8. Lucien
8
Lucien
The surging hostility in my voice is probably unnecessary but, like everything else in my life these days, it’s beyond my control. It’s already been a shit day despite my best efforts, and it’s not even ten in the morning. I finished my daily round of grueling exercise to manage my simmering dread (are they going to arrest me?) and growing sexual frustration about the Tamsyn situation. I whacked off in the shower so I wouldn’t swallow her whole the next time I saw her. Oh, and I fielded a quick call from the office wherein my assistant offloaded more bad news to get my day started right. There are more problems with the never-ending Vanderbilt project. Upsetting market fluctuations based on my perilous legal situation. Plus, the PR folks are shitting bricks over same and want to schedule a meeting with me.
It’s been wall-to-wall shit since my feet hit the floor at the crack o’ dawn after a sleepless night. And now I stumble onto this cozy little scene.
It’s the stuff of nightmares: Tamsyn and Roman with their heads together over a nice breakfast. Laughing. Possibly flirting, at least on Roman’s end. Talking about the horses that I’d planned to show Tamsyn before the world went sideways on us.
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
My mood isn’t helped by the way their shining faces close off at the sight of me, two happy campers whose day is ruined by the arrival of the asshole counselor everyone hates. I know it’s my fault with Tamsyn. I deserve it. The fact that she doesn’t spit in my face every time she sees me is a miracle in itself. I’m grateful for that much grace from her. But I don’t like being on the dark side of Tamsyn’s moon while Roman parks his ass in the light. I don’t like it at all.
“You’re just in time, Lucien.” Roman is all poorly concealed mischief, his shit eating grin barely contained. The two of us never quite learned how to not stick it to each other when we’re down. What can I say? Brotherly competition runs deep. And I’d do the same thing to him in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed. The fucker. “Tam wants to see the horses.”
I register this use of a nickname for her the way Koreans register any movement along their demilitarized zone. It isn’t an open act of war, but it’s tiptoeing awfully close to the line. “I can show Tamsyn anything she needs to see,” I tell him, my smile and tone as chilling as I can make them.
Bright surprise from Roman. “Really? Looks like you’re going to work. You’ve got your shirtsleeves on and all.”
My twitchy fingers ache to punch that fake bafflement off his face. It’s been a minute since Roman and I engaged in actual fisticuffs, so my vehemence surprises me. If I recall correctly, the last time was during my winter break from college, when I came home and discovered he’d been making liberal use of my bedroom — specifically my collection of EDM vinyl, custom shoes and gaming computer — in my absence. As I also recall, I roughed him up pretty good the time before that, when he scratched my car. I caught hell from Mom and Dad after, but it was entirely worth it. Maybe this asshole needs a reminder of what I can still do in terms of black eyes and bloody noses.
“Not to worry. I just have a conference call in a few minutes.” I stare him down, silently begging him to say one more fucking word. “So I’m available for horse introductions.”
Roman, to his credit, represses his responsive smirk and keeps his mouth shut, but Tamsyn swings into gear.
“No worries,” she says pleasantly, her flinty gaze hitting me hard. “I’ll keep myself busy. Maybe I can get Maddie to show me the horses when she has a break. So you can just ignore me. Pretend I’m not here.”
Ignore the thing in the world that matters most to me. Funny. Now she’s got jokes.
The two of us face off in a seething silence for a beat or two. Her open defiance kicks off a wave of teeth grinding and jaw flexing that I can’t quite stop. Everything about the situation with her is an open wound. The fact that it’s all my own doing only makes it worse. And the proximity with no touching makes me want to rip my skin off. Once upon a time, the electricity between us was hot and positive. Now it’s hostile and negative. Imagine my surprise to realize that it doesn’t matter much. It’s still electricity and it still crackles. Which means we can’t go on like this. Bottom line. I need to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. I need to stop waiting for her to be ready to talk, stop giving her space and just plow ahead?—
“Tamsyn’s had a busy morning,” Roman interjects, snapping me out of it my half-formed strategies. “She’s been on the phone trying to find work so she can go back to the city right away.”
Tamsyn glares at him. I glare at her .
What the fuck is this new dumpster fire? I thought we’d put this one thing behind us, but I guess not. I peel my attention away from her long enough to shoot him a grateful look. He may be a dick at times, but I appreciate the heads up. He gives me a tiny nod: Don’t worry. I got you.
I turn back to Tamsyn. “What’s this about, Ms. Scott? I thought everything was settled for now.”
She squares her shoulders and hikes up her chin, clearly over my bullshit and ready to launch all her missiles. Allow me to say that this thrills me. I’ll take any of her fire that I can get at this point. Any fiery new sides she wants to show me, I’m there.
