by Sarah Andre
“Sure. But she’s as different from Tiff as, well, Leo and me. She owns a CPA firm in Aspen. Avoids publicity of any kind. Doesn’t party. Doesn’t have a sense of humor.” He shrugged like he’d run out of pertinent descriptions.
The woman’s curt tone still replayed in her head. “Did she make financial decisions for Tiffany?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You said earlier the cousins were close.”
He let out a half-laugh. “Too close.”
Her pen paused. “Really? So what’s your relationship with Marcy?”
“We’re friends.”
“Dig deeper.”
He scratched his beard. “Sometimes Marcy was a lifesaver, like when Tiff was drunk and wouldn’t listen to anyone. But most of the time she was a third wheel, and her bossiness got on my nerves.”
“Bossiness?”
“You know. Bossy. A control freak. Sorta like you, come to think of it.”
She ignored his smirk. “Give me some examples.”
“Telling Tiff what to do, where to go, when to be there, like she was a helpless idiot, and most of the time Tiff went along with it.” His eyebrows knotted. “It was annoying.”
“Was Tiffany helpless when it was just the two of you?”
“Only if she was acting out a sex fantasy.” His smirk reappeared as he watched her through hooded eyes.
She pursed her lips, ignoring the flush that crept up her neck. “Where was Marcy the night of the murder?”
“My lawyer would know. We can call him in the morning.” He waved his beer. “You don’t think she—”
“No, no. Just covering all the bases.” She cupped her chin, tapping the cell phone absently with her pen. “I wish I could have gotten a few answers out of her.”
“She’d talk to me.” He held out a hand, nodding at the phone.
“Dude. You’re about to go on trial for the murder of her beloved cousin.”
“I know. You’d think she’d despise me. But she’s called my parents a few times trying to reach me.”
“She’s a witness for the prosecution.”
He nodded. “Which is why I’ve never called her back. Parker would shoot me dead and save the jury the trouble. But I’ll tell her she can trust you and see if it helps.”
She hesitated. If they were doing something to cause a mistrial, she wanted no part of it. But Marcy’s answers would open up a whole new vista into Tiffany’s world. “Seriously, Lock. How much trouble will this cause?”
“Only one way to find out.” He grabbed the phone, tapped the screen, and slouched back, looking as nonchalant as if he was ordering a pizza—pure Lock and Load defying attorney advice. The swift way he shifted into his daredevil persona caught her off guard. Should she be appalled at his risk-taking or admiring his determination?
Marcy answered, and Jordan heard her angry warning to quit calling. Lock cut her off with a simple, “It’s me.”
Jordan counted six seconds of silence, then Marcy’s tone was too hushed to be intelligible, but evidently she had a lot of say. Finally he participated.
“Yeah, I know…Me too.” He leaned on his knees, staring at the ground. The phone dangled casually between his thumb and index finger as he listened some more. “I can’t tell you that, Marce. Just know my lawyer found proof that it wasn’t me.” His brows furrowed at her next words. “I can’t tell you that either.”
Jordan shifted impatiently which caught his attention. “Listen, I want you to talk to that…writer lady. She’s cool. You can answer her questions…She’s helping my side.”
He nodded and handed Jordan the phone. The brief brush of his warm fingers sent a wave of turmoil through her. She immediately glanced at her notes trying to channel her journalist side the same way Lock morphed into Lock and Load. She wouldn’t get much done as a lovesick puppy. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hi again, Marcy.” Jordan dropped her southern accent. Although that part of her was genuine, it seemed wrong. This woman had, after all, lost someone close to her in a very violent way. “My name is Jordan Sinclair. I’ve asked Lock some questions about your cousin’s life he can’t answer and was wondering if you could shed some light.”
“I only have a few minutes…” Her voice faded like she was moving away from the phone. Jordan heard the click of a door closing, then, “I’ll be in a lot of trouble if word gets out that I’m communicating with Lock.”
“You’re right. But it sounds like you’ve already tried to reach him through his parents.”
“I’m just sorry he’s going through this.” How odd she’d risk the phone calls just to say that. “Do you know what his lawyer will say in court?” she asked quietly.
Jordan glanced at Lock, who happened to be studying her with hooded eyes the color of smoke. Her nerve endings sizzled. “Uh, no. I’m not involved in that part of his case. He tells me you were very protective of Tiffany.”
“She was like my kid sister. If I thought she was making a mistake, I certainly told her so.”
“Did she resent that? I mean, she was twenty-seven when she died.”
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Again, I’m just trying to get a better picture of Tiffany’s life without Lock. I apologize if my questions seem abrupt or rude.”
Marcy sighed. “She was extremely wealthy, extremely spoiled, and extremely beautiful. The world takes cruel advantage of people like that. On behalf of my family, I watched out for her.”
“But you’ve made your way just fine. What was different?”
“She was…naive. Unlike me, she was rarely disciplined growing up. She barely graduated high school. Never had to work, so she didn’t establish life skills like looking out for her own best interests or what would benefit the family or the long-term damage she was doing to her reputation. She lived for the moment or the next party. If Lock’s going to use the word protective, then fine. I wanted to keep her safe.”
