"Case? Now what are you going on about, darling? How did we go from my--admittedly stupid--screwup to murder?" There was that reasonable voice again.
How much had he been gaslighting me in the past? "I heard you two, cabron. No one's celebrating my murder in Aspen this year."
Julia was unraveling. "I told you this one was trouble!"
I sneered to her, "With a capital fucking T, Julia." Back to Edward. "How did you kill my mother? And what's in the case?" I cocked the pistol, movie-style, and aimed it at his groin. "Try lying to me again."
He narrowed his eyes. "You won't shoot me. If you do, all your money--now my money--will go to my heir. You signed over everything to me a year ago."
"Then you're right. It doesn't make sense to shoot you." I turned the gun to Julia. "I should shoot her. She'd be your heir, no?"
"Ana-Lucia!" His breath left him, his voice scaling higher as he said, "Don't hurt her. Please."
The most shocking revelation of the night? This monster truly loved her.
"Don't make me hurt her! Answer my questions."
Staring down a gun barrel, Julia said, "I will answer them for you. We can talk about this. In the case, there's a syringe. It was the last injection given to your mother. She was dying anyway, but we hastened it."
My lips parted. Julia had confirmed murder.
She continued, "We targeted you for the land. Charles--Edward--knows how to break the trust."
Shock muffled my thoughts, but I needed to stay sharp. What incentive did Julia have to admit these things? I gazed at them through watering eyes. The two were farther apart from each other. While she stalled, he'd been sneaking closer to his dresser!
He must have a gun in there. "Stop where you are, Edward." Keeping the pistol trained on them, I sidled toward the dresser. "You got a gun? I'll be taking it, as well as the key to that safety-deposit box."
I pulled open the top drawer, taking my gaze off them for a split second--
Lightning blazed; he threw a lamp at me. Everything happened so fast.
I deflected with my arm. The old pistol went off. BOOM!
A dark spray arced across the room toward me, splattering my face and chest. Blood? From Julia's throat??
Her hands clamped her neck to stem the spray, but it kept welling up in spurts. Her body collapsed.
Edward dropped to his knees beside her, frantically clutching the wound, as if trying to put the blood back in. Coated in crimson, he yelled over his shoulder, "What have you done?" Dimly I realized his accent had changed again. "You bitch! What have you DONE?"
Julia made ugly, wet sounds. Until she . . . didn't.
Dead.
I just killed someone. I just killed someone. Six hours ago, I'd been hoping it would stop raining so the race wouldn't get canceled. I am covered in someone else's blood. It dripped from my jawline and fingertips, from the gun. I had to swipe my sleeve over my eyes.
He howled with grief, rocking her head in his lap, sobbing. "She was everything to me! She was my LIFE! You KILLED her!"
Edward had already been prepared to take me down for one crime. Now he would see to it that I fried for two murders.
I backed away from the gruesome scene. As I ran from the room, he bellowed, "Prison's too good for you!"
I stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs. Still clutching the pistol, I bolted to my Mercedes. I laid the gun on the floorboard like it was a live bomb.
As I reversed past Julia's Jaguar, my headlights caught Edward's face. A nightmare. His crazed green eyes were stark against his own mask of blood. Trickles of it ran in the rain.
He raised a gun! Shit! I couldn't back down the winding drive. Three-point turn. Shit, shit!
He shot at me! Missed. My scream was loud in the confines of the car. He bellowed, "I will BUTCHER you! I will cut you into pieces while you live!" He aimed again, missed.
Forward, forward! My tires spit up the pea gravel, spinning in place. Before I could speed off, I heard him yelling, "Go to the police, and you go to jail! COMING FOR YOU, WIFE--"
Lightning forked out over the ocean; I blinked repeatedly.
I wasn't back there. My sweating palms weren't white-knuckling a steering wheel. I was safe up here in this tower, with a powerful lover and bodyguards. In time, I caught my breath, and my pulse leveled out.
When Edward had vowed to butcher me, I'd seen the madness in his eyes. I'd seen my future if he ever got to me.
