Kill Without Shame

  “Please, listen,” she pleaded.

  He heaved a sigh. He was going to regret this. “What?”

  “We don’t have any real evidence,” she said softly, glancing toward the house with a tiny shiver. “And Vicky has enough money to hire an entire string of lawyers who will be happy to smear Tony’s name, along with my father’s.”

  He pressed his lips together. He understood her reluctance. He truly did. But he didn’t give a shit about the reputation of George Ramon, or even Tony.

  Not when Mia was in danger.

  “If it keeps you safe I don’t care,” he said.

  “But we can’t be sure it will,” she pressed. “Can we?”

  He swallowed a curse. She was right about one thing. They would never get Vicky convicted of a crime without some sort of evidence.

  “Do you have a better idea?” he demanded.

  She gave a slow nod. “I want to go to my father’s house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mia unconsciously dug her fingers into Lucas’s arm, willing him to agree.

  She knew he probably thought she’d gone over the edge. After all, they weren’t a part of the police department, and if Vicky Fontaine was responsible for Tony’s death, they needed to let the officials deal with her.

  But a small, selfish part of her couldn’t bear the thought of the older woman spewing her lies. And not just because it would destroy her father’s reputation.

  She wanted to at least make an effort to find the truth.

  Lucas studied her with a frown. “Why do you want to go to your father’s house?”

  “When I was young, my father only had one rule,” she said, her voice not entirely steady.

  It’d been a long, stressful afternoon.

  “What was his rule?” Lucas asked.

  “I wasn’t allowed into the small shed that he built near the edge of the swamp.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Mia gave a lift of her shoulder, still vividly recalling her father’s long lecture after he finished building the shed.

  “He claimed he kept poisons out there to kill the bugs and rodents around the house.”

  Lucas studied her, no doubt wondering why it would be a big deal. Most parents had places they made off-limits to their kids.

  Mia, however, had been raised by a father who rarely remembered she was in the house, and certainly he’d never been concerned she might get into something that might hurt her. Not when he had guns, and pills and alcohol in easy reach.

  “You didn’t believe him?” Lucas asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I woke up late at night to see him walking down to the shed with a lantern. I knew there had to be something out there he wasn’t telling me about.”

  “Did you go look?”

  She gave a sharp laugh. Was he serious?

  “I was a lonely adolescent girl who lived in the middle of nowhere,” she reminded him. “Of course I looked.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing at first.” She instinctively stepped closer to Lucas, recalling her fear as she’d waited for her father to pass so she could sneak down to the edge of the swamp. “The shed was empty except for a shelf with the cans of pesticides and a small table and chair in the middle of the floor.”

  Lucas looked as confused as she’d felt. “Did he go there to drink?”

  “He drank everywhere,” she said, her voice suddenly harsh. “It wasn’t like he tried to hide it from me.”

  His hand lifted to touch her cheek in a familiar gesture of comfort. “So what did he do in there?”

  “I followed him one night and watched through a crack in the door.” At the time her heart had thundered so loud she thought it might give her away. Her father hadn’t been abusive, but he had a fiery temper that she tried to avoid. “I could see him standing on the chair so he could reach into the rafters and pull out a large silver box.”

  Lucas’s fingers traced the curve of her throat. “What was inside?”

  “I couldn’t see at the time, so I went back the next night to take a look.” A bittersweet pain tugged at her heart. “They were letters to my mother.”

  “Old love notes?” Lucas asked in confusion.

  That had been Mia’s first thought as well. But as she’d skimmed through the letters she’d realized they were about recent events.

  “No.” She grimaced. “He wrote to her as if she was still alive.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Sometimes he wrote about his day. Sometimes he pleaded for her to come back.” A tiny quiver raced through her body. Her father’s mourning for his dead wife had been like a raw, open wound that refused to heal. “I only read a few. They were too painful.”

  Sympathy darkened Lucas’s blue eyes. “And you think he might have written something about the murder?”

  “If my dad was really involved with Paul Fontaine’s death, he would have confessed to my mother.”

  Lucas’s jaw tightened, as if he was battling against the urge to ignore the potential treasure trove of clues.

  “Do you think the letters are still there?”

  Mia shrugged. She hadn’t thought about her father’s private stash for years. Which was why she hadn’t looked for them when they’d been at the house the last time.

  “Unless my father got rid of the letters. I doubt anyone else knows about them.”

  Lucas muttered a low curse, lifting a hand to shove his fingers through his hair. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look through them,” he reluctantly conceded.

  Mia released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Lucas was an idiot.

  They knew Vicky was involved in the mess, but there was a very good chance she wasn’t working alone. Who knew who else might be involved?

  But he also understood Mia’s fierce need to do everything in her power to clear her father’s name. They might not have been close, but he was the only family she’d ever really had.

  Standing a few feet away, Max cleared his throat, his face carefully devoid of expression.

  A good decision. One smirk at the way Mia had so easily manipulated him and Lucas would punch him in the face.

