Chapter 3
ELIZABETH
“Thank you, Daria.”
“No problem. Do you want me to wait for you or…?”
It was embarrassing enough that my assistant picked me up from the hotel I’d checked into last night, since my home is a literal crime scene. Having her wait to drive me back to the office after my meeting with Luke is too much for me to take right now.
“I’ll get a car.”
Daria gives me a small smile as I push the car door open. “Elizabeth?”
Damn it! I keep a professional smile on my face and do my best not to react.
“Are you… okay?” The slight hesitation in her voice lets me know Daria is more than aware she’s stepping over the very clear lines I’ve established for everyone I work with. Personal and professional lives don’t mix.
A lesson I learned the hard way.
The fact that she asks anyway makes my throat tighten.
“I’m fine.” I force my smile to widen. “Things might be messy for a while, but I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of it.”
It’s a lie. I’m not fine. I feel hollow and wired, and frankly, I might throw up at any second. No matter how many times I tell myself that everything can be sorted… that there will be an explanation and a solution… I don’t believe it.
But, I can’t admit that to her.
“I’ve hired a crisis PR firm. If the press shows up at the office, direct them there. If clients call, reassure them I’m working and not to be concerned. Use the exact language the crisis firm provides.”
I pause before shutting the car door. “And make sure everyone understands that speaking to the press will be grounds for immediate termination.”
Daria flinches, and I immediately regret my harsh words.
My stomach twists at her dimmed expression.
“I’m sorry, I…” My mouth snaps shut. I don’t know how to walk it back without revealing just what a mess I really am on the inside.
With a thin smile, I turn and stride into the high-rise and across the marble floor, my heels clicking loudly.
The elevator ride feels longer than it is. I take in my reflection in the mirrored doors, needing the reassurance it offers. Black skirt suit, a masculine-style, white, collared shirt, and red heels. My armor. The expensive red shoes and my makeup are my only nod at femininity these days at work.
My style wasn’t always this severe, not before...
Nope, not going there.
I press my damp palms against my skirt.
When the elevator doors slide open, Luke’s receptionist is waiting for me with a cool smile. My stomach sinks. I know that smile. It’s the same one I’ve used with clients in crisis.
I follow her down the hallway with my chin high, shoulders back, refusing to let the unease curdling in my stomach show. I’m satisfied I’ve successfully hidden my emotions until we reach Luke’s office.
“What’s he doing here?” I snap.
Brady Worthington leans casually against Luke’s desk, ankles crossed, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Immediately my hackles are up.
His dark hair is a little damp, and it waves back from his face, curling slightly at the nape.
His arms are crossed in front of him, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, revealing tattooed forearms. The pose stretches the material tight across his bulging biceps, drawing my eyes and waking up the long dormant butterflies in my stomach.
Stop noticing.
His full lips lift in a lazy grin, as if he knows what I’m thinking, and that sets off another wave of flutters.
Fucking fuckity fuck.
I tear my eyes from his broad shoulders and powerful chest to glare at Luke.
There’s only one reason Brady Worthington would be here.
“Nope. Not happening.”
Luke frowns, looking between us. “Do you know each other?”
Biblically.
Brady’s eyes flash in amusement, and he presses his lips together as if he’s trying not to laugh.
Dickhead.
Is he ever serious?
He certainly looked serious when he…
NO.
I clear my throat. “We met briefly during Dahlia’s, um, situation.”
Brady’s mouth twitches, and my cheeks heat.
He knows it was me.
Or thinks he knows.
Maybe he’s just toying with me.
But I thought I saw a flash of recognition on his face that day at Dahlia’s condo.
I’m not sure… And he can’t be sure… My mask stayed on.
Maybe he doesn’t even remember that night.
Annnnd now you’re babbling in your head.
“I remember.” Brady’s deep voice cuts through my thoughts, and my eyes widen slightly until he continues. “It’s nice to see you again.”
But the way he’s looking at me…
My skin burns as the image of glittering green eyes and flushed skin appears in front of me.
This isn’t going to work. I want him far away from me.
The woman that night wasn’t me.
It was an aberration. It was….
He’s the only man you’ve ever truly let in, told your insecurities to… truly let go with. The only person you let see the real you, and that fucking terrifies you.
