Soon after she was gone Callie saw the splash of West’s headlights across the front of the house and she punched in the code to release the alarm, opened the back door, and stepped into a cool, starless evening. West shut his driver’s door, spied Callie, and strode her way quickly.
Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and kissed her. Then he buried his face in her hair and said, “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Back at cha,” she said lightly, inhaling his male scent, which she was beginning to crave like a drug. “How’s Victoria?”
“Hanging in there . . . just. I talked to her doctor and he didn’t want to say too much. Her lawyer showed up too. He was in shock and felt responsible since it happened at his offices. He gave me his card.”
“You think she’s going to be okay?”
“God, I hope so.” He half-laughed. “Didn’t know I cared so much about her until this happened.”
He ran his lips over her face and to her mouth again, and she kissed him desperately. They were like teenagers in their secret, all-consuming need to touch, caress, and rediscover each other. She was pressed hard against the side of the building and his body lay urgently against hers but it wasn’t enough. Realizing how much she wanted him felt so absurd that she started soundlessly laughing.
“What?” he asked, his mouth against the skin of her neck.
“I almost want to make love to you out here.”
“I’m game.”
“But what if someone comes back, like Cal, or Teddy, or even your cousin?”
She hadn’t meant to curl her lip on “your cousin,” but she did and West reluctantly pulled himself back from her, peering at her through the darkness. “What cousin?”
“A guy who claims to be Andre Laughlin came by today. Teddy said his dad told him that he met with Victoria earlier, then he came back again when Teddy and I were having dinner. It was Talia who actually got him to leave.”
“There is no Andre Laughlin,” West said.
“Sorry. He goes by Andre now, but his real name is Andrew. He says he’s Ben Jr.’s son.”
“Bullshit.”
“Maybe not. Talia said he looked just like his father. I don’t know.”
“And who the hell’s Teddy?” West demanded. “Not Cal’s son, Ted.”
“Yeah, Teddy Stutz. You haven’t met him?”
“No. What was he doing here? Victoria said Cal and Ted were on the outs because Ted gambles money away as fast as he makes it.”
“Huh. Well, he’s here now.”
He shook his head, kissed her once more, then reluctantly pulled away from her. “Okay, we’ll go in.”
“Maybe we can be together upstairs?” she suggested.
“No maybe about it,” he responded as they headed back inside. As Callie reset the alarm, he asked, “What about this Andre?”
“I don’t really know. He’s . . . well, you’ll probably meet him. Talia was talking to him about the Laughlin inheritance and when he heard her intimate that Tucker, as Victoria’s great-grandson, would probably inherit, he stared at her in a way that gave me the willies.”
“You think he wants a piece of the inheritance.”
“That’s what it looked like to me, and believe me, I know about people who think they deserve something they think you’re keeping them from.”
West didn’t really want to talk any longer. He was tired and he just wanted to hold Callie, make love to her, and let it all go for a while. But this Andre sounded like a scammer. “Seems coincidental that he showed up today and then someone runs Victoria down.”
“You think there’s a connection?”
“What time was he here?”
“He showed up about an hour after Victoria left. He was here a while, but maybe he could have made it back to Castilla before she was out of that meeting. Depends on how long it ran.”
“You really think he did this?” West asked soberly.
Callie hesitated. “I didn’t like him. I don’t know. Somebody ran her down.”
“Did you see what kind of car he drove?”
“I got a glimpse when Teddy let him in, but I wasn’t really looking. A black SUV of some kind, maybe?”
“That’s not the vehicle that ran into Maya and Victoria. Maya said it was a brown sedan.”
“Maya said?”
“I talked to her before her daughter picked her up.”
“Oh,” Callie said, derailed a little.
West stretched and ran his hands through his hair, stifling a yawn. “What about this Teddy? Why’d he show Andre in?”
“He seemed very familiar with things around here,” Callie admitted. “And I didn’t know how to stop him.”
He half-smiled and gathered her close again. “This has all been pretty weird for you. For all of us, but especially you.” He inhaled the soft spring scent of her hair and added, “Teddy was one of the guys on the hunting trip when Mikkels accidentally killed Stephen.”