  “What do you want from me?” his companion asked.

  “I want you to keep an eye on Vicky Fontaine,” Lucas told his friend. “If she leaves the house I want you to follow her.”

  Max scowled. “I don’t like the thought of you being without backup.”

  Lucas glanced toward Mia, silently weighing the danger before returning his gaze to his companion. “It’s only for a couple of hours.”

  Max flattened his lips, but he didn’t bother to argue. He was well aware that once Lucas made up his mind, there was no way to change it.

  “Keep your cell phone handy,” he instead commanded.

  Lucas nodded. “I will.”

  “And your gun.”

  “Always,” Lucas promised, glancing toward the heavy gray sky that promised rain. “Can we take your vehicle? Mine wasn’t built for the back roads.”

  “Sure.”

  The two men quickly switched keys, and Lucas reached out to grab Mia’s arm.

  “Let me know if the Wicked Witch leaves her lair,” he told his friend, tugging Mia toward the passenger door of the SUV.

  “Do witches live in lairs?” Max called out, leaning against the hood of Lucas’s car. “I thought that was vampires.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes, helping Mia climb into her seat before rounding the hood and opening the driver’s side door. “Just be careful,” he told his friend.

  Max gave a small salute as Lucas slid into his seat and started the SUV.

  Trusting Max to keep watch, Lucas headed toward the nearby highway. He flipped on the heater as a cold drizzle began to fall from the thick clouds, and covertly glanced toward Mia, who was huddled in silence.

  He didn’t try to distract her from her brooding.

 
She’d endured one shock after another over the past couple of days. She needed the opportunity to process her thoughts.

  Besides, he didn’t have any words of comfort.

  He was willing to give her the next hour or two to go through her father’s letters. After that, they were driving straight to the Caddo sheriff’s office.

  ARES Security might have better resources than the local law department, but they didn’t have the ability to make arrests. He wanted Vicky Fontaine too worried about being tossed into a jail cell to try and hurt Mia.

  The road to the small cabin had turned into a muddy mess, and by the time they parked in the front yard, which was now a bog, Lucas was relieved the SUV had four-wheel drive.

  Lucas felt a tiny chill inch down his spine as he studied the house, which was surrounded by shabby outbuildings and piles of weed-covered junk. It was a depressing sight under the best of circumstances. In the gathering gloom, it was downright scary.

  Like something from a horror flick.

  All they needed was a man in a hockey mask wielding a machete.

  “Wait until I do a sweep,” he murmured, pulling out his gun as he pushed open the door of the SUV and climbed out.

  Not waiting for Mia’s protest, he headed directly toward the house, peeking in the windows to ensure there was no one inside before he headed toward the sheds. Finding nothing, he did a quick circle of the mounds of abandoned cars and junk before returning to the SUV and opening Mia’s door.

  “Which shed?” he asked when she slid out of her seat to stand beside him.

  He wanted to look through the letters and leave. The place was giving him the creeps.

  “Follow me,” she said, heading directly toward the far shed, nearly hidden beneath the Spanish moss that draped from a nearby tree.

  “Careful,” he murmured as she grabbed the rusty doorknob to pull open the door.

  She sent him a startled glance. “I thought you already searched.”

  He grimaced, holstering his gun as he pulled out his phone and hit the flashlight app.

  “For bad guys, not snakes,” he said, allowing the light to fill the dark space.

  As Mia had warned, the shed was virtually empty except for the small table and chair, both of which were covered in layers of dust. There were no windows, but there was a stray shaft of gray light that filtered in from a hole in the sagging roof.

  On one wall was a shelf with old canisters, and in a corner was a pile of empty whiskey bottles.

  It didn’t look as if anyone had been inside for years, but he still continued to swing his phone from side to side, allowing the light to dance over the floor before moving up to the open rafters.

  Only when he was certain there weren’t any creepy crawlies about to leap out of the shadows did he allow Mia to step inside.

  She flashed him a wry smile. “Such a hero.”

  He followed behind her, setting the phone on the table to allow the light to spread through the small space before he turned toward his companion.

  Reaching up, he framed her face in his hands. “I need to protect you.”

  She stilled beneath his gentle touch, her expression instantly wary.

  “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

  “Too long.” The familiar pang of regret sliced through his heart. If he’d taken Mia with him when he’d left Shreveport, she might not be in danger now. “I want it to be my turn.”

  She licked her lips, reminding him of just how good that sweet mouth felt as it’d skimmed down his naked body.

  A delicious tingle warmed his blood.

  “Lucas, now isn’t the time,” she protested.

  He bent down until they were nose to nose. He knew this woman better than anyone else.

  Which meant he was well aware that she was already considering just how the news of her father’s potential involvement might impact her future.

  And the future of others.

  “I want to say this now,” he insisted, savoring the warm scent of her skin. “It doesn’t matter what we find or don’t find in this shed. I don’t care if your father was involved in Paul Fontaine’s death.”

