Garabaldi secured the scene one last time, Killian wondered why he had volunteered to go. Cece was everything to him, but why had he come to witness this mess? He knew she was innocent. Had he just wanted to torture himself with the sight of the place she was meeting her paramour? Lover? Fuck buddy?
He knew this was the woman he loved—kinky and sex-driven, through and through. And yet standing there, in that room where Everett had been murdered, he felt no anger toward her. He felt no jealousy toward Everett.
So why had he come?
He looked at the men sharing the elevator down with him. Nick, the brilliant chemist who had come along in Paul’s place while Paul was helping Cece. Dunham, the private security-private eye who was part of the duo that Franz, Emmy, and Cece trusted implicitly. Garabaldi, the police detective who didn’t shy away from the lifestyle and who was fair and realistic.
He was there to gather strength from them. To be in the company of people who believed Cece was innocent. And by extension, to be near Cece.
That was why he was there. He was not allowed near the woman he loved desperately—so he would surround himself with her friends.
“Detective, how much information do you have on Hannah Robbe?” Killian figured it was worth a try since Cece wasn’t there.
“We received a note at the station.” Garabaldi pulled out his phone, scrolled through, and held up the face where they could see it.
Hannah Robbe alive. No contact. All needs seen to. No interest in injury. Demands to follow.
Dunham grunted. “So she is alive.”
“Apparently safe.” Nick twitched his nose. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do we.” Garabaldi pocketed the phone. “It’s why neither Marjorie nor Cece have seen it. I don’t want false hope or false leads.”
Killian tapped a finger on the wall as the elevator car slid to a stop. “Any idea where it came from?”
“Post marked from Miami.”
“There’s no way she’s down there.” Dunham jumped on the words.
“No way to tell. It came in the mail two days ago. Plenty of time to drive down.”
They walked out of the elevator, and the manager strode up to them. Garabaldi took him off to the side, and they spoke quietly for a moment. The manager nodded, satisfied, and walked off. The detective motioned them to the doors.
“Gentlemen, we’re done here. Killian, I’m under orders to make sure you go home and do not go to the estate. And I can’t say I disagree.”
Killian nodded. He had planned to try and get to Victor’s estate, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t succeed. They were right—he wasn’t her fiancé. It bothered him that Paul had that title. He also knew how important it was for her fiancé, the Allegheny County Coroner, to appear with her, to support her. Paul was worth his weight in gold.
“Marjorie’s press conference is up in just a few minutes,” Nick said. “I’ll take you to the bar, and we can watch there. Fair?”
“I’ll come with you,” Dunham said.
“Good.” Pleased, Garabaldi looked at his watch. “I should have time to get to North End and supervise the circus.”
* * *
Cece stared at the picture of her mother on the television.
She’d never imagined in all the years she despised the woman, seeing her there after disavowing her she could still feel this much hate and betrayal.
What really pissed her off, though, was not this phony show, not this fake, affected weeping, not the innumerable lies Marjorie was about to spew, but her brother standing behind her—
—with Saundra Milhouse on his arm, weeping.
“Who the fuck does that woman think she is?” Victor’s voice snapped through the room, echoing Cece’s own thoughts.
“Someone who matters, apparently,” Paul said.
“Why is she crying?” Victor gestured wildly to the television.
“I have no idea,” Emmy said. “Why does she think it’s relevant to this situation?”
“Oh, don’t you know?” Cece rolled her eyes. “Everything is relevant to Saundra. She will make things about her that have nothing to do with her. Everett couldn’t stand that. He tried not to play into it, either, but she was just so about her. It’s one of the reasons they were divorcing. No matter what she says about his bedroom habits, that marriage was down the tubes long before he started exploring the lifestyle.” She pointed to the side of the scene. “Look. Imogene. Her ultimate pawn in the ‘all about me’ game. The woman is a full-blown clinical textbook case of narcissism.”
Nathaniel snorted. “Sounds like she fits right in with your brother.”
Cece nodded. She had forgotten that Nathaniel grew up around the same people she had. Chas had been a year behind him in school, and they were both on the same track team.
“Is that tissue even wet?” Paul asked.
“Nope. Just crumbled.” Cece leaned back in the chair. “Mother doesn’t cry. Ever. She always just acts out and makes people believe that she’s distraught.” Cece sighed. “Chas runs the family. Dad’s always drunk, and Mom is about as stable as a rubber crutch.”
Emmy laughed. “Well, that paints a picture.”
“Watch. You’ll see. Crocodile tears.”
Marjorie stepped to the microphone and pulled out what was clearly an artificially crumbled piece of paper. She dabbed at a tear that wasn’t there and straightened the paper that wasn’t really in need of it. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your time today. I am here to plead for the safe return of my daughter, Hannah Robbe. She’s been missing for nine days. She has a serious health condition called myasthenia gravis, and we are concerned for her well-being. She requires medication, and she cannot be jostled around. We don’t know why she was taken, nor have we received any notes regarding her ransom, which we are willing and able to pay.
