Final Cost (The Winter Trilogy #3)

11. Lucien

11

Lucien

“Lucien? Are you with me?”

I glance around at my lawyer, startled and frankly annoyed by the sound of his voice interrupting my thoughts of yesterday’s horseback riding interlude. I’m not with him. Although my body and brain are present and accounted for as we speed along Madison Avenue in the back of my chauffeured car, my thoughts are filled with images of Tamsyn and her cries of ecstasy as I went down on her. On the slickly delicious taste of her—fresh oysters and aroused woman. On the thrilling revelation that she’s not quite as immune to me as she’d like to be.

Oh, yes. Despite everything, I got some good news yesterday, didn’t I?

Still, it’s unreasonable of me to expect the rest of the world to go fuck itself while I wallow in precious memories. Niceties must be observed. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” Gray says. “Like I said, police investigations can take a while. Especially now that Winwood did you the favor of taking off with the security tapes and making himself the focus of interest. Now the immediate heat is off you. But we can’t get complacent.”

“Right,” I say.

“We should expect the police to find him soon.”

That gets my attention. “I wouldn’t count on that. I thought I mentioned: Winwood is former special forces. He’s the kind of guy who’s always one step ahead and doesn’t make mistakes. That’s why I hired him in the first place.”

Gray’s expression sours.

“But I did bring my investigator in to see if he can find him. He’s former CIA.”

“Nice,” Gray says.

My attention immediately reverts to the flow of passersby on the sidewalk. Then tiptoes straight back to Tamsyn and her introduction to Orion. Her face is burned across my thoughts and I can’t say I even mind. It’s a beautiful kind of torture to remember how thrilled she was. The way those brown eyes sparkled and shone, even though they didn’t shine at me. You think I give a fuck that all her happiness and excitement in my presence was geared toward my horse? I don’t. I’m too far beyond any considerations about pride or ego. I just needed to be alone with her for a little while. Getting to touch her while riding the horse was an inspired idea if I say so myself. Getting to mouth bang her and gorge on the juices from her gushing pussy was an undeserved slice of heaven.

But I’ll gratefully accept it.

Not that I’m satisfied, mind you. I shift uncomfortably, my balls still blue and neglected. But it’s fine. I can be patient. I will be patient.

“I wish I knew exactly what the police were doing to track him down,” Gray says, shaking his head as he stares at his own window. “They’ve been too quiet for the last twenty-four hours. I prefer to keep Detective Smith where I can see her.”

“Agreed,” I say. The police have been silent, but it’s the heavy silence you get before storm, the kind where electrical impulses seem to thread the breeze and the air can’t quite support the weight of whatever’s about to fall from the sky onto your head. I don’t know who Detective Smith is looking at today (Winwood? Me?) or what she hopes to find. I just know she’s looking. And I know that Detective Smith is exactly the kind of bloodhound you don’t want sniffing on your tail.

Everything in my gut tells me this case will shake loose sooner rather than later. Which means my time to work things out with Tamsyn and possibly even my freedom is running out. So this brief reprieve is my time to plan. Hence, this little day trip to the upper East side. I need to do a bit more planning. Move a few more pieces into place. And if I can come out of this nightmare unscathed…

My simmering fear won’t allow me to get much further than that. It’s there all the time now, leaving precious little room for anything other than Tamsyn’s eyes overlaid on top of everything and my nonstop yearning for her.

I ruined everything between us. But if I can stay free for a little longer and spend more time with her, I can get her back. I know it. She doesn’t want to hate me. I just need to give her a graceful way off that playing field. And with Ravenna truly dead and gone now? And nothing blocking my path to the life I want with Tamsyn? No outside forces lingering in the shadows and waiting to pounce on our relationship? They sky is the limit. Not only am I going to get Tamsyn back, before it’s all over, she’s going to love me no matter who I am or what terrible things I’ve done.

Which is exactly the way I love her.

Nothing less than all her body and all her soul will satisfy me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got the use of her body for now, and it’s a damn fine consolation prize. So I’ll take it. And I’ll take it as often and as enthusiastically as she lets me. But I want it all— her smiles and laughter. Her arches, coos and cries in the night. Her vows and future. Her children. Her everything .

I plan to succeed. But I also have a contingency in place in case my time runs out.

“What about what I mentioned earlier?” I say, snapping back into focus and startling Gray with my sudden vehemence. “Is that in the works?”

“The estate planning stuff?”

“Yes,” I say impatiently. “I want the trust set up. Right away.”

He holds up a hand. “I’m trying to keep up with you here, Lucien. And I’ve already given the estate planning department the brief of what you want since I only do criminal work?—”

“Good.”

“—but no one understands what you’re trying to —”

“You don’t need to understand.” My tension spikes and I find myself clenching my fists. I force myself to open my hands and rest them on my knees. Now is not the time for me to unravel or lose my temper. “You just need to do what I want.”