  She trembled beneath his touch. “You should. Your family—”

  “I don’t give a shit about the people who gave birth to me,” he interrupted, brushing his mouth over her parted lips as she gave a small gasp at his blunt words. “I know that’s harsh, but they’re toxic, and until they change, I can’t have them in my life.”

  Her expression eased with sympathy. At one time she might have believed the image of the perfect family that his parents had loved to portray, but she’d witnessed firsthand the emptiness behind the facade.

  “I get that,” she murmured.

  “The only people who matter are my brothers at ARES,” he said, pressing another light kiss against her lips. “And you.”

  She pulled back, her features tight with strain. “Being seen with the daughter of a potential murderer isn’t going to help your business,” she pointed out in grim tones. “How could your customers ever trust you?”

  His lips twisted, wondering who Mia assumed came to ARES Security for help.

  Parents of missing children? Women with cheating spouses?

  The usual customers couldn’t afford the fee just to get through the front door.

  “The sort of clients who seek out our services don’t give a crap about our private lives,” he assured her in low tones. “They need the best and that’s what we are.”

  “And your friends?” she stubbornly demanded.

  “They would lay down their lives for the woman I love,” he assured her without hesitation.

  A hint of vulnerability softened her eyes before she was once again seeking a way to put barriers between them.

  “Even if we did . . .” She briefly faltered, as if struggling with the mere thought they could put aside the past and become more than enemies. “Start a relationship,” she at last said. “Have you considered the fact that we live hours away from each other?”

  His lips twitched. Did she have to sound like she was being tortured when she said the word “relationship”?

  “I’m aware we have hurdles in our path,” he conceded. “And I think we can work past them.”

  “Hmm.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you assuming that I’ll drop everything and move to Houston?”

  Lucas bit back his curse, silently reminding himself that Mia was being deliberately provoking.

  It was her go-to option. How else could she push him away?

  “I’m assuming we’ll negotiate a compromise that will make both of us happy,” he said, proud of his mild tone. “That’s what grown-ups do.”

  She frowned, realizing that he’d stolen her thunder.

  After all, he wasn’t demanding that she walk away from her life, or sacrifice everything to be a couple.

  All he was asking was a chance to see where this might lead.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged.

  His fingers threaded through her hair, his gaze skimming over her pale face. “Just answer one question.”

  “What?”

  “Do you love me?”

  She flinched at his unexpected words. “I—”

  “Tell the truth, Mia,” he commanded.

  There was a slight pause before she heaved a small sigh. “Yes, I love you.”

  Joy seared through him as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

  “That’s all that matters.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The thickening darkness outside the shed finally had Lucas lifting his head and stepping back. Dusk was swiftly creeping in. He didn’t want to be there once night had fallen.

  “Okay, let’s get this done,” he murmured, gingerly stepping onto the chair.

  “Be careful,” Mia muttered as the chair wobbled beneath his weight.

  Well aware the chair might split in two at any moment, Lucas reached through the open rafters. He could see a dark form that he was
hoping was the case that held the letters.

  “I think I have it,” he said, coughing as a cloud of dust and cobwebs landed directly in his face. “Stand back,” he warned Mia. “The rafters are rotted and there’s no telling what will come down when I pull the case out.” Waiting until he heard Mia stepping back, he ran his hand over the smooth object until he found a handle. Wrapping his fingers around it, he gave a hard yank. The case slid through the rafters at the same time as a portion of the roof tumbled down, hitting him on the head. “Damn.”

  Jumping off the chair, he rubbed the bump even as Mia scurried forward to brush the dust from his face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he murmured, relieved when he pulled his hand down to discover there was no blood. He might have a concussion, but he wasn’t going to bleed to death. He was taking that as a win. “I have a hard head.”

  “Amen,” Mia muttered, moving back as he placed the case on the table.

  Lucas ignored her taunting, instead concentrating on the object he’d just pulled from the rafters.

  It was made of metal and the size of a large briefcase. The sort of case that people bought to protect important documents.

  Sliding the two levers on the front, he frowned when nothing happened.

  “It’s locked.”

  Standing at his side, Mia pointed toward the tiny combination lock.

  “Try two-four-eight-four,” she said.

  Leaning forward, Lucas used his thumbnail to turn each tumbler to the numbers Mia suggested, then, pressing the levers, he heard a click as the top sprang open.

  Straightening, he sent Mia a questioning gaze. “How did you figure it out?”

  She shrugged. “It’s my parents’ anniversary.”

  Of course. Lucas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He admired George’s devotion to his dead wife, but if he’d truly cared about her, he wouldn’t have allowed his grief to lead him to the bottle. Instead he would have poured his heart and soul into making sure his young daughter was given a safe, stable home that was filled with love.

  That’s what her mother would have wanted.

  Keeping his thoughts to himself, Lucas tugged open the lid of the case and pulled out a thick stack of papers.