“What was your grandmother’s reaction to all the partying?”
“That’s definitely none of your business.”
Jordan paused. “The reason I ask is because Lock says she was close to your grandmother.”
“Yes.” Because it was only one word, Jordan couldn’t place the odd tone.
She scribbled two question marks after “grandmother” and hurried on. “Did Tiffany have any other volatile relationships besides Lock?”
Without needing to glance up, she knew the muscles along that handsome jaw twitched in annoyance.
“Mmmm, no.”
“Any boyfriends from the past who made a sudden reappearance?”
“No. But it’s not like she parted as friends with any of them.”
She drew a line under the Other Men column. The violence of the stabbing and the multiple wounds indicated the killer was passionately close to Tiffany. Maybe she’d been seeing someone she didn’t even want Marcy to know about.
Jordan glanced at the next subject on her pad. “She hosted a huge charity event the day she died. Can you tell me how she got involved with that, and what her role was?”
“It’s one of the many van der Kellen charities, Runway Friends for Runaways. Tiffany got her celebrity friends to give their time and walk the runway. The clothes were all donated by couture lines, and huge sponsors underwrote items for the silent auction. We raised over half a million dollars that day.”
“You said ‘we.’ What was your role?”
“Everything except getting the models and being the family representative at press events.”
Jordan frowned. “Everything meaning: organizing it, getting the auction donations, overseeing the volunteers, setting up publicity…?”
“Yes. I do it for most of the van der Kellen charites.”
Marcy had her grandmother’s DNA all right. “And Lock says you work fulltime too.”
“It’s how I was raised.” Pride threaded Marcy’s voice. She really was the o
pposite of Tiffany.
“So,” Jordan clarified, “you did all the work behind the scenes, while Tiffany took all the van der Kellen credit in front of the cameras?”
There was a heartbeat of silence over the line. “It was a charity event, not a popularity contest. I did what I excelled at, and my cousin played to her strengths.”
Again that odd tone, and Jordan went after it like a dog with a bone. “But didn’t that ever frustrate you?”
“No. I think you’re trying to dig up conflict where there was none.”
Jordan scoured her mind for any publicity shot featuring Marcy, or even a picture of what she looked like, but drew a blank. Perhaps, like Leo, she was an introvert. Nevertheless, to stay unnoticed and unappreciated in all the family philanthropic activities and gushing press events…
“I really don’t have much time,” Marcy said again, and Jordan quickly scanned down to the next question.
“Was she upset about something other than Lock not showing up to be auctioned?”
Peripherally she caught him shifting restlessly. He raked a hand through his hair.
“She had an opportunity to star in a reality show, and that day it fell through.”
Why hadn’t Lock mentioned that? Jordan blinked up and again met that smoking hot stare. She quickly refocused on her written questions. “Uh…What kind of show?”
“Just cameras following her around, like the Kardashians.”
“Why did it fall through?”
“A family issue.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“No.”
The Ice Queen no doubt.
“Did you ever see Roberto Vannini inside the bar that night?”
“I don’t know what he looks like.”
“She met up with him in Milan the week before. You paid for that trip. Didn’t she tell you anything about him?”
“She told me a lot, but his name didn’t come up.”
Jordan frowned. Lock claimed the cousins were too close. Marcy claimed they were like sisters. And yet Tiffany kept the budding Italian affair a secret from her. “Where were you when Lock walked into the Avalanche?”
“In the restroom. When I came out, he was trying to get her to leave and going about it all wrong. If he’d just listened to me, that night might’ve turned out completely differently.”
“Differently how?”
“We’ll never know.”
Flummoxed, Jordan gazed at Lock again. His mind-melting sexual stare down persisted. This time she maintained eye contact a fraction longer than appropriate to let him know he didn’t intimidate her. The corners of his eyes crinkled half a second before a suggestive smile lit his face. Crazy gorgeous. She dragged her attention away. Her focus had to remain on keeping her mother safe, not playing dangerous games with a master of seduction.
“So, um, did you try to contact Tiffany again after Lock drove off with her?”
“No. Since I’d spent most of the day at the event, I went back to my office and caught up on some work.”
“What time was that?”
“Eight-ish.”
“What did you think about her relationship with Lock?”
“I have no comment,” Marcy replied crisply. “I really need to wrap this up.”
“What about a man named MMADude?” Jordan asked hastily.
“What?”
“Did she know anyone into extreme fighting? Boxing? Mixed martial arts?” She waited impatiently in the silence.
“Maybe,” Marcy finally said. “She went on a few dates in early May while Lock shot some commercial endorsements in New York. It was only casual though. She ended it when she found out the guy lied about who he was.”
Early May? That meant two weeks before Tiffany’s death. And her last week was in Milan with Vannini. Jordan’s skin prickled.
“What do you mean the guy lied?”
“He told her he was a famous fighter, but he was a maintenance man or something.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mmmm…Russell Reeves? Randy Reeves? Something like that.”
Jordan scribbled the information. “Does he live in Aspen?”