“We’ve got enough to focus on with the police investigation. Plus, your PR people have lost their fucking minds because you’re with me right now. They’ve texted me at least six times since we got in the car. They want you to go into the office to work on your response to whatever the police cook up, which is what I thought we were doing. Where are we even going?”

“Right here,” I say as the car glides to a stop by the curb in front of a lovely little brownstone. “Wait here. Or drive around the block and get some coffee. I don’t give a fuck. But I need a few minutes. We’ll go to the office after that.”

With that, I grab the flowers on the seat next to me, hop out, shut the door in his startled face and trot up the stone steps before he can register a protest behind me. No sign of the paparazzi today, thank God. My security guy, Hank, who’s still on the job looking out for Tamsyn when she’s away from Ackerley, informed me that the press was gone for now. Probably because I arranged for an anonymous “tipster” to alert one of the photogs that Tamsyn had moved to one of the warehouse-cum-lofts in Brooklyn. That should keep them off our trail for a bit. I glance around for Hank— there he is down the street at a discreet distance. I nod at him. He nods back. Then I hit the buzzer, determined to cross a few more things off my to-do list.

I hear a small dog barking inside, then quick footsteps on the other side of the heavy beveled glass door. I hitch my poker face firmly over my ears.

Then the door swings open and there’s Tamsyn, her expression quickly cycling through surprise and unwilling pleasure before finally settling on narrow eyed annoyance as she looks me up and down, registering the flowers. “I was expecting the pizza delivery.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, but my lack of genuine repentance doesn’t seem to do me any favors.

“Lucien,” she says, dropping her voice to a scandalized stage whisper as she shoots a glance over her shoulder toward what I assume is the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I wanted to spend the day —”

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to see you.” I put some extra volume into my voice as I brush past her and make a show of checking out the stately staircase. It works. Mrs. Hooper’s head immediately appears around the curved archway at the other end of the foyer, her face registering shock, then delight. Even her little dog, Juniper, seems thrilled to see me. He zooms out, dancing around my feet. Guess he remembers me from the cruise. I settle the flower bouquet under my arm, scoop him into a football hold with my free hand and scratch his chest. I try not to radiate too much triumph in Tamsyn’s direction, but it is fun to see the bright color rush to her face and know that she’s as happy to see me as everyone else is, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it. “Good to see you, Mrs. Hooper.”

“Lucien Winter?” cries Mrs. Hooper, hurrying out and reaching for me with both hands. She’s wearing one of her floral dresses. She’s also wearing fuzzy blue slippers, which she shoots an apologetic glance at as she takes my hands and returns my double-cheeked kiss. “What a wonderful surprise to see you in my humble abode. I didn’t know you were coming or I would’ve put on my real shoes. And I’m not wearing any lipstick. Tamsyn, honey, why didn’t you tell me Lucien was coming?”

“Because I didn’t know,” Tamsyn says tartly with a final sweeping glance around to make sure there are no paparazzi outside before she snaps the door shut.

“Oh, I just look terrible,” Mrs. Hooper continues, now primping her silver hair in the console mirror. “Come in, Lucien, come in.” She waves me into the living room, a light and airy space with good lines. Although I’m not a fan of the cowhide rug and full-sized longhorn skull over the mantel. “Can we get you something to drink? And don’t forget to call me Lucinda .”

“Don’t fuss. I apologize for my appearance,” I say, setting the dog down and gesturing at my baseball cap and runner’s clothes. I haven’t been running for once, but this is hardly what I usually wear for a day in the office. “I’m trying to be incognito.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Hooper says with sudden hushed solemnity. “You’ve had some troubles since the last time I saw you, haven’t you?” She shoots an apologetic glance at Tamsyn. “I was so happy to hear about Ravenna’s reappearance. For your sake, I mean, Lucien. And then so sad to hear that, she, ah…”

“I appreciate that,” I say, eager to shut this down before she gives herself an injury trying to think of what to say in this impossible situation.

“And if there’s anything I can ever do for you, Lucien,” she continues. “You’re such a dear friend —”

“Actually, there is something you can do for me. I understand you’re moving to Palm Beach? So the brownstone is on the market?”

Mrs. Hooper gasps, her jaw dropping, but I’m not concerned about her reaction. A subtle glance at Tamsyn shows me that she shares the older woman’s surprise. “Why, yes .”

“These are for you, by the way.” I pass her the flowers, a giant bouquet of all the bright blue hydrangeas I could find on the way over here. “I was sorry to hear that you had a health episode at the end of the cruise. And glad to hear you’re doing better now.”

“Oh, these are beautiful ,” she says with a tinkling laugh. “I love hydrangeas. Tam, run and put these in water for me. Grab the big crystal vase. Be quick about it.”

