Dirty Little Secrets

by AJ Nuest

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve called, but I’m still waiting to hear back.”

  “Ah, I see.” Resettling the pages, Vesuite acknowledged her response with a nod.

  All good, as far as Xander could tell. That was, if he dismissed how the guy had skipped a step. The considerable size of the estate? “How much money we talking about?”

  “Excluding the grounds and manor here in the US, Mr. Smith’s assets total over three hundred million American dollars.”

  Xander froze, then shot to his feet the same second Eden slapped a tight grip on her fiancé’s knee. Something between a strangled laugh and a cough tangled in his throat, and he pitched his head back, hands clamped behind his neck.

  No way. There was just no way.

  “Did you say three hundred million?” The toe of Eden’s spiked heel lifted off the floor, a perfect replica to the rising octaves of her voice.

  “Apart from the house and grounds in the states, that is correct.” A smile crinkled the corners of Vesuite’s eyes, and he steepled his fingers over the paperwork. “Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations.”

  That miserable, sly bastard. Cheeks expanding, Xander squeezed every ounce of air in his lungs toward the ceiling. But it wasn’t the amount he stood to inherit that crimped his wiring. He’d always known Malcolm was rolling in dough.

  It was the way the old fart had managed to keep all that money a secret.

  Spinning to the side, Xander dropped his arms and walked off his shock with a slow, steady circuit around the room. Amassing a bankroll that size had made their mentor one of the wealthiest people in the world.

  “There are a few minor contingencies, of course.” Vesuite shuffled through the stack of documents on his right and slid a single sheet toward either corner of the table—one for Eden and the other supposedly for Xander. “A process my client insisted be put in place prior to allocating the funds.”

  Xander hauled up short near a wall of first edition hard covers, right off the top a whiff of something fishy ballooning through the room.

  Eden snorted and he darted a peek at her with a clipped nod. His thoughts exactly.

  Malcolm Smith had never done anything minor in his life. And while they were at, he’d been about as straightforward as a polynomial equation.

  “Let me guess.” Xander strode toward the table and snatched his sheet off the top. “There’s a catch.”

  “Jesus, the guy was a real shithead, wasn’t he?” Kelly slid Eden’s paper off the corner and, after giving it a cursory glance, placed it in her outstretched hand.

  The only thing listed on the damn thing was a web address and a seven-digit password but, even so, Xander couldn’t help the cynical chuckle that left his chest.

  Wherever he was, the old man was probably rubbing his hands in evil glee.

  “The document you are holding contains an alpha-numeric pass code which will allow you to access your portion of the inheritance. However, once logged in to the database, you will be required to answer a series of questions keyed specifically to your individual relationship with the deceased. A piece of information he imparted to you alone, perhaps. Some personal detail only he was privy to in order to confirm your identity.

  “But take care how you respond. One incorrect answer and you will be locked out of the system.” Elbows perched on the armrests, Vesuite opened his palms to his sides. “As I am sure you are aware, Mr. Smith’s main concern was to ensure his legacy be delivered to the proper hands. He felt the best way to do so while guaranteeing the information remained private was to set up a failsafe to access each of the accounts.”

  Yep, that sounded right up Malcolm’s alley. Xander committed the details to memory, wadded up the paper and stalked to the fireplace. Even in death, the finicky bugger was testing his protégés. Forcing them to prove they were worthy of his consideration.

  Plucking a long thin matchstick from the silver tray on the mantel, he flicked his thumb against the head. A waft of sulfur burned his nose as he held the flame to the paper and then tossed the whole works onto the kindling.

  “The remaining portion will be held in trust until such time as Mr. Addison is made available to receive his instructions.” The attorney placed the last sheet inside a leather portfolio and set it aside. “Other than a few signatures to confirm you agree to the terms of Mr. Smith’s final Will and Testament that concludes our business for today.”

  The last wrinkle blackened and curled, and Xander turned from the fireplace as Eden and Kelly traded a frown. “And the house?” She pointed at the floor. “You said the money in trust excluded this property.”

  Vesuite collected two other portfolios and stood. Walking the first toward Xander, he handed it off with a pen. “My client was unconcerned regarding the outcome of this residence.”

  Xander paused, the open file balanced on his palm. No way that sounded right.

  The attorney retraced his steps and placed the second portfolio in front of Eden. “Though he insisted the house and grounds be maintained during his final years, Mr. Smith did not wish to infringe upon his beneficiaries’ living arrangements.” Rounding the table back to his chair, Vesuite waved off the issue as if it didn’t matter. “His only instructions were to allow the three of you to decide.”

  Xander cocked a brow. More like Malcolm had hoped they’d get caught up in some stupid competition, with the house and grounds up as the grand prize.

  “I don’t want it.”

  His spine wrenched, and Xander spun toward Eden, but she was staring into the moony eyes of her fiancé.

  Shit, what was this? A Hallmark moment?

  The cop lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, smiling as he lowered it to his thigh.

  Swiveling her shoulders, she met Xander’s gaze over the back of her chair. “There’s something I need to tell you, X.” She patted the cushion of his vacant seat and something about the weight of her words—or maybe the gut-fisting dread in her eyes—triggered his pulse like he’d just stepped off the sidewalk in front of a two-ton truck.

