“How about wine?” he said to Rory.
“I’m good.” Again she shook her head. “No, thanks.”
Liam took a swallow of the whiskey, tasted the smoky flavor and gazed at the pool, now calm and dark. Though small lamps hidden within the shrubbery gave off warm illumination and the lights of the city twinkled in the distance, the water of the pool was nearly black.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“About DeGrere? I’ve always thought he was involved.”
“What about Dad being the target?” Derek asked.
“I don’t know. Could be, I suppose, but hell, I don’t know.” He saw something in his brother’s eyes. “You think DeGrere intended to shoot Dad?”
“I just thought . . .” A shrug. Derek took a sip of whiskey. “Who the hell knows?”
“No. Wait.” Something was going on here. “You still think Vivian’s behind it? That she would go to those extremes to inherit? She would hire someone to kill her own—our own—father?” Liam wasn’t buying it. “No way. She and Javier were fine five years ago. There were no money problems between them. And Dad’s still here, so if she really wants to take him out, she’s sure playing the long game.”
“Okay.” Derek glanced at the patio door, as if expecting Vivian to come barreling through. “Okay, fine. It’s just that she’s been acting weird lately.” He turned to Rory, who’d remained silent throughout their exchange and was taking it all in. “What do you think?”
“About?”
“Everything.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. The police seem to think it was DeGrere. Look, I’ve been over this a million times. I’m done.”
“Yeah, agreed. It’s been a long one.” Liam set his unfinished drink on the cart. “Come on,” he said to Rory, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Let’s get you out of here and into bed.”
“Subtle, bro.” Derek sniggered and tossed back his drink.
She shot her brother-in-law a glare that said silently Grow up, then turned to Liam. “I can’t leave. Not right now. Charlotte’s upstairs and I’ve got to make sure she’s had a decent meal and getting ready for bed.”
He hesitated, thought about going to tuck in his kid himself, and vowed that he would. Soon. Every night. “Just let Darlene know you’re coming with me. She’ll be okay with it. She likes me.”
Derek made a deprecating noise.
“I’ll see,” Rory said, but headed for the guest quarters. Liam watched her go and felt a little tingle of anticipation at the coming night.
“Man, you’ve got it bad,” Derek said, shaking his head.
“Yep.” That he did.
His brother sighed through his nose. “You might want to slow it down a bit. You know, be a little more careful.”
“That so?” Liam wasn’t interested in Derek’s older-brother advice. Or anyone’s, for that matter. He’d waited five years as it was.
“Yeah, it is. Look, I hate to be the one to burst your sexual bubble, here, but if you haven’t noticed, things started going bad, I mean real bad, just about the minute your wife decided to show up again.”
Liam couldn’t believe it. “What is it with you, man? First Vivian, now Rory?” Liam could feel the tight rein he’d had on his emotions over Derek’s wild accusations start to slip again.
“Get real, Liam,” he said, with sudden seriousness. The night seemed suddenly close. “Somebody’s playing us. All of us. We need to know who it is, and you getting in deep with Rory again isn’t helping things.”
Before Liam could respond, footsteps pounded through the kitchen and family area and Vivian flew onto the patio. “Jesus, they’re still there. I could barely get Candace out of here without her giving them an interview!”
“Who?” Liam asked.
“Pauline Kirby or whatever her name is.”
“Guess she didn’t take my hint,” Derek said, and picked up Liam’s unfinished drink.
“I guess not.” Viv was in a full-blown rage again. “And that Candace? She’s starstruck, that’s what she is! Loved the idea of being on TV, even though she doesn’t know a goddamn thing about us. Wouldn’t put it past her to make up something, the little bitch.”
“Ouch!” Derek said.
“Oh, bite me, Derek. I haven’t forgotten what you tried to do to me. Un-be-lieve-able.” Vivian looked as if she wanted to throttle her brother right then and there, but somehow pulled herself together. “I’m not done with this,” she warned, “but . . . damn, sometimes it sucks being an adult. Excuse me while I put my kids to bed.” She started to step inside again, then said, “You might want to make a note that I’m in the house, with the kids.” She threw Derek an icy look as she slipped back through the still open door, then added, “Just in case you need to know where I am and what I’m doing.”
“You see?” Derek said when Vivian was out of earshot.
“That she’s mad at you? Blindingly clear.”
“That she’s not herself. Crying, then mad, then cold as the Arctic. I’m telling you, something’s going on with her.”
Javier had said something along the same lines, but Liam wasn’t buying it. “She’s going through a possible divorce and you accused her of trying to kill our father. That tends to make a person a little testy.”
“I was just pointing out she needs money.”
“You were doing a helluva lot more than that . . . bro.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me,” Derek said, his face flushed with fury. “You know, why don’t you ignore what’s happening around here. Good idea. Just take your damned wife to your place and screw all night long. Live in your own reality, like Pete DeGrere. Things are falling apart, Liam. If you haven’t noticed, the sky is falling!”
Derek finished Liam’s drink in one swallow, slamming down the glass so that it fell off the drink cart and cracked as it hit the concrete. He strode across the patio and through the house.
