What They Never Said

by Avery, Quinn

  Unable to decide if she wanted to laugh or cry, she gripped him tight. “I didn’t think you actually took the money. I thought you only staged those pictures to get Agron’s attention.”

  Shaking his head, he watched his thumb brush over the sailboat tattooed on her wrist. “My family took everything from yours. The least they could do is buy the boat your dad always dreamed of taking you sailing on.”

  Fat tears spilled down her cheeks as he leaned down to kiss her, his lips searching with a deep urgency. He’d been kissing her that way ever since she came home from the hospital all those months ago, like he was afraid she’d disappear, or he was trying to make up for all the misfortunes they’d endured. When she stopped to think how much he loved her, how upset he’d been after she’d been shot, how sweet he’d been ever since they eloped in front of the Palace, she cried until her body trembled in his thick arms.

  What was wrong with her? She’d become a blubbering mess in the past few weeks. Once she put a little more thought into it, she considered how sore her breasts had been, and how she felt exhausted…all the time. Beyond jet-lag.

  Jerking back, she cut the kiss short. “Oh shit.”

  Lincoln threw her a protective look. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’d been so busy with the house, and the dog, and lining everything up for this trip that I haven’t been paying attention.”

  “Paying attention to what?”

  “My period. I should’ve had it the week before we left.” Meeting his confused gaze, she swallowed the bundle of nerves that rose in her throat. “I forgot to take my pills a few days in a row, and had to take a bunch all in one day.”

  Even though it was dark, she swore she could see Lincoln’s face pale in the moonlight. “Are you sure about the timing?”

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  Laughing, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed another soft kiss against his lips. She backed away, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Baby, I think you’re gonna be a daddy.”

  Arms dropping to his sides, he shuffled away from her, eyes skipping over to the dark water.

  Her shoulders fell. His disappointment was more painful than being shot. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  He turned back to her, eyebrows lowered. “Thought I would be too…but look at the men in my family, Cameron. They were monsters. What if we have a son? What if he turns out to be a cruel bastard like my old man, or a psychopath like my brother?”

  “That will never happen,” she promised in a firm voice. She stepped close to him and took his thick jaw in her hands, angry that his mind would even go there. He had gone beyond proving his goodness, and she wasn’t going to tolerate him thinking anything less. “Baby, if we have a son, he’ll be honest and brave like his father. I know this for a fact. You were your brother’s twin, and you turned out nothing like him. Heredity doesn’t overrule love. Our child will be cared for and loved in a way your parents and my mom hadn’t done for us. You’ll be the best daddy…I just know it. Don’t let them suck the happiness out of our lives, Linc. They hurt us enough already. Don’t give them the power to do it even when they’re gone. This baby will be the best parts of us—you and me.”

  A slow grin cracked his dire expression. “I hope it’s a little girl…one with your blue eyes and blond curls.”

  Relieved that he was able to see the bigger picture, she matched his grin. “As soon as we get home, I’ll make an appointment with an OB.”

  “Do you think it’ll be too early to tell if it’s a boy or girl?”

  “Linc, does it really matter? Can’t we leave it a surprise? Either way, this baby will be loved more than any baby in the history of babies.”

  His twitching fingers covered her hands on his face. Desperation swarmed his beautiful gaze. “I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”

  Swallowing the building lump in her throat, she nodded. “Okay. We can find out.”

  He swept her off her feet and carried her down the steps into the belly of the boat. She tried to memorialize everything about the moment—the flutter in her chest, the new smell of the yacht mixed with the salty ocean, and most of all, the satisfaction of the happy ending she’d always dreamed of having with the boy who’d claimed her heart. Nothing sinister would ever come between them ever again.

  * * *

  BOOKS BY QUINN AVERY

  BEXLEY SQUIRES MYSTERIES

  The Dead Girl’s Stilettos

  The Million Dollar Collar

  The Guard’s Last Watch

  The Skeleton Key’s Secrets

  STANDALONE

  What They Never Said

  Want more heat in your stories?

  Check out my romantic suspense pen name!

  BOOKS BY JENNIFER ANN

  KENDALL FAMILY SERIES

  Brooklyn Rockstar

  Midwest Fighter

  Manhattan Millionaire

  Oceanside Marine

  Kendall Christmas

  Miami Bodyguard

  American Farmer

  FALLEN HEROES DUET

  Fighting for Phoebe

  Fighting for Alexa

  ROCK BOTTOM SERIES

  Outrageous

  Notorious

  Courageous

  Ferocious

  NYC LOVE SERIES

  Adam’s List

  Kelly’s Quest

  Chloe’s Dream

  STANDALONES

  Broken Little Melodies

  The Secrets Between Us

  MC ROMANCE SERIALS

  Inferno Glory MC

  Jawa’s Angels MC

  * * *

  Keep reading for a preview of The Dead Girl’s Stilettos (Book #1 in the Bexley Squires Mystery series), now available on Kindle Unlimited!