But an unwelcome interruption materializes from the hallway as Daniel pokes his head in. “Lucien. We’ve got a situation here you need to handle. A couple of situations.”
I barely spare him a glance. All my attention is riveted on Tamsyn. “It’s not a good time. What is it?”
“Visitors,” Daniel says darkly. “The police again.”
The police? Fuck . That’s not the type of information I wanted or expected to hear right now. I shoot Tamsyn a pointed look— this is not over — then I set off for the foyer, propelled by my cold fury at this disrespect after I told Detective Smith I wouldn’t talk to them again without my lawyer present.
Daniel is hot on my heels. “I need to talk to you about something else first, Lucien.”
“Not now,” I say, continuing my trajectory until I reach Detective Smith and today’s uniformed officers.
Detective Smith, the consummate chess player, already has her pleasantly professional smile in place. “Good morning, Mr. Winter.”
I scowl at her, only dimly aware of Daniel, Roman and Tamsyn filing in behind me. It’s bad practice to be a hard ass with the police, but I’ve got the money to not give a fuck. Unless this woman has a warrant, she and her buddies need to get the hell out of my house. “What’s going on, Detective? I told you yesterday that I have an attorney. You and I won’t be having any further discussions without him present.”
“I remember. And I would never dream of trying to talk to you without your lawyer. But your wife’s death is still suspicious and my extensive training and experience tell me that she didn’t hit herself on the back of the head with a large rock.” She turns to Roman. “So I’m here to talk to your brother, Roman, and hopefully rule him out. I assume this is him?”
“It is,” Roman says with his usual smoothness, stepping forward to shake her hand.
“Detective Smith. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your whereabouts the night Ravenna died?”
I shoot Roman a warning look, but he’s already talking.
“Not at all. I was in Philadelphia overnight. Business meeting. You can talk to my office. They’ll put you in touch with the company pilot. You can see the flight records if you want.”
“Perfect,” Detective Smith says, sending me a look of veiled triumph. “I’ll do that.”
“Great,” I say, stepping forward and gesturing her toward the door. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”
“Actually, there is,” she says, now making my heart drop by turning to Tamsyn. “Ms. Scott,” she says, extending her hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“And you,” Tamsyn says, looking startled as she shakes.
“I was wondering if you might come down to the police station and answer a few questions for me about your whereabouts the other —”
A surge of ice through my veins along with some primitive instinct probably buried deep in my brain stem propels me to step sideways, blocking Tamsyn from this woman’s line of sight. The thing we are not going to do — the thing no one will ever do in my presence — is implicate Tamsyn Scott in any sort of legal wrongdoing or jeopardy. “I was very clear yesterday, Detective Smith. Tamsyn had nothing to do with Ravenna’s death.”
“Lucien…” Tamsyn tries.
“I’d like to hear that from Ms. Scott herself, if you don’t mind,” Detective Smith says, unruffled.
“Ms. Smith is already represented by counsel,” I say, praying she doesn’t ask me the counsel’s name because I don’t have it yet. “So you need to —”
“It’s okay, Lucien,” Tamsyn says, stepping out in front of me and facing Detective Smith with no idea of the legal jeopardy she could keep putting herself into. I know I did the same idiotic thing yesterday, but this is Tamsyn and I am not fucking around with her freedom. I’ve seen enough crime shows and movies to know how the police can twist things when push comes to shove. “I was?—”
“Ms. Scott. Stop speaking,” I bark.
“—back in the city with Lucinda Hooper, my former employer,” Tamsyn says. I make a sound of utter disbelief that she doesn’t bother to acknowledge. “She can vouch for me.”
Detective Smith tips her head at one of the uniforms, who whips out a notebook and writes that down. “Lucinda Hooper? At her Park Avenue townhouse?”
“That’s right,” Tamsyn says.
Detective Smith sends a flash of triumph in my direction. “See how easy that was, Mr. Winter?”
“Glad I could help,” I say, crossing to the door and swinging it open for them. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”
She doesn’t move. “Actually, there is,” she says, her smile fading. She reaches into her breast pocket and pulls out a sealed envelope, which she hands to me. “A warrant. For your security tapes. As requested.”
“Great,” I say, doing my best to hide my shock that she got it so quickly. It’s my own fault. I knew better than to underestimate her. “Let me just call my lawyer. I’ve already asked my security tech guy Ted Winwood to pull them for you.”
“Actually, Lucien, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Daniel says, stepping forward, pulling me to the side and dropping his voice. “The other situation I mentioned.”
“What?” I say. I’ve got enough situations to last the rest of my life at this point. The last thing I need is another one. “Spit it out.”
Daniel looks grim. “Winwood is gone. And we think he took the hard drive with the security tapes on it with him.”