Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  Callie woke up around nine on Sunday, feeling much more energized than she'd felt the day before. She'd actually been able to sleep without seeing Arthur's dead body or hearing her mother's hysterical weeping.

  After taking a shower and putting on faded, ripped jeans and a soft, cozy blue sweater, she made herself breakfast, thinking about Flynn's scrambled eggs from the day before, as she whipped up an egg white omelet with tomatoes and mushrooms and mixed in some roasted potatoes she had left over from a few days earlier. Flynn had done a nice job with his scramble. The man clearly had many talents besides being a federal agent. He was a good cook and a really good kisser.

  She smiled to herself at the memory. It had been a long time since she'd felt so thoroughly wrapped up in a man's kiss where she hadn't been thinking about anything except making it last as long as possible. Usually, her mind was ahead of her emotions, warning her not to go too fast or too slow, thinking about random things like whether or not the guy was too tall or too short or if she had time to go to the gym or for a run before she went to work in the morning. But with Flynn, she'd been consumed by his taste and his touch, the heat of his breath, the feel of his arms around her. She hadn't been able to think of anything or anyone else. The only word going through her head had been more. She'd wanted more of him. More of everything.

  But that couldn't—shouldn't—happen. He was too attractive, and she already liked him way too much. He was still in a position to hurt her mother. Until her mom was completely in the clear, she couldn't let herself forget that.

  Today was a new day, and she was determined to help Flynn get leads that would move him off her mother. And maybe some new clues would also clear her own lingering doubts about her mom. She wanted that more than anything.

  She drank two cups of coffee while she ate her breakfast. Her caffeine addiction was getting worse by the minute, but it was helping her focus.

  Opening up the large binder that contained Arthur's trust, she read through the first several pages. What was most interesting was that the trust had been updated four weeks earlier. She wondered what had changed in this version. She could probably find out, but it would take a fair amount of reading and probably a call to the attorney.

  What she could see was that the bulk of Arthur's estate was going to the family foundation, which had been put in place by his parents and distributed money to various charities. Arthur was also leaving money to several museums, one of which was the Piquard. There were several other businesses called out for endowments, including the Art Co-op of San Diego, and the Vazquez Studio. Arthur's love of art would continue after his death.

  Moving on, she saw that her mother would receive a million-dollar flat payment as well as the condo in Hawaii. Her mother could remain in the Pacific Palisades home for one year and then it would be sold with the proceeds going back into the foundation. The management of the foundation would go to Arthur's sister in Australia.

  There was no mention of the house in Palm Springs. Why was that? If the trust had been redone four weeks ago, that property should be in it somewhere.

  As she continued to read, she saw mention of several LLCs and corporations where Arthur was apparently a member or an owner. She ran through the list of names, wondering what on earth all those companies did, but the names were very generic, like Brixton Holdings, JC Corporation, MMD Investments, and Haxton LLC.

  Maybe she should turn this binder over to Flynn so he could decipher all of Arthur's relationships, although she suspected they probably already had this information. But they hadn't known about Palm Springs. Why? Because it wasn't listed under Arthur's name? That begged the next question. Who was on the deed to the house? She could go back to Arthur's home and try to find the deed, but she didn't relish the idea of walking through that house again.

  Putting the binder aside, she got on her computer. Thinking about the threatening text her mother had gotten on her phone made her wonder if there was anything going on in her mom's email. She'd had her mom's passwords memorized for years, so it was easy to open her mail account.

  There were two or three dozen unopened emails. Most seemed to be spam. But one subject heading jumped out at her. It said: How I See Arthur.

  Opening the email, she caught her breath at the photo of a woman painting what appeared to be Arthur's portrait, only he wasn't wearing clothes in the picture. The shot of the woman revealed her bare back, her long black hair pulled around to the front of her body, her tanned skin.

  There was a brief message under the photo. You need to let him go, Juliette. He's mine.

