Chapter 17 Beckett
Shawn’s hand is on my back as he guides me off the elevator and toward the lavish club before us. The contact is warm, but the blood in my veins is ice cold.
I can barely feel my fingers, and it’s a miracle I’m still standing. Without much time to process the spiral that Lauren and her cold confession threw me in, I’ve since bottled it up—because it’s that or we die.
Who knows, maybe we’re dead anyway.
“You okay?” Shawn asks me, keeping his voice low as we make our way toward the hostess stand, an armed guard not far behind.
“No,” I admit.
“Same,” he says.
I look up at him now, paying close attention to the fear in his sharp hazel gaze. What must this be like for him? A man used to being in control?
In the dining room ahead of us, dozens of tables are arranged around an elegant ballroom. Waiters in black and white attire serve women adorned with jewels and the men who wear them on their arms like trophies.
A woman wearing a black cocktail dress and a bright smile steps in front of us. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, we are so happy you joined us for dinner. Table for two?”
“They’re headed to Creed’s private dining room,” the guard behind us says.
The woman’s smile falters, but I barely pay it any attention as the fear in my gut turns to a full-blown panic attack.
Creed? As in Lucian Creed?
The very man we’re trying to avoid?
Shawn’s hand leaves my back, and he grips my hand as he looks to the left and right. Is he trying to find an escape?
“Don’t even think about it, cop,” the guard behind us says after he moves in closer. “I’ll put a bullet in her before you take a single step.”
Shawn goes completely rigid, his gaze sharpening, jaw tightening.
This is all my fault.
He warned me.
And now we’re going to die.
Anger momentarily burns through the fear. Did Lauren do this? Does she hate me so much that she’d deliver me into the hands of a man prepared to make me disappear?
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Her words echo in my mind, and as horrible as our interaction was, I find it hard to believe she would have turned us over. Not when she wanted our help.
Unless—is it possible this was all planned?
“Right this way,” the hostess says, her gaze lacking all the warmth it held only moments ago, as she turns away and leads us through the dining room and toward a large set of double doors across the dining hall.
“Shawn?” I whisper, not using his fake name. If they already know who we are, what’s the point?
He casts me a look and smiles, though I note the strain behind the fake emotion. “It’s going to be okay,” he says and gently squeezes my hand in his.
The woman opens the doors, and we move inside. As we do, a man wearing a white suit stands and smiles at us.
White suit.
“Mr. and Mrs. Andrews—or should I call you by your actual names?” he asks.
I recognize him from the picture in the file Jemma gave us, just like I recognize that suit from the same photo that brought me here.
Tall and slender, Lucian Creed is exactly what I would have expected. His salt-and-pepper hair is gelled on top of his head and shorter on the sides, and his dark eyes watch both Shawn and me intently. His smile is curious, but I’ve no doubt it can turn cold and cruel in a matter of seconds.
Neither of us speaks. What’s left to say? I won’t plead for my life, and I doubt Shawn would plead for his. Not that our begging would mean much to a man like Lucian.
“Please, sit,” he gestures toward the chairs, and the heavy doors close behind us.
I jump and turn, noting that both the guard and the hostess are gone. We’re in this room alone with a man who has managed to escape every single attempt at unveiling what it is he’s actually involved in.
A man who likely knew Paul.
Shawn pulls out my chair, but when I move to take a seat, my legs give out from shaking so badly. He grabs my arm and steadies me as he lowers me into the chair. All while my heart is hammering with the force of a thousand drumlines.
God, please be with us. Please don’t let anything happen to us. Especially not to Shawn. He was only trying to help me.
As Shawn takes his seat, Lucian’s cold smile spreads, and he clicks his tongue. “You know, I have to admire your courage. Walking into a place like this. Especially with no backup,” he adds, his attention focused entirely on Shawn.
“I’m on vacation,” Shawn replies just as coldly. “Seemed as good a time as any to play house.”
Lucian’s grin spreads further, showing teeth so white and straight they look fake.
“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Then, he shifts that gaze to me, and his dark eyes shimmer with delight as he looks me over.
“And you, Mrs. Jameson? While I never had the delight of meeting you in person, yours is a face a man doesn’t forget. ”
My stomach churns, bile burning the back of my throat. “It’s Wallace now,” I say, trying my best to keep my voice level. “I went back to my maiden name.”
He nods, a smirk still on his face. “Makes sense.” He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “So, to what do I owe this delightful—albeit deceitful—visit?”
“Someone sent me a photograph of my husband here, with you, the week before he died.” I don’t technically know it’s him, but it’s as good a guess as any.
If this man knows anything else, he’ll correct me. And if not—well—who knows what’s coming in the next five minutes? Could be answers. Could be a bullet.
Only time will tell.
“Interesting.” He leans forward and rests both forearms on the table. “Well, I’m not trying to hide the fact that your husband was in my employ for quite a few years.”
“What did he do for you?”
Lucian studies me closely, like a man looking at an ant under a microscope. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“He’s dead.”
“I’m well aware of that, Ms. Wallace.”
“Are you aware that he was murdered?” I snap, hating how absolutely out of control I feel right now. Shawn’s hand finds mine beneath the table, and he squeezes gently, the contact both reassuring as well as a reminder that I need to play it cool.
Lucian continues studying me, his gaze likely searching for any sign that I’m lying. “I thought it was ruled an accident.”
“It was,” I reply. “But Paul was a great pilot, and he wouldn’t have made a mistake.”