“No, north of town in Glenwood Springs. I only met him for like two minutes. He seemed nice enough. Creepy eyes, though.”
“How about a photographer? Did she mention someone hanging around taking pictures?”
“Everyone took pictures of Tiffany,” Marcy said firmly. “Everyone. It’s just the way it was.”
Jordan couldn’t think of any further questions and thanked her.
“May I say good-bye to Lock?” Once again Jordan couldn’t place the tone.
“Sure.” She held out the phone, but he sat back, waving it off. Jordan covered the mouthpiece and hissed, “We may need her help later on. Just say good-bye.”
He reluctantly reached for the device and had the decency to sound sincere when he thanked her. Jordan could tell by his cryptic comments that she was asking about his defense strategy again, and he only murmured some reassurances that he’d be okay.
His elbows rested on his knees, which pulled the black shirt tight across his defined biceps. Because he’d lowered his head again, Jordan stared openly. He’d sat perfectly still, drilling her with that electrifying stare of his, like a golden lion sizing up his prey. How can any woman not fall for him?
She refocused on Marcy’s peculiar tone just now and how hard she’d tried to get in touch with him these last months. And her obsessive concern over the strength of his defense. Lock had mentioned Marcy was like a third wheel, which meant the three of them must have hung together a lot.
He said good-bye and tossed the cell onto the sofa cushion with a weary grunt.
“Just for kicks,” she said, “what does Marcy look like?”
“Dirty blond hair, maybe two inches shorter than Tiffany, ten pounds too heavy. Pretty enough, if you can get past all the freckles.”
“But you slept with her anyway?”
Chapter Nineteen
Lock’s jaw dropped. “Marcy said we slept together?”
“No. Just taking a wild guess.”
He sagged into sofa. What had led her to a wild guess like that?
“Lock. Did you have sex with her?”
This topic was not going to end well. He instinctively pushed Lock and Load to the forefront to deal with the fallout. “I could’ve.”
“Could have?”
“Okay, yeah. I did her.”
Jordan’s eyes flared at the derogatory words he purposely chose.
“Knowing she was Tiffany’s cousin?”
He expected the disgusted tone, yet it still bunched every muscle in him. “Before I met Tiff. And only once.”
Jordan kneaded her forehead. Maybe to check and see if her brain had just exploded. “What was Marcy’s reaction when you began dating her cousin?”
“I didn’t recognize Marcy. Tiff introduced us at a coffee shop, and when she went to the restroom, Marcy told me we’d spent the night together.”
Her eyes widened. “And you said?”
He shrugged and folded his arms, hoping to hell he looked laid-back. “Nothing. It happens.”
“What happens?”
“Girls come over all the time saying, ‘hey, remember when,’ and I just go along with it pretending the night was memorable.”
Her mouth slacked open, and he glanced away. He hated the shitty feeling crawling through him. He was Lock and Load for Christ’s sake! Women threw themselves at him, what was a guy to do?
“Wait a minute.” Her brows furrowed as she stared off into space.
Aw Christ. When her face got all intense like that, the next question usually pummeled him senseless. He inflated his lungs fully and held onto the oxygen.
“The pundits went ballistic when you made bail on a clerical error,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “Making bail on a felony murder charge is unheard of.” Those sharp, blue eyes riveted back to his. “The clerk was cute and a
little airheaded when the paparazzi chased after her, but she kept to her story—an honest mistake. By the time the media had picked up on the clerical error story anyway, you were long gone.” She looked around the cabin as if he didn’t know where he’d fled, and shook her head in disbelief. “It wasn’t an accidental error, was it? You’d done her in the past too. Left her pining for more just like Marcy.”
He pressed his lips together, but he’d held in the air too long, and it burst out like an aggravated sigh.
“Did you remember the clerk when she told you about your night together?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Charming.” She made it sound like a swear word, and he rallied to defend himself.
“What can I say? Women want me.”
“Actually,” she said through tight lips, “we all think you’re a stone-cold killer.”
He was beyond stopping Lock and Load’s response. “Yeah, but given half a chance, I bet any of you would still hook up with me.” He plastered on his most seductive grin. “Some things never change.”
Her chin lifted, and his gut tightened. He knew her enough by now…
“God, I hate that Lock and Load smirk,” she said quietly.
Smirk? He huffed out a tired grunt. “Can we move on?”
“Move on? Newsflash, man-whore, Marcy still likes you.”
His whole body flushed at the label. “You misunderstood. We’re friends. That’s all.”
A ghost of a shrug appeared. “Okay.”
Silence descended, and she scribbled notes with that pretty mouth pressed tight and turned down. He didn’t want to be the one to break first, but he had to know. “So what did Marcy say?”
Jordan visibly rearranged her fury into the professional mask, but he could see it took effort. Was she jealous?
“Did you know Tiffany turned down a reality show that day?”
He shook his head, startled. “She was crazy excited about doing it. I wonder what happened.”
“I got the impression she didn’t turn it down voluntarily. Maybe Carlotta forbade it.”
“Doubtful. It’d been in the works for a while. The Queen would have kicked it to the curb in the early stages.”