  PROLOGUE

  PAPAYA SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

  NOVEMBER 23RD

  The young woman wept as she staggered across the main deck of a super yacht anchored near Papaya Springs, playground for the rich and famous. She was naked except for a pair of high heels. The game was over—she was about to die. Pain radiated through her skull, and her forehead was covered with something warm that also saturated her eyes and blurred her vision. She swiped the sticky substance with a trembling hand. Blood coated her fingertips. Had someone hurt her? Did she have an accident? She remembered a fight…

  Nausea sloshed through her stomach. She didn’t understand why her thoughts were so muddled. Had she taken something? Heart pounding an erratic beat; she scurried across the deck. Her lungs burned. Panic set in. Moonlight cast a sinister glow on the dark water surrounding the vessel. There was nowhere to hide.

  She should yell for help. In the deepest depths of her cloudy memory, she knew no one would come to her rescue. They were after her. Then she saw him emerging from the shadows. She limped into his open arms. “I’m scared!” she cried. “What’s happening?”

  Gentle hands caressed her back. Warm lips swept over her shoulder. His familiar scent instantly put her at ease. But there was something off. The woman sensed it with every nerve in her body.

  “Shhh…there’s no need to cry,” he cooed. “Everything’s going to be okay.” The words were a contradiction to the sorrow wavering in his voice.

  “Noooo...” She backed away until something was pressed against her shoulder blades. A railing. She was trapped. “Please…don’t do this.”

  The woman’s cries came in agonizing howls. She wanted her mom and dad. She wanted to go home.

  But his face was the last thing she would ever see.

  * * *

  Twenty-year-old Eric O’Neil sprinted across the sandy shore, his feet leaving deep indentations in the fine powder. Multimillion dollar yachts skimmed across the glittering Pacific Ocean less than a mile away, hulls sparkling like diamonds in the sweltering sun. Crisp sails snapped in the warm wind. Speakers blasted gangsta rap. Even on an early holiday afternoon, it was an opportunity for the wealthy to play in SoCal, exposing their sun kissed shoulders without a
care in the world.

  Only two types were known to be residents of the swanky community: those with money and those paid to serve them. It was common knowledge to locals that illegal drugs ran rampant, but everyone went out of their way to keep it a secret. It was rumored some establishments included luxurious secret rooms where the powerful could relax and get high. Eric hoped he’d come across one of those places, but he was merely stoked he’d scored primo weed from a high-end dispensary using his fake ID. They didn’t have anything like it back in Detroit. He was higher than the blue skies overhead.

  He yelled over his shoulder to his girlfriend, “Try to keep up, babe!”

  He was slated to be Papaya Springs College’s best baller this season, having broken his state’s high school records two seasons in a row for most points scored by one player. The moment he stepped on the basketball court he was a god, destined for a pro team after college. There had already been a handful of recruiters vying for his attention with under-the-table bribes of trips involving drugs and hordes of female companions.

  It gave him an even greater sense of pride when Tehya Jensen—unquestionably the hottest and richest chick around—literally chased after him. Her parents owned a string of hotels all over the world, and they’d invited Eric to spend Thanksgiving at their $20 million condo. He never imagined he’d be privileged to that kind of lifestyle. His parents had teetered on the edge of poverty ever since the automotive plants began to shut down. He’d only been able to afford college because of the athletic scholarship.

  “Seriously, my legs are too heavy for this!” Teyha whined from far away. “Slow down!”

  Laughing manically, Eric rounded the corner, stumbling across a sand dune. He lost his footing, long limbs sprawled around him as he face-planted onto the beach. With a long grunt, he flipped around to his back and started to move his hands and legs at his sides.

  “Look at me…I’m a sand angel,” he muttered before releasing a nasally chuckle.

  Then the back of his arm connected with something firm, wet, and exceptionally clammy. Eric rolled to his side, blinking heavily at the sight before him. A naked woman with giant knockers was fast asleep where the tide recently receded in the sand. Dark, wet hair covered her face, and her arms and legs were spread out around her like she'd made angels in the sand too. In fact, one of her legs was crooked at an unusual angle. Wait, Eric thought to himself, she’s not naked. She’s wearing heels.

  They weren’t just any pair of heels, either. They were luminescent gold with rhinestones—hell, maybe even diamonds. If the water hadn’t ruined them, they could be outrageously expensive. Since Eric didn’t have two spare pennies to rub together after covering expenses not included in his scholarship, creativity was key in finding someone as rich as Tehya an impressive Christmas present. He didn’t want to screw up the chance of getting invited back to her parents’ condo.

  Eric peered over his shoulder, ensuring Tehya wasn’t close before he went to work in removing the woman’s shoes. The suction of her wet skin made removing them more difficult than anticipated. Either that or he was still tripping. Tongue trapped between his teeth, Eric pulled and pulled until the unconscious woman’s feet gave up the fight.

  Just as he was contemplating copping a quick feel of the woman’s perfect tits (he was dying to find out if they were real), Tehya’s muffled scream pierced the warm air. He twisted around to find his girlfriend holding both hands over her mouth, eyes as wide as a cartoon character’s. She wore a skimpy little dress that made her father’s face as red as a cherry when they came down from her room after a heated make out session. Warmth spread through Eric’s groin when he recalled how many times he’d violated that sweet little body in the condo with her parents nearby.