  After everything they’d been through, everything they’d seen, he didn’t need a reference manual to know his motherboard was about to take a serious hit. Dammit, even her fiancé’s color was off.

  A few strides brought him back to the table, and he dropped to the chair. “What’s the matter?”

  She sighed, shifting around to face him. “There’s no easy way to tell you this so I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

  Yeah, good. Xander glanced at the sober set of Kelly’s jaw. Whatever this was, best give it to him straight.

  “Malcolm was murdered in this house. In my old bedroom.”

  Christ Almighty. He tensed.

  “His body wasn’t here when I showed up, but I was the one who discovered the scene.”

  Shock nailed him between the brows, and Xander rocked back on his ass, then immediately came forward and grabbed Eden’s free hand off her lap. “Fuck, E, I don’t…” He shook his head. For her to have known Malcolm was dead when she got here, whatever she’d stumbled into had most likely come down somewhere around that shower scene at the Bates Motel. “Jesus, I have no idea what to say.”

  “It’s okay.” Tears formed along her lower lashes, but the soft smile she offered helped ease the sickening visuals shooting craps in his head. “I’m okay. It’s just…” She snuck a peek at the man sitting behind her. “Kelly already indulged me by letting us have the wake here, so we wouldn’t have to worry about meeting in public, but as far as living here or wanting anything more to do with the place, I’m not really interested.”

  Damn right, she wasn’t. Not any more than she was interested in running full tilt into a sharp knife.

  Releasing her hand, Xander stood and paced toward the fireplace. Only problem was, he was hard pressed to imagine any other buyer would want the house, either.

  “I’ve had everything professionally cleane
d, of course.” Collecting the pen from where it had rolled onto the table, she flipped open the portfolio and scrawled her signature along the top sheet, paged through the documents and signed again. “There’s no evidence anything ever happened, but—”

  “No, I get it, E.” He turned back to the room. “No explanations necessary. Listen, I’ll take care of it. Just do whatever’s necessary to get that shit out of your head.”

  Her shoulders lowered and relief softened the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” And, strangely enough, that was the God’s honest truth.

  Even after hearing how Malcolm had met the end inside these four walls, Xander wasn’t convinced giving up the manor was the best move. This place was the only real home he’d ever known, and compared to the shitty holes he’d been forced to bed down in, he could’ve done a lot worse.

  He marched back to the table, scribbled his name over Vesuite’s documents and flipped the file closed. There was also Adder to consider. Regardless of the circumstances, nothing could be decided until the third member of the team weighed in. And until he returned from wherever the hell he’d gone off to, someone had to take care of the place.

  A flick of Xander’s wrist, and he skated the portfolio across the top. Not that he gave two shits what that asshole had to say. Far as he was concerned, Charlie’s vote was the one that mattered.

  “Unfortunately, if Ms. Smith is opting to relinquish her portion of the property, a sale in her share of the title is required.” After flipping through the pages to confirm Xander hadn’t missed any dotted lines, Vesuite stowed the portfolio in his briefcase. “The amount can be for any value she deems her third is worth and, once agreed upon, I’ve been authorized to facilitate the sale.”

  Oh, really? Xander locked eyes with her from his spot near the end of the chairs. There was an interesting factoid.

  A slow smile curled her lips, and he grinned as her silent message ticked across his brain in underlined boldface font.

  So, Malcolm had them running in circles from the grave, huh? Once again, the old geezer had dangled a carrot in front of their faces only to yank it out of reach. “Whaddaya say, E? How much you asking for your share?”

  “Depends.” She batted her lashes. “How much you willing to pay?”

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. But the one thing that sneaky bastard hadn’t counted on was how he’d stripped the value of a dollar down to an amount that didn’t matter. Not with a cool hundred million waiting in the bank. And most definitely not against the price of a lifelong friendship, and making sure Xander and Eden got the last say.

  He worked his money clip from the pocket of his slacks and paged through the roll. Damn, he’d given all his singles to the driver. “Smallest I got is a twenty.”

  “Oh God, no.” Horror lit her eyes, and she faked a gasp. “I’d hate for you to think I took advantage.”

  Kelly nudged her arm and handed over a stack of folded bills. She fanned the ends with a push of her thumb, and a second or two ticked by before she lifted her gaze to Xander. “How about I give you nineteen in change?”

  Chapter 9

  Charlie shot daggers at Xander’s back as he, Eden and the rest of the will-reading entourage filed into the library. The door shut with a snick, and every female head in the room swiveled back toward her.

  Fabulous. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, praying the Earth would just open already and swallow her whole. After that heated kiss, she would’ve stood a better chance at survival had Xander shoved her out the door of a plane with zero instructions on how to pull the damn chute.

  The suggestive bounce of Tanner’s brows conveyed exactly what kind of visuals were center stage in her head, and a derisive puff of air spurted past Charlie’s lips.

  Total. Disaster.

  A conceding nod from Molly as if Xander had given her the boot, and Charlie’s stomach executed a triple back handspring and dove directly for her feet.