I realize that old habits die hard, but some old habits need to die. I’m looking at one of them as Tamsyn automatically hurries forward to do her former employer’s bidding and the woman thrusts the flowers at her with all the carefree entitlement of Cinderella’s wicked stepmother. I know this isn’t my house. I also know that the relationship dynamic between Tamsyn and Mrs. Hooper began long before I arrived on the scene. But the thing I know most of all is that Tamsyn is no longer at this woman’s mercy and I refuse to stand by while she’s treated otherwise.

“ I’m happy to help you find a vase for those,” I tell Mrs. Hooper, infusing a slight chill in my tone. “Tamsyn is a guest in your home now. Not an employee. Don’t put her to any trouble.”

Both women gape at me.

“As I was saying, I’m always looking for opportunities to expand my real estate portfolio.” I make a show of looking around the room and up at the ceiling. “Are those the original crown moldings?”

Lucinda peels her lower jaw off her hardwood floors with some difficulty. “Y-yes. I had everything repainted two years ago after I remodeled the kitchen. The furnace is only five years old. The water heater is a bit older. I’m in the process of having everything staged and freshened so I can put it on the market at the end of the month. I’m happy to have my agent send you more information —”

“No need.” I’d wandered over to the fireplace to admire the decorative inlay. “I’ll have my real estate agent get in touch by the end of the day. I’d like to make an offer. Unless you’re in love with the idea of formally listing the place and going through that whole process…?”

Mrs. Hooper’s response takes a lot longer to arrive this time. She can’t seem to get her mouth working at all. “Not at all,” she finally says. “I’m happy to entertain any and all offers.”

I silently hand it to the old gal. She’s got a nice poker face of her own. She knows not to make things too easy for me, and I’m sure she’ll negotiate a decent price for herself, but this is a done deal and we both know it. “I assume a cash offer is acceptable?”

She extends her hand to me and shakes with a firm grip, laughing. “I make it my business to warmly receive all cash offers.”

“Good,” I say as the two of us grin at each other and I take a quick glance at Tamsyn.

Her wide-eyed astonishment does not disappoint.

Much as I’d like to study it a bit more, a sudden unexpected wave of affection toward Mrs. Hooper hits me as I release her hand. I think about what would’ve happened to Tamsyn if the woman hadn’t hired her…If she hadn’t brought Tamsyn along on her Mediterranean cruise…If she hadn’t allowed Tamsyn to stay here after I dumped her the other day…

If Tamsyn and I had never met in the departures lane at LaGuardia.

Where would Tamsyn be now? Where would I?

Fuck.

I’m not a sentimental guy, but some things can’t be ignored. Your life can turn on a dime and it can depend on events entirely outside of your control. If the police wrap up their investigation into Ravenna’s death and come to all the wrong conclusions…who will Tamsyn have then? I know she’s a strong and self-supporting young woman, but who will look out for her? The possibility of that scenario makes my gut cramp.

“I want to mention…” I sound way too gruff all the sudden, so I pause to clear my throat. “I’m a newcomer on the scene. But I’m grateful for your presence in Tamsyn’s life.” I stare Mrs. Hooper in the face, take her hand again and squeeze it between both of mine. “I’ve got a funeral coming up. And some, ah, uncertainty in my life right now. I expect it to be cleared up soon, but it might not be.”

“God forbid,” Mrs. Hooper mutters.

“Just so you understand: I know you’d do it anyway because you love her, but I consider it a personal favor to me that you take good care of Tamsyn. And if there’s anything you ever need, Lucinda, come to me. It would be my honor to be there for you .”

I drop her hand and turn away before she can respond, not trusting myself to look her or Tamsyn in the eye now. My feelings are running way too close to the surface, which isn’t like me. Let’s just say I’m not in love with the sensation. I’d invited Tamsyn to come see my office, but I don’t want to test her goodwill any further today by reminding her. On the other hand, no guts, no glory, right? Before I can decide, a new interruption arrives in the form of an urgent knock on the front door.

“That must be the pizza.” Tamsyn ducks her head and hurries off to the foyer. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I think I see her wipe her eyes as she goes. But when she returns, it’s not with the pizza guy. It’s with Gray.

“Sorry for the interruption, Lucien,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

“It’s not a good time, Gray,” I say. “I told you I’d be right back.”

“This can’t wait.” His expression tightens. “It’s Ravenna.”

One of the women makes a hissing noise, the kind of sound I imagine early citizens of Salem made when the topic of witches came up. As for me, I wince away from the name. Funny how this is her second death and we’re still talking about her as though she’s crouched and ready to spring into any room at any time and unleash new havoc. Knowing Ravenna, she probably is. If there’s a death loophole or a direct portal from the other side, she’d be the one to exploit it.

“What is it?” I say, noticing, for the first time, how ashen Gray looks.

He opens his mouth to answer, but his voice operates on a lengthy delay. “She gave an interview before she died. It’s airing tomorrow night. The network called to get your comment.”