Chapter 43 - Sullivan #2
“You like rabbits, Peaches?” she slurs.
“You’re drunk,” I spit, stepping back quickly as she reaches out, attempting to stroke Molly’s back.
“Peaches?” Molly echoes innocently, making my heart crack in two. If only she knew why I hated that fucking nickname so damn much.
“Get. Out,” I snarl.
“I want to see my daughter, Sullivan,” she says.
I step back again. She fucking stinks of liquor.
She changes her approach, realizing she isn’t going to get any closer to Molly.
“Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look? I’ve not seen you since that weekend in Miami. That was a wild one, huh?” She winks and lets out a laugh that scrapes at my bones.
“You need to leave.”
I turn my face toward Molly who’s shuffling in my arms. “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” I whisper. “We’re going home in a minute. The lady’s leaving.”
Natasha snorts, shaking her head with a lopsided sneer. “What a loving daddy. So sweet.”
“Get out,” I clip.
“Make me.” She shrugs, pushing her long dark hair over her shoulder.
She’s wearing heels and a tight dress, suitable for a night out in a club. Disgust oozes from my pores. The outfit isn’t for my benefit. It’s for whoever she’s going to flirt with all evening in order to have her night funded.
Small bruises are fading in the crook of her elbow, and I stiffen, tightening my grip on Molly. God knows what she’s moved on to in addition to the alcohol.
Natasha twists her lips in amusement at the look on my face, then breaks into a cold laugh that makes her look unhinged.
My mouth goes dry.
I will not have her anywhere near Molly like this.
Without thinking I reach for my phone, pulling it from my pocket with one hand.
“This is a one-time fucking offer. So name your goddamn price,” I grind out, each word laced with threatening promise.
But Natasha ignores my tone, lighting up like a fucking Fourth of July fireworks show as I open up my banking app.
“I dunno. You’re asking a lot here.” She licks her lips, drawing it out. “You want me not to come back again? But now I know you live in such a beautiful place.” She opens her arms, gesturing around the grand reception area before turning to smile at Molly’s head of dark curls.
Bile gathers in my throat.
“And you want me to give up the chance to see my only daughter,” she whines theatrically, reaching for Molly again.
I step back, glaring at her in warning.
She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “One million.”
I tap the number into my phone without hesitation.
“Make that two million,” Natasha adds, watching me closely. “After all, you can afford it.”
I give her a tight grimace. Whatever her price is, I can afford it. There isn’t a number in existence I wouldn’t pay to get her away from Molly.
I hit send and turn the screen toward her.
“It’s all yours. Now get the fuck out,” I breathe.
Her eyes widen and she pulls out her own phone, a smile splitting her face in two as she checks her bank account.
“I need somewhere to stay. My flight back isn’t until tomorrow,” she adds.
My head spins. She was going to keep coming back until she saw Molly. She was damn determined this time.
Through gritted teeth, I snarl, “I have a suite at The Lanceford Hotel. Go to the front desk. I’ll call and tell them to expect you. But, Natasha…?”
She lifts her glazed eyes to mine, blinking at me through heavy smudged eye makeup.
“Yeah?”
“This is the last time we ever see you. Understand? You don’t ever turn up like this again. And you never call. It all stops now.”
She wobbles in her heels and gives me a sarcastic salute.
“With pleasure, Daddy,” she slurs.
I watch her as she weaves over to the main doors and spills out onto the street.
“Who that, Daddy?” Molly asks.
I press a kiss to her head, keeping her from seeing the tears that are seconds away from racing down my cheeks.
She didn’t even look at her.
Molly’s own fucking mother didn’t even look at her once after that money dropped into her account.
She walked away without a glance back.
“No one, Sweetheart,” I choke, squeezing my eyes shut and sinking my nose into her hair to breathe her in.
“It was no one.”
The night creeps by, painstakingly slowly knowing that Natasha is nearby.
She checked in at The Lanceford. That much I know after asking them to inform me once she had.
After a call to my father, he placed Jenson on surveillance.
Natasha went out, as I expected her to, getting more drunk and leeching off some random guy she met.
But she returned to The Lanceford alone, and I told Jenson to stand down until midday.
Natasha will be too wasted to surface before that, and even if she does, the hotel will inform me when she checks out.
I’ll be able to breathe again once I know she’s caught her flight and left for good.
I close Molly’s bedroom door quietly after checking on her.
She’s slept later this morning. I’ll have to wake her soon to get ready.
Sinclair’s expecting her at her place after breakfast. And Denver will be with them.
I can trust Molly will be safe with them.
Natasha won’t be back now she got what she came for.
I gave her two million reasons to walk away. Something she did far too easily for a mother who claims to care about her daughter.
Fucking disgusting.
Flicking the coffee machine on I brace my arms on the countertop and roll my neck side to side in an attempt to ease the knotted muscles. I’m used to running on little to no sleep. Today will be no different. And tonight I can go to bed knowing that Natasha will be out of our lives.
Maybe I’ll even sleep well.
The buzzer goes and I walk to the security panel.