That night, once I'd calmed down enough to think, I'd weighed scenarios. Best case: He turned me over to the cops to fry for two murders. Worst case: He made good on his vow.
The only path open to me? Living to fight another day. So I'd disappeared.
Vanishing from the grid was easy--all you had to do was cast aside any possession you ever valued, expect nothing to replace it, shed your identity, and sacrifice any connection you'd ever made.
By the time I'd gotten to Texas, I'd started to wonder if I should fight for my life back. Though I'd always considered myself brave, I was letting my mother's murderer live in her goddamned house?
I should at least know what my options were. So I'd pawned my watch and my simple gold wedding ring to get a decent lawyer. The lady had been perplexed by my story. There was no warrant out for my arrest. No missing persons report on me. No death of a woman named Julia. Edward had covered it all up.
He truly was coming for me.
My prospects had been grim. To try to reclaim my inheritance, the attorney required a fat retainer. To divorce Edward, I'd be forced to create links. I wouldn't be hidden from him--the well-respected closet serial killer who was bent on revenge.
Plus, there was the safety-deposit box. He couldn't access it without me; I couldn't without my ID and the key. I imagined it as a land mine we both circled.
My risk/reward analysis said: You're fucked. You'd better come up with some rules to try to stay alive. Good luck with that.
I shook my head hard to dislodge the memory of that night, just for a little while. Just until the next storm.
It happened. It hurt. Better things awaited me. One day. Hey, maybe I'd outlive Edward.
I took a deep breath, then returned inside, grabbing my phone out of my cash-filled purse. After unlocking the code, I checked my messages. Ivanna never texted--her long red nails made it impossible--but she had left a voice mail: "Call me! I'm dying!"
Anthony had left several: "Hi, Cat, it's Uncle Anthony! Welcome to the agency, sweetie. Call me about tonight." "Phone Uncle Anthony, girl." "Still waiting on a call. . . ."
I'd have to deal with that later.
There was also a threatening message from Mrs. Abernathy. "Cat, you need to confirm for cleaning on the thirty-first. I'm having a party, and I'll need you. None of this nonsense about quitting, or I will make that call."
INS. Besame el culo, puta. Kiss my ass, bitch.
When I passed the coffee table in the sitting area, I frowned at the sight of Sevastyan's briefcase. Hadn't he and I sat on that couch, looking at papers, sometime late last night? My eyes went wide. He'd shown me test results that said he was all clean. My own all-clean results had been right beside his. Fucking e-mailed to him.
Ivanna had insisted I go to the "agency physician" for my exam. I'd thought it was cheaper or something. But why should I expect privacy when I was a paid-for thing? I'd never felt more commoditized.
Sevastyan had said, "This is what I wanted to discuss with you. I want us to be able to do anything to each other, whenever we want, with no barriers between us. I'm dying to taste you. Will you let me?"
"I don't know," I'd said, drunk and annoyed. "I'll need to think about this." But my annoyance had disappeared when I'd realized I could give him head without a condom--and utilize all the tricks I'd picked up in high school or read about or learned from Ivanna.
BBBJNQNS? Gracias, yes.
Now my face flushed. I think I'd told him, "I really want to taste you too. If there was ever a cock that deserves to be tongue-wors
hipped . . ." Then he'd pulled me in for a kiss, and my thoughts had gone on hiatus.
I tried to recall more, but all I managed was the start of a headache. So I used a guest bathroom to wash off, brushing my teeth with a complimentary toothbrush. I was tempted to sneak away and not deal with the aftermath of last night. But when I crept back to his bedroom, I found Maxim had turned on his side, arm outstretched--as if reaching for me.
I crawled back under the covers with him. In sleep, he wrapped an arm under me, covering both of my breasts as he pulled me close. When he held me like this, my will dissolved, my worries, my blood-coated memories. . . .
Sometime later, I woke again to his husky words in my ear: "I now understand the appeal of waking to a lover." With a long exhalation, he slid inside me.
CHAPTER 13
"I slept for five hours?" After sex, he'd risen, frowning at the clock. "This is a record. I feel like a new man."