“Derek,” Liam said, following him.
“Fuck off.” Derek strode out of the house and slammed the door behind him.
Liam watched through the sidelights as Derek, still visibly furious, half jogged to his car. A team of newshounds headed toward him, though Pauline Kirby had apparently given up the siege for the night as the van for Channel 7 was driving away from the estate. One of the remaining reporters recognized Derek and yelled a question at him. “No comment,” Derek clipped out. “Now get the hell off of my family’s property or we’ll call the police. Now!”
The reporter said something to a cameraman, then backed off as Derek slid behind the wheel of his car. The engine fired and with a squeal of tires, he backed around Darlene’s car, did a three-point turn. Then, to circumvent some of the other vehicles clogging the drive, he drove partially on the lawn and nearly clipped a fast escaping reporter on the way.
What was wrong with him? Liam wondered.
With all of them?
Every member of Liam’s family seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the visit from Mickelson and his partner coupled with the appearance of the reporters hadn’t helped. It was as if a fine piece of porcelain with a few old cracks that had been barely visible was now beginning to shatter.
All because Rory had returned.
Derek’s theory was a crock. Just another way to blame someone else for dysfunctions that had been festering in their family for years. But one thing Derek was right about—they had to figure out who had a vendetta against the Bastians. The wedding attack and now vandalism and murder at their properties . . . This had to stop.
He didn’t have long to contemplate it, though, because Rory returned a few minutes later. She’d taken the time to brush her hair and change her clothes and she was carrying the smallest of her bags. “You were right,” she admitted. “Mom said she’d stay with Charlotte, but I have to be back early in the morning. Early. I can’t just keep depending on Mom as a babysitter.”
“Okay. We’
ll take them both to breakfast. Deal?”
“Deal. If you’re up to it.”
“Oh, lady—be careful.”
She winked at him and he caught the glint in her eye, the sensual way she raised one eyebrow. Just like she had in the past, playing the part of the tease. He grabbed her then and kissed her hard, feeling her bones melt against him.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, breaking the embrace reluctantly. But they needed privacy. And fast. “When we go past the reporters, let me do the talking.”
“You got it.”
He opened the door, and taking her hand, they ran the gauntlet to his Tahoe.
* * *
Beth slowly woke up to a crick in her neck and a foul taste in her mouth. She looked around, blinking to focus. The glass she’d set on the deck beside her chair had tipped over but hadn’t broken. It was full-on dark now, the only illumination coming from the city lights below her and a weak light shimmering from inside her apartment, the under-counter kitchen lights, which she’d left on.
What time is it?
She found her phone, also on the deck. Thank God she hadn’t thrown it over the rail.
Almost one? She’d been out for hours.
And Liam hadn’t called back.
Bastard!
She was angry, then overwhelmingly sad. She choked back a sob, and standing, found she was a little unsteady as she headed inside. On the kitchen counter was the near-empty bottle of rosé she’d been drinking, the one that Liam had bought for her birthday during their last trip to Sonoma. The idiot. Wouldn’t go with her this time. Had to go chase after Rory and find her.
She poured the rest of the bottle into her glass and gulped it down all at once. She wanted to be drunk. To not care. To never think of Liam Bastian again. Ever.
She searched for another bottle in the wine refrigerator, her hand hovering over the most expensive bottle she owned. Over two hundred of Liam’s dollars. Well, yeah, sure. Might as well drink it tonight. She was cutting the foil when she heard a tap at her door. At this time of night?
Liam.
There’d been times when they’d fought and he’d come to her in the middle of the night. Okay, she’d begged him to come over, but he’d always shown up. Her heart soared as she hurried, almost stumbling to the door.
She peered through the peephole, but there was no one there. Had she imagined it?
“Liam?” she asked, standing on her side of the door, counting her heartbeats.
She felt faintly dizzy from the full glass of wine she’d chugged down. It’s not Liam. It’s your imagination. “Are you out there? Don’t tease me.”
Nothing.
“Did you listen to my voice mail?” she asked.
“Yes.”
It was Liam.
Carefully, she opened the door a crack, and then a little bit wider.
No one.
Where was he?
And then the door slammed into her face. Bam! Pain ricocheted through her brain. She stumbled backward, the world spinning, her legs too unsteady to break her fall. She landed on her butt with a sharp cry and tried like hell to see straight, but her vision was blurred. Dear God, was he wearing a mask?
Before she could gather her wits, he was on her. Kicking the door shut and tackling her, one gloved hand over her mouth as her head banged into the floor. No! Oh, God, no! She twisted and writhed against the carpet. Panic surged through her. Fear gripped her heart.
Who are you? she wanted to scream, but he had her completely pinned down, her mouth covered.
Her head throbbed.
No, no, no!
It’s a dream. A really bad dream.
But the pain in her face told her differently and when she saw him rear back, his fist curled, she wriggled with all her strength. Kicking, flailing, struggling to get free.
He wore a Spider-Man mask.
I’m kind of a Spider-Man fan myself . . .