“Mr. Beaufort?” the concierge greets. “There are some members of the NYPD here who want to speak with you.”
“Detective Field,” a gravelly voice that sounds like its owner hasn’t slept either cuts in. “And Officer Jones. It’s an urgent matter, Mr. Beaufort. Your cooperation here, and not at the precinct, would be appreciated.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“Of course,” I reply. “Come on up.”
I let go of the speaker button.
Fuck.
What the hell do they want at this time of the morning? I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and check it. There’s a text from Sinclair telling me she can’t wait to see Molly, and an email from my father with some business news article Uncle Mal sent to him that he thinks I should read.
My family is fine, so why are they here?
Tate…
My blood turns cold, and I storm to the door, yanking it open as a suited detective and uniformed officer step off the elevator. They head toward me with matching stony expressions.
“Mr. Beaufort,” the detective greets, extending a hand. “I’m Detective Field, this is Officer Jones.”
“What’s happened? Is she okay?” I clench his hand a little too hard as my heart races.
His eyes pinch at the corners, his mouth flattening into a grim line. “Can we come in?”
Not an answer. What the hell’s going on?
I step back, granting them both entry. I lead them into the living area before spinning to face them.
“What’s happened?”
I’ve seen enough law enforcement faces to recognize when they’re about to deliver life-changing news. I know it’s their job. But fuck, in the moment all you want to do is hit something. Hard.
“We have some news that might be upsetting,” the detective says with a morbid finality. “A woman has been found deceased in one of your residences.”
“Tate,” I choke under my breath, unable to think of anything other than her face before I walked away from her yesterday.
At the way she looked at me…. So disappointed.
“Jesus.” I drag a hand over my jaw, my throat unbearably tight like it’s got a chain being pulled tight around it. “I don’t… Wait. You said residence?”
“A suite registered to you at The Lanceford Hotel,” he confirms. “The staff advised that you gave them permission to allow a guest to stay there last night?”
“Yes, I did.”
The air that’s expelled from my lungs makes my head light and I almost laugh.
Natasha.
But the relief that it’s not Tate they’re talking about is destroyed in an instant as the rest of his words sink in.
“Natasha’s dead?”
“We’d like you to formally identify her. Her driver’s license lists her as a resident of Miami,” the detective says. “A family member will be required to complete the identification if you’re unable—”
“I’ll do it.”
I blow out a breath, standing with my hands on my hips.
My father was the one who was going to identify my mother and brother.
But they were too badly burned. As horrific as it was hearing that, it was a small mercy to me that my father didn’t have to see them like that.
It was done using dental records instead.
I’d never wish to put a family member through seeing their loved one in that way.
“The only family Natasha’s ever mentioned is an uncle. I don’t think he’s in good health. I’ll do it.”
“Very well.” The detective nods. “We’ll get that arranged, Mr. Beaufort.”
“How did she…? What happened?”
“It appears to be an accidental overdose. The autopsy will confirm it. But there were narcotics and methods to administer them found by the body.”
I step back, slumping onto one of the kitchen stools.
“Drugs?” I whisper, pushing my finger and thumb into my stinging eye sockets.
Fucking drugs.
I knew she was probably using, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. But I did nothing. I gave her two million dollars to go out and score whatever she wanted.
I handed her the means to acquire whatever she wanted on a golden fucking platter.
I might as well have killed her myself.
Small footsteps pad toward me, making my eyes snap open.
“Molly?” I breathe, standing from my chair and reaching down to pull her into my arms as she rushes over to me in her pajamas, eyeing the cops with an unsure expression.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart. The police came to talk to Daddy about something.”
Molly’s eyes drop to the gun in the officer’s holster and my jaw tightens at the parting of her lips as she stares at it in wonder. She’s never seen Denver’s in all of the times he’s been here. He’s either kept it discreetly hidden, or it’s been placed inside my safe.
My daughter hasn’t turned three yet, and I’m already failing at protecting her innocence. Failing to keep the ugly side of the world away from her. The side that results in uniformed officers showing up at your home before breakfast.
The detective seems to sense my discomfort and tips his head at his colleague. “Jones, go and see if you can get us an update on when we can take Mr. Beaufort with us to assist.”
He doesn’t say assist in identifying Natasha’s dead body, for which I will be eternally grateful. Molly might not understand yet who Natasha was to her. But I don’t want her to have any more reasons than necessary to remember this moment.
The officer heads down the hallway toward the front door, the sound of his radio faint as he talks with someone over it.
“Good morning, Miss Beaufort.” The detective smiles kindly at Molly, but my grip remains firm on her.
“Hello,” Molly answers shyly.
The officer returns, but hangs back near the hallway, making a signal to the detective, before he turns his attention back to me.
“Is there someone you can call?” he gestures to Molly.
I nod. They want me to go with them now. Wherever they’ve taken Natasha, they’re waiting for me to confirm it’s her before they do anything else.
Clearing my throat, I reach for my phone, pulling up my father’s number first.
“I’ll call my family,” I tell the detective. “They’ll all want to be here.”