Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Obviously,” Ashner mutters.
Caldwell shakes her head. “You’ve got one of the most intricate systems in the world. Are you telling me just anybody can shut it down?”
Around us, my men hold steady, but the police outnumber them. Too many twitchy fingers near too many triggers. One wrong move, and I’ll be nothing more than a red stain across the white marble. “No,” I admit. “It’s incredibly difficult to infiltrate my system.” Which leads to the real question—where’s Kaz? His absence gnaws at me, especially since my system has gone dark. Did somebody get to him? Take him?
Ashner and Caldwell keep pressing, their clipped words and irritating voices scraping at my patience. But none of it slices deep. My skin doesn’t burn, doesn’t split. Not today.
It’s Ella. It has to be. Something about her, her voice, her kindness, her energy, somehow has eased the pain always around me. I think she’s correct in that her energy and mine complement each other. Belong together.
“Where is Ella Rendale?” Ashner asks suddenly, his gaze sweeping the room.
I wondered when they’d get to her. “She went shopping.”
“She’s not—” Caldwell cuts herself off with a short snort. “You let her go shopping by herself?”
I meet her gaze without blinking, my jaw steady, shoulders squared. “I don’t have her on a leash and chain,” I say evenly, though the truth is closer than I’d admit. “She chose to go shopping. I can’t tell you where she is right now.”
“Why don’t you call her?” Ashner plops the gum in his mouth.
“I’d rather not. If I’m going to tell her that her stepmother is dead, I’ll do it in person.” My voice stays mellow but my jaw’s locked tight.
Caldwell runs her palms down her perfectly pressed navy slacks. Her nails gleam a brighter pink today, catching the light like lacquered glass. Interesting. She breathes out before speaking. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Beathach, you’re coming down to the station with us.”
The heavy glass doors shove open again. Fergus shoulders his way inside, green flannel damp with rain, Carhartt jeans stiff, brown boots scuffed from work. His dark hair is slicked back. “Sorry. Took me a while to get through that mess outside.” He shakes his head, water droplets flying. “Not only do you have police everywhere, the news vans are here. Somebody tipped them off, boss.”
“Great,” Caldwell and I mutter at the same time.
Fergus moves forward, his gaze sharp. “From my understanding, based on what our men said on the way in, the cameras went down this morning, and then the cleaning lady found the body. The police were already en route, and the press was parked outside before anyone even knew what was in the closet.” He checks his watch, gold catching the fluorescent glare. “Somebody set this up.”
Ashner chomps his gum again. “Maybe your client set this up. It’s almost too obvious he’s guilty, right? That’s a decent defense, don’t you think, Caldwell?”
Caldwell tilts her head, a stray strand of dark hair slipping from her bun to frame her cheek. She’d be pretty if she weren’t gunning to put me in a cell. Not for me, not for anyone tied to me.
She flips her notebook closed with a neat snap. “Well, Mr. Beathach, you are being detained. You’re coming down to the station with us either on your own or in handcuffs.” Her eyes cut toward the glass doors. Outside, news vans jockey for curb space, umbrellas bump, and camera lights flare white against rain-slicked pavement.
“I’m fine either way.” I smile, slow, and pull my phone from my back pocket, the case warm against my palm. “You might want to take a look at this.”
“What’s this?” Caldwell asks.
I hadn’t planned on sharing this information. “Cameras. Installed at my personal residence yesterday.”
Fergus’s head snaps up. “You did?”
“Yeah. Didn’t tell anybody.” My tone stays even. “With a body showing up there, I figured it was time.”
Caldwell takes the phone and scrolls, face unreadable except for a twitch at the corner of her mouth. The blue of her suit catches the overheads, and her nails flash a hot pink when her thumb moves.
“As you can see,” I say, “there I am arriving with Ms. Rendale last night. Timestamped. There we are leaving this morning. Plenty of angles. No window for me to kill Sylveria Rendale and stash her in a closet on my own property.”
“These could be doctored.” Caldwell’s gaze lifts.
“Sure.” I take the phone back. “Your email?”
She gives it, and I send the files. “Run them through every analyst you trust. My word stands. It’s real.”
Fergus exhales, shoulders loosening under rain-damp flannel. “Never thought you’d put cameras out there.”
“Didn’t have a choice.” The lobby smells of lemon polish, wet wool, and the faint iron thread of death. “We need to know who is getting onto my property and leaving bodies.” More importantly, I need eyes on Ella at all times.