Not Liam, but someone who knows him, she finally thought clearly. He pressed against her, pinning her against the floor, and she felt his erection. Hard. As if he was really getting off on this.
He’s going to rape you, Beth. Rape you and possibly kill you. Don’t let the mask fool you.
No, God, no!
From the corner of her eye she saw the fist slam down at her. Crack! Her cheek seemed to implode with the force. Red lights flashed in front of her eyes. She went suddenly limp and her eyes rolled up in her head.
The pain began to recede.
Darkness plucked at her consciousness.
Barely aware of being lifted from the floor, she embraced the numbness. She heard a low sound and realized it was her own voice, moaning. He was carrying her now and she should be worried, frantic, but she couldn’t get her body to move. Maybe he’d take her to the bedroom . . . or somewhere else?
Open your eyes, Beth. Somewhere deep in her brain she knew she should fight, but she just . . . couldn’t.
Vaguely she heard the sounds of the city, smelled fresh air, and she was outside as he hoisted her up . . . Dear God. She blinked at the rush of adrenaline and she saw the brick exterior of her apartment building, the darkened windows and—
He let go.
Noooo!
Suddenly she was falling into the Portland night.
* * *
She was shivering all over. All this time . . . all this time! And here they were. Back to square one, or maybe reversed even further, in the negatives.
She turned her face toward the warm night breeze and looked up at the sky. The moon was waning, working its way back to a thin smile before total darkness again. Had it only been a few days since she’d met him at that hotel? It felt like a lifetime or two ago.
Her cell phone was in her hand. She dialed his number. It rang and rang and then went to voice mail. She immediately called him back. She didn’t care where he was, what he was doing or whom he was with, he’d better damn well take her call this time.
On her fourth try he picked up. “Hello, you horny bitch,” he greeted her. She could hear the grin in his voice and imagined him leering like a jack-o’-lantern. “Come on over and let me take care of that itch for you.”
“They’re getting too close. Do you hear me? They’re getting too close.”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough! What are you doing? Trying to get caught? You’re not taking me with you!” She really hated him. The only part she liked was his cock. Sometimes that was all she thought about, his hard dick and what it could do for her. He knew her weakness and used it to his advantage. It killed her to admit it, but even now there was a part of herself that wanted to do exactly as he suggested, run over to his place and squiggle down on his cock, sliding it in and out until she was wet and soppy and climaxing in a wild scream.
But right now that would be suicide.
“We have to be extremely careful.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about Bethany Van Horne anymore.”
“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
“She took a little leap, like that other redheaded whore.”
“What? What?” She thought she might faint. Then, “Other? Bethany’s not a redhead.”
“She kinda got that way, didn’t she? Trying to impress Liam.”
Her hand was slick with sweat on her phone. Nerves. “Did you have sex with her?”
“No.”
“You’re lying. Again. Oh, God. You can’t leave redheads alone, and you’re going to get us caught!”
He laughed. “No worries. You keep reminding me that DeGrere didn’t know about you, so you’re safe.”
“I don’t trust you,” she snapped. “You’ll give me up in seconds flat. I know you will.”
“Oh, babe, I love you too much,” he said with a sneer.
“Fuck you.”
“Come on over and make that a reality.”
She wanted to. How she wanted to. She could feel every cell in her body turn toward the phone, lik
e a plant to the sun, pulled by an inexorable force. But she had to tamp down that desire. Squash it. She was in self-preservation mode now, and she couldn’t be derailed.
“It’s over. You understand? It’s over!”
“I told you, I didn’t touch her.”
“Lies. You sure touched Teri Mulvaney. And then you pushed her off the building so she would never be able to tell! And now Beth! The Van Hornes will throw all their money at this. You stupid, stupid man!”
“Mountains again.”
“What?” she practically screeched.
“You’re making mountains out of molehills.”
“You call what you did a molehill. You have to do something, or we’re both going to be found out. You left your DNA in her, didn’t you? They’re going to find you!”
“I leave it in you, too, sweetheart.”
“That doesn’t matter, unless you’re planning to kill me, too.”
“Now, there’s an idea,” he drawled.
His insouciance nearly drove her mad. Why did she put up with him? Why did she care?
“We need a plan,” she said, calming herself down with an effort. “We’ve been afraid something was going to happen, and now it has. Not the way we wanted, but people are putting answers together! You’re going to be found out. I can feel it. But I’m not going down with you. You need to do something!”
Finally it felt like he was listening to her. She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. He could be so charming, urbane, smart. But it felt like that persona was dying, buried under an avalanche of mediocrity.
If it wasn’t for his cock she would have bailed years earlier.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“How? Don’t you dare get caught! I won’t go down for this. I won’t.”
“You won’t,” he agreed, finally sounding full of the steel resolve that had drawn her to him in the first place. “I won’t, either. But I’ll make sure someone else does.” A smile entered his voice. “I’m licking the phone and thinking of you.” She could hear the scritch of his tongue on the cell. “My tongue is inside you and you’re hot and wet . . .”