Lucian leans back in his chair. “If you’re wondering whether or not I had a hand in your husband’s untimely death, then I am happy to report that I did not. I liked Paul. His death was an inconvenience for me on many levels.”
Inconvenience. My stomach rolls. “And just what levels were those?” I press.
Lucian smiles again, a cold, chilling grin that would have stolen the warmth from me if I weren’t already freezing.
“Paul talked about you a lot. I recognized you from the photograph he carried with him. His take-no-prisoners wife. At one point, I actually asked him to put us in contact as I was looking for new legal counsel. You were still green at the time but already making a name for yourself.” He crosses his arms. “Would you like to know what he told me?”
“What was that?”
“That you wouldn’t be caught dead in a room with a man like me.”
I swallow hard, grief tightening my chest all over again. “He’s not wrong.”
“Except, here we are.” Lucian extends both hands out.
He’s got me there.
“Why was he killed?” Shawn questions. It’s the first time he’s spoken since we’ve been in this room, and that cool demeanor I saw from him that first time we met is back. Slipped into place like a protective mask.
Lucian’s gaze shifts to Shawn. “What makes you think I believe anything more than what the reports say?”
“I’m good at reading people, Mr. Creed. It’s why I’m a good cop. Aside from the fact that you didn’t kill us as soon as you knew who we were, I can see all over your face that you don’t believe he died in an accident. So, let me ask again: Why was he killed?” Shawn asks again.
“I looked into you, Detective,” Lucian replies. “A nose for the truth and a desire to see justice tied around the neck of the guilty like a noose.”
Shawn doesn’t respond.
“Is that why you agreed to take your own risks and help Ms. Wallace here discover the truth?” His gaze shifts to me now, so sharp that I would love to sink back into my chair. “Or is it perhaps something more? She is a beautiful woman.”
The accusation is there, and it makes me angry enough that I shove my own fear aside.
In the face of monsters, the worst thing you can do is come off as prey.
So, although my nerves are at an all-time high, I slip my own mask on.
The same one I wear in the courtroom. “He wants the truth. Just like I do.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart? How pure,” Lucian sneers. “As for your question, Detective, Paul called me two days before he died and told me that he was being pressured for information.”
“About?”
“Me,” he replies with a grin and holds up both hands. “Apparently, someone was trying to use him to blackmail me.”
A chill runs up my spine. “Who?”
“He didn’t say. But he was on his way here to give me the name when the plane went down.”
“Who was using him?” I ask.
Shawn remains silent at my side, but I can feel that he’s gone rigid.
“Trying to use him,” Lucian corrects. “As I’m sure you can attest to, Paul was quite loyal. He knew that I would find out if he’d crossed me and wanted to make sure I knew that he was refusing.”
Loyal enough to lie to me. I shove the betrayal down because it has no place in this moment. Not yet.
“We have reason to believe he made an extra stop before coming here since his plane was full of fuel when he was found.”
Surprise flickers across Lucian’s face so quickly I nearly miss it. “I don’t know anything about that,” he replies. “But I can tell you that I did not see him the day he died.”
“Did you have him killed?” I ask him, point blank.
Lucian leans forward. “Ms. Wallace, if I’d had Paul killed, you wouldn’t be sitting here across from me, and his daughter wouldn’t be working on my grounds.”
“You know who she is?”
“Of course I do. I’ve known since I hired her. She was young when she’d visit with him, but I’m no fool. Why do you think she has the job she does? I hardly hire many twenty-two-year-olds into positions that should be held by people with more experience.”
And then I see it—the faintest of humanity in the expression of this evil man. He liked Paul. Does that say more about him, or what Paul did for him?
“How loyal of you,” Shawn retorts.
“I saw her anger when she showed up to interview. I knew she was looking for answers, and truthfully, I thought she’d have found them by now. Either way, had I wanted Paul dead, you and his daughter would be lying in graves right beside him.”
Ice floods my veins.
“And what a waste that would have been,” he replies as he looks me up and down like a hungry animal.
Beside me, Shawn stiffens. “Watch your gaze,” he snarls. “She’s not on the menu.”
Lucian’s grin widens once more at the rise he gets from Shawn. “As I said, she’s a beautiful woman.” He leans back in his chair. “No, I did not have your husband killed. Paul was one of the few honorable men I could trust. He was helping me with something.”
“With what?” I demand.
“Something that is above your pay grade,” he replies.
Frustration ebbs away at my fear. “Do you know who did?”
“No,” he replies, then leans in. “And if I did, they’d already be dead. What I can tell you is that you need to be careful. What you’re stepping into is a lot bigger than you could possibly imagine.”
“How do you know that if you don’t know who killed Paul Jameson?” Shawn questions.
Lucian’s gaze hardens. “Because a man doesn’t get to where I am without making enemies,” he replies. “You both need to be careful.”
“You’re not going to kill us?” The question comes out before I can stop myself.
Lucian arches a dark brow. “No, Ms. Wallace. I’m not going to kill you. I am going to caution you against looking into this any further, though. Some truths are not worth your life.” He stands, so we do the same.
Slightly defeated, but also grateful to be alive, I turn toward the door.
“Ms. Wallace?” Lucian says.
I turn around.
“Your husband was an honorable man,” he says. “Nothing can change that.”
Heartfelt words from a hardened criminal.
They’re just like my marriage is feeling right now: meaningless.