  She peeked to the side, but found no help there. Mocha was too busy fanning his face.

  Locking her knees, Charlie fought the impulse to march straight toward the library and pound her fist on the door. What in the high holy hell had Xander been thinking? There’d been absolutely no reason for him to lay that lip lock on her. Especially here, of all places, in the middle of Malcolm’s wake.

  Cute smile or no cute smile, the next time they were alone, maybe she’d draw him a map. Show him exactly what type of awkward island he’d left her stranded on, right after he peeled her hands off from around his neck.

  “My mouth keeps watering.” Mocha sighed. “I need something to nosh on before I end up taking a bite out of Archer’s arm.”

  Snorting a dry laugh, Charlie eyed the tug o’ war Detective Archer’s bulky biceps were winning against the sleeves of his charcoal gray dress shirt. But at least Mocha had offered a semi-decent distraction. With the way her lips still tingled, Charlie had to wonder if Xander had permanently branded his mark on her mouth. “Too bad you’d break a tooth.”

  “Eden carries dental.” Mocha fluttered his false eyelashes. “Besides, it’d be worth it just to see the look on Tanner’s face.”

  Another laugh, and Charlie shook her head, darting a frown from Archer to Tanner and back again. Not to mention how Mocha had also confirmed her suspicions about the nearly tangible hostility crackling through the air between those two. “So, what happened? They recently break-up?”

  “Oh God, no. Tanner can’t stand the man.” Finally leaving off his fanning, Mocha fingered a strand of the multi-tiered pearls strung around his neck. “In fact, despising him is pretty much the only thing she talks about.”

  Ah. Charlie’s chin notched up a degree and dropped in understanding. In doing so, Tanner had stuck herself in one of those reverse-effect cases of protesting too much. No doubt the more she complained, the clearer it became to everyone else Detective Archer had gotten under her skin.

  One of Archer’s dark-blond eyebrows rose, and he slowly turned, aiming a lethal stare in Charlie and Mocha’s direction. Oops. Charlie quickly studied the fascinating décor of the room.

  Starting out the night by psychically embedding her foot in her mouth seemed like a bad idea. The steam hissing from Archer’s ears already said he was considering ripping someone’s head off, and she preferred hers stayed squarely attached to her shoulders.

  Molly chose that moment to amble toward Nick DeFranco and his wife, and Charlie’s attention was snagged by the young boy who’d been hidden behind her, slouched in a corner of the couch before the fireplace.

  Elbow propped on the armrest, fingers bracing his forehead, he shuffled the bottom of one Air Jordan over the rug as if he were ready to call the whole thing quits out of sheer boredom.

  His small size made guesstimating his age difficult. A few years older than Ellis, maybe. Twelve or thirteen. Though from the telling spark of resentment in his green eyes, Charlie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was older. The kinky dark hair shaved close to his scalp spoke of a melting pot of ethnicity, with a smattering of freckles covering his nose and cheeks to offset his toffee skin.

  “What’s with the kid?” She slanted her head in his direction. Based on the way he didn’t let his focus linger on any one thing too long, he was a stray like all the others Malcolm had once invited into the house. But why someone would bring him to a wake only to leave him alone in a room full of strangers seemed whacky to her.

  “Oh, that’s Trey. Sad story, really.” Mocha crossed his arms. “Archer discovered him during a recent narcotics bust and had to bring him in. Parents are MIA, and since no one has shown up to claim him, Eden and Kelly have sorta taken him under their wing. So far, their efforts haven’t panned out, though. Poor kid’s having a hard time adjusting. Not that anyone blames him, considering the way he was found.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie frowned. “Found how?”

  “Well, it was weir
d.” Unlocking one hand, Mocha twiddled his nails toward Trey. “He was locked in a closet, but Archer told Eden from the number of deadbolts lined down the dumb thing, he thought he’d hit the mother lode. Turns out, the only thing behind the door was Trey and a mattress.”

  God, some people sucked. And seriously needed to have their feet nailed to the floor with a set of railroad spikes. Charlie studied the kid a second time. If she had her way, she’d reverse time and line up the jerk who’d done that to him right next to her stepdad.

  She’d been where Trey was. More times than she cared to count. Those few years between leaving home and hooking up with the old gang, she’d been rewarded with her fair share of visits to juvy. Not that the frustration over being hauled in ever compared to what she’d been through before she’d run away.

  Cracking the minimum security enforced by those institutions was generally a cakewalk, no matter how many locks were fastened to her bedroom door. And by the third go-around, for anyone to pretend she was there for an extended stay was a joke.

  It was the panic over being identified that consistently drove her back to the streets. The worry of what that might mean for her and her brother.

  Things had already been bad enough before she’d left, and after everything Danny had done for her, the last thing she wanted him to suffer was the resulting backlash of her being carted back home. “Has he said anything about what happened?”

  “Nah, overall he’s been pretty tight-lipped.” One of Mocha’s shoulders worked a shrug. “I don’t think Eden was planning on carting him along today, but he’s a flight risk. No matter how much she and Kelly promise him things are gonna be different, Trey keeps disappearing.”