“We beg you, if this is retaliation for the disgusting and wanton behavior of Frances Robbe, know that we have started legal proceedings to disown her. We do not support her or her decision and ways of living. She is a stain on the good Robbe name, and we will not be associated with her any longer. Please do not speak to her about Hannah for any reason. Hannah is innocent, and we will not have her stained by the filth that is Frances Robbe.”
There were shouts from the reporters who were there, and Chas pointed at one of them.
“Is your daughter guilty of the murder of Everett Milhouse?”
“Well.” Marjorie sniffled. “I didn’t raise her that way, but they did arrest her.”
“Did you know that your daughter was a dominatrix?”
“Certainly not!” She was completely offended by the question. “She has disappointed me over and over, and I’m sure that’s why she never told me.”
“Is there a reward for information on Hannah?”
Marjorie nodded. “We are offering a reward for her safe return as well.”
Morgan moaned. “Bad move.”
“Bad move?” Nathaniel asked.
“Ssh!” Franz chided them.
Marjorie dabbed at her fake tears again. “I just want my baby girl to be back home safe in her bed. She’s fragile, and I need her safe.”
“Do you blame your daughter for this? Do you think that she has Hannah?”
It was like a light bulb went on in Marjorie’s head. “I would like to think that she’s better than that, but given that she was arrested, I clearly don’t know her.” Marjorie turned to the camera. “Frances, if you have your sister, bring her home. Now. I won’t press charges.”
“Damn it!” Morgan snapped.
“Just make sure that Hannah gets home!” The fake tears sprouted on cue and Chas pretended he had to help her down and away from the microphone. Saundra leaned into it. “Thank you, no more questions.”
Morgan was seething, while Cece just stared at the screen. Paul was also clearly pissed off when he stood and walked out of the room.
“Damn that reporter for planting that seed,” Franz growled.
Cece looked at the people around her. “I have to refute this. And I have to be calm and not go off calling my mother a cock-juggling thunder-cunt.”
Victor snorted. “That’s a fantastic way to put it.”
Morgan and Franz had moved to the desk and were furiously writing and chatting. They had a piece of paper between them, running fingers and pens over it. Cece walked over and watched words appear and disappear over and over. Finally, Morgan pulled out a clean sheet of paper and rewrote the whole thing with the words they had picked out and handed it to her.
“A prepared statement is a better idea, so you don’t end up calling your mother a bitch or worse.”
Cece accepted the paper and read it over. She found herself in tears at the end. “Thank you. I can just read this and walk away without taking questions?”
“Of course.” Franz nodded. “Paul is going to be right next to you when you read it. He knows how these things work and will shuttle you off when the time is right.”
Cece nodded. “I’ll need to freshen up.”
Victor motioned for a girl who was lurking in the doorway. “Lauren is actually in school for costume design and has a cosmetology degree. She’ll help you.”
Lauren waved and smiled. “Nanny, student, makeup artist. I’m just all kinds of handy!”
* * *
The press was waiting.
Cece wanted every one of them to go away and leave her alone. She never hurt anyone, and she wanted her sister safe. Having to deal with her mother making this a public issue—when she was sure ninety percent of Pittsburgh didn’t care—was not needed or wanted.
But she stood at the podium and stared them down, trying not to seem defiant.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my fiancée, Frances Robbe, has a prepared statement she would like to read to you. We will not be taking questions afterward.”
Paul stepped out of the way, and Cece stepped up to the microphone. She cleared her throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to plea for the return of my little sister. Hannah has a strong spirit and fragile body. Even with the drug and supplement regimen she’s on, she is always in a delicate condition. I love her with all I have to give, and she needs to come home. Please. I realize that my mother has made the same plea, but I make it again on Hannah’s behalf.
“I am fully willing to take whatever responsibility or guilt the citizens of this city choose to foist on me. I know I am not guilty of the crimes I’ve been accused of, but for Hannah’s return, I will do what is necessary. She had a bright future, and I want to see her there.
“Please, for her sake, if for no one else’s, let her come home. Bring her to the police. Drop her at the Emergency room. Let her come home and live her life.
“Thank you.”
Paul grabbed her elbow and moved her away from the microphone. “Thank you. No questions.”
But they screamed them anyway. “Did you murder Everett Milhouse?” “What did you plan to gain from his death?” “Why did you murder him?” “Is it true you would beat him for pleasure?” “Was this kink gone too far?” “Are you really a dominatrix?” “Is it true you beat men for money?”