“Huh. He doesn’t seem the type that would go hunting.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s just kind of loose and breezy. Like a salesman, maybe. Trying to charm people. Talking a little too much.”
“And Andre? What’s he like?”
“Intense . . . can’t see the humor in stuff . . . prickly. He’s definitely got a hidden agenda, and I’m betting it’s your family’s money.”
He released her to meet her eyes. “You got quite a bit for only one meeting.”
She nodded several times. “I fell for my husband because I didn’t trust my first impression, even though I knew he wasn’t really the way he came off. He was like Teddy, hard to pin down to the truth. If I sound like a shrink, it’s because I’ve been on the other side of that.”
“Yeah?”
“You might as well know, I was a basket case after Sean’s death. Couldn’t remember anything, couldn’t do anything, so at one point I checked myself into a mental facility and I stayed for . . . thirty days.”
He felt her brace herself for his response and understood how sensitive she felt about it. All he asked was, “Did it help?”
“Saved my life,” she said promptly.
“Then it was worth it.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was small.
Hooking his arm through hers, he led them both through the house to the stairway that led upstairs to the west wing that held the bedrooms.
“Sometimes I still get the creeping fog when things are really bad,” Callie admitted, “but less and less.”
“Creeping fog?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime.” They’d stopped at the base of the stairs, and she said, “Tucker’s room’s up to the right. I’m on the left, and then Talia’s in the next room. . . .”
“There are more bedrooms though, right?”
“One more. Just past Talia’s.”
“Think I could talk you into joining me for a while?”
“You couldn’t talk me out of it.”
“Good.”
They reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall toward the room on the end. “I got stuff in the Explorer but I’m gonna get it tomorrow,” West said. “Never thought I’d be spending a night in this house.” She felt him slide a hand around her waist, beneath the hem of her shirt, caressing her skin. “I warn you. I’m going to pass out like the dead.”
“Maybe I should let you sleep, then . . . ?”
“Like hell,” he muttered, kissing her hard as they moved into his bedroom together.
Jerrilyn Stiles cooed in Aaron Mittenberger’s ear as he struggled to climax beneath her. She was straddling him, but she was going to have to work on him some more, which made her want to sigh. Though she was good at getting the job done, sometimes sex was just one big bore. Not when people were watching . . . there was nothing more satisfying than seeing those stupid cows, the handmaidens, try to hide their horror when Andre decided to take her in front of them. Yep, that was fun. Got her juices flowing. Especially when that prig Clarice and angry-girl Daniella were forced to watch. Jerrilyn had really whooped it up a time or two when they were her audience. Ha! She’d even made stone-faced Naomi uncomfortable a time or two, she could tell.
But Andre himself . . . holy God, what a crazy man. Not a bad lover, all things considered. He could certainly perform when his blood was high. If she thought he was really in control of himself, she might have stuck around, but the truth was the guy was sick. Like brain-sick. Something truly off there, and she’d heard Naomi on the telephone to a doctor or nurse, or somebody who knew something about health, and there was talk of a tumor. Naomi hadn’t apparently broken the news to Andre ’cause he seemed to think he was fine.
Anyway, it was time for her to leave. She’d picked Andre up in Vegas with the original thought of hanging with him a while and seeing what came out of it. The handmaidens had been a surprise, but Jerrilyn had seen she could be the queen bee of those drones with no effort whatsoever. But, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Andre was worsening with the whole “Messiah” gig, which was really old, and let’s face it, he just wasn’t right.
“C’mon, baby,” she whispered, licking the side of Mittenberger’s face. He wasn’t bad-looking for a guy in his fifties, and he was wealthy as sin. No, he wasn’t going to leave his wife, but then they hardly ever did, did they? And honestly, what was she going to do with him anyway? Marry the douche bag? C’mon.
Naomi had told Andre that it was over between Jerrilyn and Mittenberger, just like Jerrilyn had planned. Jerrilyn had purposely given this bit of news to Naomi with a shrug and a sigh, like it was sad, but, oh well. Naomi, of course, had hoped Andre would come down on her hard. Jerrilyn had kinda hoped for it herself. Maybe he’d want a little rough sex in front of their shocked faces, but no, he already had his plans in motion, whatever the hell they were. Jerrilyn didn’t give a damn. She was done. Outta there. Ready for the next adventure.