"You look ten years younger," I told him as I stretched. "Now I'd put you at mid-twenties."
"I just turned thirty-one."
"Yes, but you looked thirty-five before."
He raised a brow. "You won't ask why I don't sleep? I've had insomnia for decades."
I sighed. "Why wouldn't you? You're in a high-pressure job--which might be dangerous--and you're running a billion-dollar empire."
He chucked me under the chin. "I don't know if I'll quite be a billionaire today, querida." When he strode to his closet, the lines across his back saddened me anew. He returned wearing broken-in jeans, with an undershirt for me. "Here. Arms up."
I hopped from the bed, raising them, and he pulled the shirt over me. It swallowed my body.
He grinned down at me. "Almost as fetching as you were in that dress."
"The smirky attendant downstairs ought to have a field day with my appearance now. Fuck knots in my hair and a T-shirt hem under my coat."
"You're not leaving."
"Pardon?"
"I've decided to book you until the twenty-eighth."
Stay here with him for ten days? A vacation in paradise with a sex god?
No, no, no! I'd be breaking rules one, three, four, and even six to a degree. "Oh. That's a lot to decide." Besides the fact that I was leaving town on the twenty-second, I feared growing used to hooded blue eyes and mind-blowing sex.
While he was enjoying a regular piece of ass, my infatuation would be spiraling out of control. Afterward, the hobbyist would wash his hands of me, and I would be devastated. "Can't we take it one night at a time?"
"Nyet. I want to know that your luscious little body is mine alone." He dragged me over to sit across his lap, more aggressive than he'd been last night, even more proprietary. "I expect a heated negotiation--I welcome it--but this will happen, Katya."
"I had some things planned over the next week."
"Like what? Tell me, and I can be reasonable."
Disappearing. I shrugged.
His eyes darkened. "You still won't reveal a thing?" Yet then he seemed to make an effort to keep things light. "What are you--a wanted fugitive?"
"Ha. That sounds exciting."
"Then what is it?"
"You realize Christmas is coming up?" Wouldn't he have somebody else to celebrate with? His brothers?
Comprehension lit his face. "You already have plans with another. Of course you would." He sounded casual, but his expression tightened.
I had no idea what my holiday would be like. I'd be fresh off the bus. Starting over. Knowing no one.
The thought exhausted me. Maybe I could remain here till the twenty-second, earning more of a safety net? With that money, I could hit the ground running in California.
But to stay with Maxim, I'd need to go home and get some things--without him learning where I lived. Tomorrow night, I'd have to figure out a way to sneak to class.
Unless I skipped. No penance?
He set me away, then stood. "Is a regular client taking you skiing? Or maybe a partner is bringing you home to meet his family?" There was no mistaking his jealousy now.
"I don't have either," I said. "I'll come back tonight, and then we'll work out a schedule, okay?"
"What do you have to do that's so important? Another date you don't want to break? You intend to go from my bed to another's, then back to me? Unacceptable."
"That's not it."
"Then tell me."
"I have a private life, Maxim. Even if I don't book dates--or have a boyfriend--I still have things to do. You just assume I have no life outside of this."
"How much money will it take for you not to?"
I glared. En serio? "This can't be taken from my life." I was almost tempted to tell him about school, but I held off.
For one thing, I didn't know this guy. Not really. And I'd paid dearly for my lesson never to trust another man. If I broke that rule, then I would've paid in vain. Not to mention rule number two; if there was ever a place that linked things in my life, it was my community college.
"Tell me what's so important--or cancel it."
Cancel? Maybe I could skip that one measly review period on Friday. It wasn't even a regular class. As for the exam, I could call Ms. Gillespie and try to reschedule it for after Maxim left. She might let me.
Risk/reward. Risk: my interest in him deepening too much. Vasili snooping around. Reward: money. Again, great sex. After last night, that particular reward was even more pressing.
I didn't like extending my time in a place where Edward might be, but figured I would be safe here with Maxim. "I have to make a call, then." I crossed to the dresser and grabbed my phone, unlocking it.
"Smart girl."