Paul leaned into her ear as the heckling and jibes and questions hurled at her. “Keep walking, Cece. Just keep walking. Head up. You don’t have to answer any of the questions. Just keep going—”
Paul was suddenly gone from her elbow and Chas was there, a death grip on her wrist.
“No, no, let me go!” Cece heard her voice cracking.
“Where is she, you cunt?”
“Let me go, Charles! Let me go!”
“You got her kidnapped. Where is she?”
“Let go! I didn’t do anything to her! I want her safe!”
Chas pulled her arm up and away from her. “You see this? This is sin in your midst! Lustful, wrathful, greedy, prideful! Cast her out! She is the whore of Babylon! She is unworthy of pity or care! Cast her out and—”
Chas suddenly lurched away from her and stumbled into the crowd, losing his footing. He tumbled through a line of reporters and finally landed on his ass.
Paul and Victor stood there, looming over him. Victor cracked his knuckles, clearly having just delivered the blow that dislodged and disoriented Charles.
Paul stepped forward and snarled at him. “Your own sister. You raging asshole. Stay the hell away from my fiancée.”
“Cast her out!”
He reached down and hauled Paul to his feet by his collar. “Your family gave her to me. Willingly and forcefully pushed her at me. Made me sign contracts that we are legally obligated to uphold to become husband and wife. And you come out here and start screaming that I should cast her out? I have learned one very valuable lesson from you, you worthless piece of shit. This woman standing here next to me is worth more than any contract you could dream up. More than the rest of your scheming conniving devious clatch of greedy jackasses. And because I’ve been educated on you, I will marry her, and I will protect her, and I will make sure that you never, ever lay a goddamn hand on Frances Robbe again!”
Paul’s left hook came up and socked Chas in the jaw so hard, he ripped out of Paul’s grip and went spinning into the crowd again, landing face first into the dirt.
“Stop, stop,” came Garabaldi’s disinterested protest as he pushed his way through the reporters and gawkers. “Paul Wainwright, please step back. I don’t want to arrest you.”
Paul took two steps back and pulled Cece to his side. Victor took up position on the other side. Cece felt dwarfed between the huge men, and completely safe and cared for.
“Charles Robbe, you can get up and get out of here in the next two minutes, or I will advise Mister Walsh to press charges of trespassing and attempted assault.”
Charles lifted himself to all fours and then slowly stood. He took two steps toward Cece. Paul and Victor took two steps toward him.
Chas changed tack and pointed an accusing finger at Cece. “You know where she is! We aren’t paying you a ransom! Bring her back to us! She’s only safe when she’s away from you, you cum-guzzling gutter slut!”
Cece stared at him. “Fuck off and die, Charles Robbe.”
Victor took another step forward. “Get off my lawn.”
Garabaldi choked back a laugh, then motioned Charles in the direction of the front gate.
Cece didn’t have a chance to see what happened. Victor and Paul flanked her again and marched her back into the house.
Morgan was standing in the entranceway. “Well. That didn’t go as planned.”
“No shit.” Cece put a hand to her head.
Paul snorted, then chuckled. “Cum-guzzling gutter slut?”
&nb
sp; Cece smirked, and before they knew it, everyone in the hall was laughing. She jerked her finger at Victor. “And check out Mister ‘get off my lawn.’ Really, Victor?”
“He was on my lawn. I wanted him off.”
Chapter Five
Killian McInnis was an unexpected surprise. His fierce protective streak was something that Cece needed at that moment in her life. He was stronger than he let on to most of the public and it was easy to see that his alpha personality was taking over.
Killian had to step back, though. It wasn’t going to help anyone if he got in the way of the investigation.
He had other problems, as well.
Diane had been hounding him about spending time with her. She had taken to mailing him pictures of engagement rings she liked. Both email and snail mail.
While Killian’s internship with Dr. Rajamuthry was moving at a superstar pace, Diane’s father was starting to become the obstacle he had feared early on. The man was an insufferable asshole, determined to make sure that, unless Killian married Diane, he wouldn’t go anywhere in the medical world. An unfair prospect and it was everyone’s opinion that the situation was going to escalate.
The funeral had been a disaster of epic proportions—thankfully only just at the end. But it did present a new issue that would have to be dealt with. The Charles Robbe-Susan Millhouse relationship was shaping up to be a formidable union that no one was going to want to deal with.
But they would. Charles was after something. Susan was also after something. Between the two of them, they might have a chance to smear Cece enough that the court hearings would have to be moved out of Allegheny county.
Morgan didn’t want that. She knew the judges and clerks and could assure a fair trial in the ‘Burgh. She had no influence outside of that. And more than anything, Morgan wanted Cece to have a fair trial.
But even more than that, Paul wanted her to not have a trial at all. He was desperately scouring any lead he or Garabaldi could find to discover the identity of John Smith. Franz Dorn was nothing if not accommodating, allowing nearly unlimited access to his records to the officials involved.
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