  “Ohmygod! Eric, what are you doing?”

  All at once remembering he was holding the woman’s shoes—Tehya’s present—he clumsily moved them behind his back. “It’s fine, babe. She’s sleeping.”

  A funny little noise slipped from Tehya’s throat. “She does not look like she’s sleeping. Look at her head!”

  Eric stretched back to the woman. Now that he paid a little closer attention, it did seem like there was something terribly wrong. Was that her brain peering back at him? He crawled backwards on his hands and feet in the sand like the crab they’d tried to give a hit to earlier while getting high. Eric laughed at the memory as he climbed back up to his feet.

  “This isn’t funny!” Tehya scolded, her voice becoming even more annoying with every syllable. “Were you stealing her shoes?”

  “If she’s actually dead, she’s not gonna need them anymore,” he insisted, lifting them in the air for emphasis. “They’d look hotter on you anyway.”

  “No way I’m wearing shoes you stole off a corpse!”

  Eric rolled his eyes. Women were never satisfied. He tossed them back by his feet. “Happy now?”

  “You can’t leave them here! We have to call the police, and they’ll think we were somehow involved if they find your fingerprints! Ohmygod we’re totally going to jail! Our lives are over! They’re going to kick you off the team, and—”

  “Babe, stop!” Eric demanded, bracing a hand over her warm lips. “The weed is making you paranoid. We’re not going to jail, and they’re not kicking me off the team. We’ll take the shoes with us, then we’ll call the cops from somewhere far away from here.”

  Eric scooped the incriminating evidence off the sand before taking his girlfriend’s hand and leading her away. He wasn’t going to prison because of some stupid shoes. Besides, if they were as valuable as he suspected, then maybe there was a way they could bring in some money.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  DECEMBER 27TH

  “Help me, Bex!”

  The sight of her sister’s face covered in blood ripped Bexley Squires from a hard, deep sleep. The nightmare had been so real she would have sworn Cineste had been in her room.

  It reminded her of the time Cineste had sliced the heel of her foot open on a metal drain grate. The sight of bone and a small river of blood had triggered a numbing terror in the pit of Bexley’s stomach. At the time, their mother had been too weak from chemotherapy to leave her bed, and their father was on deployment. It was up to Bexley. She had been convinced Cineste would die so she did the only sensible thing the mind of a twelve-year-old could think of, and stole the neighbor’s car.

  Cineste’s unknown fate had consumed Bexley’s every waking thought since she received the fateful call from her father nearly two months prior. The conversation came back to her in bits and pieces.

  “The Peachtrees hired her as a nanny…turns out she was involved with the Commander’s adult son…he held a gun to his father’s head…they absconded with all the Peachtrees’ cash.”

  When Bexley pushed him to explain, he’d ended the conversation. She’d never forget the aggravation in his voice, or the way he announced he had washed his hands clean of both his daughters. He hadn’t called since, not even for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

  She swiped a framed selfie off her nightstand that the sisters had taken when Cineste came for a visit last spring. They looked so much alike that they could almost pass for twins. They’d both inherited their mother’s thick mahogany locks, heart-shaped face, and freckled olive skin. Also like their mother, the sisters were petite and average height, although Cineste still had a full inch on Bexley. The only thing linking them to their father were their bright green eyes, sharp noses, and distaste for bullshit.

  She ran her thumb over her sister’s image. Cineste’s safety was the only reason she'd agreed to meet with an anonymous source who wouldn’t offer any more information beyond a free flight and generous compensation.

  She wasn’t completely surprised, considering she’d been in high demand since the piece she wrote on Richard Warren. But when the source requested to meet in Los Angeles, she was convinced fate was involved. She’d been planning to head out to
California to re-trace her sister’s footsteps once she had more than a few hundred dollars to spare.

  Her eyes skipped across her Brooklyn loft. After losing her last apartment to an attempt on her life, it had taken months to achieve the boho chic look she’d strived for within the exposed brick walls, patiently adding each detail whenever her tight budget would allow. A set of patterned Wingback chairs from an estate sale faced a 70s cigar-colored leather sofa from the thrift store down the street. In addition to a few thriving house plants, mismatched rugs in various shades of blue helped to brighten the effect of the refurbished walnut flooring. The print that hung over her kitchen table, taken by a local photographer, had been her only splurge. The remaining decor she’d either found while dumpster-diving, or had been gifted to her by a friend. The only effort Bexley made to celebrate the holidays involved a sad little spruce tree adorned with white lights and silver bulbs.

  The square footage was barely enough for one resident, which proved to be true on the rare occasions Bexley brought an overnight guest. But it was in a family-friendly area with decent neighbors and friendly shop owners. And it was all hers.

  Now she was terrified she would lose it. Her payout from the Warren article was depleted, and the odd jobs she’d taken—walking neighborhood dogs and bartending for the pub a few blocks down—weren’t enough to continue paying the rent. It was yet another reason she felt compelled to find out whether the offer she received was legit. Considering they’d followed through and sent her a gift card from an airline that more than covered the cost of her flight to L.A., Bexley wanted to believe.