"In private." When he didn't budge, I said, "You've won this round. You're getting your way. Please leave."
"I'll go. But only because I need to speak with Vasili."
Once he left, I rang my instructor. "Hi, Ms. Gillespie, I'm so sorry to bother you, but is there any way I could reschedule Monday?"
"I suppose you won't be there for the review period either?" In a stern tone, she said, "I will make a single exception for you, Cat." The only time she had available was the afternoon of the thirty-first at two.
I'd be in Miami much longer than I'd anticipated. Maxim would be gone. Still, I agreed. On New Year's Eve, I'd leave town to the sound of fireworks.
As I disconnected the call, I disbelieved I was postponing the holy grail. I'd have to hit the Russian up for so much dinero, it'd be worth it.
I walked out of the bedroom, saying, "Okay, we're all settled. Heated negotiation to commence . . ."
He was in the middle of an angry exchange with Vasili. They both turned to me, accusation in their eyes.
"What?" Alarm trickled through me, and I had the impulse to bolt.
Maxim strode toward me. "Are you on birth control?"
I bit my lip. "Why would you ask that?" Was that information in the records they'd e-mailed?
"You have to be on something."
"I'm going to be." The doc had told me to wait until after my next period to start, and that wasn't for a couple of weeks. How long would the pill take to work? "I have a prescription. It's not a problem."
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. "Are you telling me you only work three weeks a month?"
What did that have to do with birth control? "Again, it's not a problem." Though this should have been a private conversation, Vasili looked on stonily.
"You think to entrap me?"
"Entrap? What are you talking about?"
"You told me to come in you!" He was all but yelling.
I had? My gaze darted. "And you . . . did?"
The arctic blast was back. "Half a dozen times. As if you don't remember!"
My lungs contracted. He might have knocked me up! Prenada? Pregnant? "I-I don't remember that!" I remembered pleasure and closeness. But we'd been in the pool so long, and then things had really gotten foggy. "I wouldn't have told you that!"
"If you think to trap me with a child, you
could not be more mistaken."
The fucking nerve! "Now it's a problem. I don't want a kid, much less your kid."
"Then tell me this isn't a good time for you to conceive. When was your last period?"
I swallowed, my mouth gone dry. Por Dios, I was about to ovulate. Or I already was.
Sevastyan read my expression. "Blyad !"
Vasili said something in Russian, but I repeatedly heard a word that sounded like prostitutka.
I considered this situation from their point of view. A hooker, who was ovulating and not on birth control, had gotten Europe's most eligible bachelor billionaire to come in her.
Six times.
Sevastyan grated a reply to the man in Russian, and Vasili hastened out of the room.
To me he said, "Other women have plotted the same scheme! Congratulations, you've come the closest to success." Despite the early hour, he strode to the bar and poured a vodka.
"I understand how bad this looks, but we can fix this." My eyes widened. "A morning-after pill! I can take one!"
He wasn't listening to me, beginning to pace. "The first time in my life I relax my guard enough to fuck without a condom, and you pull this move."
I was being accused of trying to cheat someone out of money. Me! I covered my mouth with the back of my hand to contain hysterical laughter.
He kept pacing. "A play on a Russian mobster? What were you thinking?"
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling, "I don't do the swindling--I get swindled!" How much longer could I muzzle my runaway mouth? One day, I was going to blow, like a seething boiler.
The thought horrified me; I mentally renewed my allegiance to rule number one.
"I thought you were smarter than this," he said. "But then, you are greedy."
A greedy prostitute. That's how he saw me. I was so out of here. I'd go get my own pill, putting this all behind me.
When I strode toward the door, he blocked me. "You think I'm letting you leave? When you could even now be pregnant with my child?"
"I'm going to get a morning-after pill."
"And I'll just take your word for that?" Clamping my arm, he forced me back into the bedroom. "We're going to fix this, then see about teaching you a lesson." He snatched my phone from me.
"Give that back! What the hell are you doing?"
"A doctor is coming this morning."
"To do what?"
Sevastyan just gave me a menacing smile, then locked the door.