Seriously. Shut up.
I school my expression into something icy when I realize I’ve been silent too long while I had the mental argument. “This isn’t necessary. I don’t need a security detail.”
Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s not just security. Brady co-owns one of the best investigative and personal protection agencies in the country.”
Brady scratches his cheek, clearly trying not to smirk. “The best, actually. Obviously, you’ve heard of me.”
I narrow my eyes, and Brady laughs.
Luke looks suspiciously between Brady and me.
“We need him on your case.”
I curl my toes in my heels to keep myself from screaming. The tightness in my chest, which has been my ever-present companion since I found Keith, constricts painfully around my lungs.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say through my teeth. “The detective last night didn’t even take me in for questioning. They said it was obvious the body had been moved.”
Luke’s voice is steady. “Elizabeth, the police didn’t charge you yesterday, but you’re still a person of interest. And the circumstances… They’re potentially bigger than just a homicide.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to hang on to my rapidly fraying temper. “The dead body of my ex-husband in my house isn’t a good look. I get it. But I can account for almost every minute of my day before I got home.”
“That’s good.” Luke gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk, walking around to take a seat behind it, not waiting to see what I’ll do. “But there is a larger problem than the police. Something outside of my expertise.”
I sit in the seat farthest from where Brady is still lounging, desperate for the space. I can feel him watching me, and it’s throwing me off.
“Elizabeth?” Luke has an expectant look on his face, and my brain scrambles to replay what he said.
“Right. Bigger problem.”
I’m not stupid. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to think of anything else. “Someone clearly has it out for me and Keith, and that’s why they tried to frame me for his murder.”
I stiffen when the two men exchange a look.
“What?”
“It might not be that simple,” Luke hedges, and I frown, sensing he wants to say more.
Brady straightens slightly. “Your house was broken into. Someone bypassed a top-tier security system and dumped a dead body there. That’s not something you ignore.”
His voice has changed. The teasing lilt is gone, replaced with something else. Something darker. Something that gives me goosebumps on my arms.
He’s watching me too closely.
I lift my chin. “Then maybe the person they should investigate is whoever hacked my security system.”
Brady’s eyes bore into mine, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“Funny thing about that,” Luke says. “There was a blackout in your neighborhood thirty minutes before you arrived home. Cameras. Doorbells. All surveillance devices were down.”
My breath catches.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Timed to be sure you would be the one to find him,” Brady points out.
The room tilts, and I grip the arms of the chair, forcing myself to nod, even though my heart’s trying to crawl up my throat.
“Whoever did this, left you a message,” Brady continues.
“We don’t know that.” The words rush out. “Maybe it’s like a red herring or something. To throw off the police.” I know I sound desperate.
“Elizabeth.” The way Brady says my name, soft and deliberate, makes my lip wobble.
“It can’t be for me,” I insist. “I don’t know what it means.”
The fear I’ve been holding back roars to life.
How can I give back whatever it is the killer wants if I don’t know what it is?
“You have no idea? None at all?”
I shake my head, biting hard on my lip.
I can’t lose it. Not here. Not in front of them.
Not in front of him.
“Okay.” Brady’s voice is matter-of-fact. “Then we’ll figure out what it means.”
A momentary wave of gratitude sweeps over me, and when he meets my eyes, I know he understands.
I don’t want sympathy or coddling. I just want to solve the problem.
Then I remember why he understands, and my walls fly back up.
Luke clears his throat, breaking the tension. “Let’s start from the beginning. Tell us about yesterday.”
His questions are routine. Where was I? Who did I see? What time did I get home?
I answer them mechanically, grateful the answers are easy to provide and do my best to ignore the man still leaning against the desk.
My body tenses as I approach the evening.
“I had dinner with a client in Midtown, then went home where I found…” I lick my lips and pause. Keeping my voice even, I continue. “I entered my house through the garage, took off my shoes, poured a glass of wine, and found Keith.”
“You didn’t see him when you first entered the house?” Brady asks.
I shake my head. “My kitchen is open to the living room, but he was…” My throat closes, and I slip one hand under my thigh so they can’t see me dig my nails into my palm. “The sofa he was on has a high back, and he was… slumped. I didn’t see him until I came around the corner.”