It took ten minutes more of coaxing and cooing and rubbing and damn near making her want to scream before he managed to hold an erection long enough to climax.
“Oh, baby,” he exhaled, flopping on his back as she slipped away into the bathroom where she’d left her clothes when she’d donned the hotel bathrobe. Now, she freshened up and shimmied back into her short black dress. Her Christian Louboutins were neatly placed by the tub, their red soles gleaming. Man, she loved those shoes. Expensive, but worth it. She’d seen Clarice eyeing them with envy and had thought the little whore might actually steal them, but Jerrilyn had made sure she couldn’t by locking them inside a small suitcase when she wasn’t wearing them.
Slipping into the heels, she examined her reflection in the mirror. Her shoulder-length hair was dark brown, glossy, and somewhat wild now after her calisthenics in the sack. Her lipstick was scarlet and wet-looking. Beautiful. If she had a complaint about her appearance it was her eyes. A little on the small side. A little calculating, she’d been told more than once, but whatcha gonna do. The right makeup made them pop and sparkle a violent green color, and right now they were popping, all right.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she damn near ran smack into the slab of hairy flesh that was Mittenberger’s chest. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“What are you doing?” he asked back at her. “Leaving?”
“Lover, you told me you had to go home. I got places to be too.”
His mouth turned down. He absolutely hated to be reminded that he had no real hold on her. “I told her I had a dinner meeting that would last late.”
“It is late,” Jerrilyn pointed out.
“What about this weekend?”
“That’s still on. Don’t worry.” She air-kissed him on the cheek. Didn’t want to mess up the lipstick. “I’ll call you.”
“Where are you going?”
This was the question he always asked. Normally, she sidestepped it. Didn’t want to give away the nest she shared with Andre and the handmaidens. But now, since she had no intention of going back, she said, “I’ve got a new place in Venice.”
“Where?”
She wagged her finger at him, then blew him a last kiss and stepped out into the hallway. She took the elevator to the lobby. The Peninsula Hotel was expensive and a haven for Hollywood stars. Sometimes, when she crossed the lobby, she got a double take, people wondering if she was “somebody.” She had that look about her, she knew.
Tonight she cruised out the door and under the portico. She shivered a little as she asked the bellman for a taxi. Cold in LA tonight. She wished she had a fur. Wouldn’t that be something. Draped over her shoulder.
Someone bumped into her from behind and she felt a sharp prick. “Hey.” She turned around, but there was no one there. A blond woman was hurrying away from the hotel, but she had lifted her arm as if hailing someone or something. Wait a minute. She was hailing
her
cab, damn it. “Hey!” she called.
The blonde looked over. Must be a wig, she thought, thinking the blond bob looked kind of fake. She took two steps toward the woman and felt light-headed. Holy shit, what was wrong?
The blonde hurried back to her. “You okay? Sorry, I didn’t realize that was your cab. . . .”
Jerrilyn thought,
Wait a minute. I know you. This is a setup.
She tried to say, “What the hell?” but couldn’t get her thick tongue to utter the words.
The blonde was wiry tough and hustled Jerrilyn to the cab. She climbed in with her and said, “Too goddamned much to drink,” to the driver in a mock angry voice.
“Where to?” he asked.
“My car’s just a couple blocks,” she said in a voice that now sounded to Jerrilyn as if it were coming through water.
The cabbie dropped them off and the blonde stuck Jerrilyn’s arm over her shoulder, half-dragging her to the compact. Jerrilyn was tossed in the backseat like a rag doll.
She was unable to talk and may have actually passed out for a bit. Then she awakened and tried to talk, but she couldn’t form words.
When the car finally turned into a drive, she knew where she was. Andre’s house . . . she was back at Andre’s house!
So, this was Andre’s idea. He wasn’t going to let her go. Just like Teresa, he’d sent the handmaidens to do his bidding . . . and he meant to kill her!
She struggled to rise but was unable. The blonde opened the back door and hauled her out. Jerrilyn’s head hit the concrete drive with a crack and she saw stars.
As she was dragged inside, she prayed one of the neighbors would notice, but the street was completely dark and quiet, as ever. A bomb could go off and the neighbors would just quiver behind their walls.