  As she stared at the picture for several long minutes, Callie's mind whirled with questions, but she also felt a nagging certainty that she might know this woman. She couldn't see her face, but her hair…

  And then it clicked into place. The portrait of Arthur that hung in his study. The one she'd been looking at yesterday morning. A woman had painted that portrait. She'd caught a glimpse of her one day when she'd stopped by the house to see her mother; Arthur had been in the middle of posing for his painting. The woman had had her back to her, her long black hair falling to her waist.

  The artist had to be Arthur's lover. Was her name Layana?

  She clicked out of email and opened her mother's bank account. Her mom had actually paid for the portrait. It had been her birthday gift to Arthur. She searched back in time, looking for the transaction. There wasn't a tremendous amount of activity on the page, since Arthur had paid most of her mom's expenses after they married.

  Her pulse leapt as she saw a check made out to Vazquez Studio, which was the studio also listed in Arthur's trust. Her heart beat faster as she went into search and found the website.

  Suddenly, she was staring into the dark-brown eyes of Layana Vazquez, a stunning Latin beauty who appeared to be in her early thirties. Her portfolio of work was extensive for someone so young. No wonder her mother had hired her; she'd come with amazing credentials, including having done a recent portrait for the perfume billionaire Valerie Dare, who had been at the museum on Friday night.

  The studio was located in Century City, only twenty minutes away. It probably wouldn't be open on a Sunday. But maybe…

  She had to go to the hospital anyway and Century City wasn't much of a side trip. She could just drive by and see what she could see after she saw her mother. If nothing else, she had a great clue to give Flynn.

  As she grabbed her keys and bag, she opened her phone to call Flynn and then realized she'd missed a call from him around eight. She punched in his number, excited to share the results of her amateur sleuthing, but, unfortunately, she got his voicemail.

  She left a short message. "I know you're at breakfast, so call me later when you're done. Or I'll call you. I'm on my way to visit my mom, so I may not be able to answer my phone. But get this—I figured out who Layana is."

  Flynn pulled up in front of Bree's townhouse. She was hosting brunch to celebrate her husband Nathan's birthday and had invited the whole team to share in the celebration. Flynn was more than happy to attend the party. Bree had saved his life on more than one occasion, and he was thrilled that she'd reconnected with her first love and found happiness. He was also happy she was now working for him.

  Before he got out of his car, he checked his phone, realizing he'd somehow missed Callie's call back. It must have come in when he was putting gas in the car.

  As he listened to her voicemail, his gut twisted with a variety of emotions. He'd been trying to temper his feelings about her, but her excited, proud voice sent a rush of warmth through his body. If just hearing her voice created such a strong reaction, he had a feeling seeing her again would be an even bigger test.

  He was also more than a little intrigued by the fact that she'd figured out who Layana was. He called her back, but she didn't answer. She must be at the hospital. He would have to wait, and there was nothing he hated more than waiting.

  As he got out of his car, he ran into Damon and Sophie and their adorable three-
month-old daughter, Ciara, who had inherited her dark hair and blue eyes from her father.

  "My favorite girl is getting big," he said, smiling at the very happy baby.

  "I hope you're talking about Ciara," Sophie said dryly. Sophie was a professor of archaeology, who was currently on leave from her teaching job at UCLA.

  "Of course I am. You look beautiful, Sophie."

  "I can always count on you to be charming, Flynn."

  "Why don't we meet you inside, Sophie?" Damon suggested.

  "So you two can talk shop? Make it quick. Bree said she wanted this brunch to be about something other than work. You guys see enough of each other during the week."

  "It will just be a minute," Damon promised. As Sophie took their daughter into the house, he turned back to Flynn. "Any updates?"

  "Not since I texted you last night," he replied, having already filled both Damon and Savannah in on what he'd found at the house and the break-in. "But hopefully today will bring new clues. What about you?"

  "I do have an update. The broken champagne glass found in the fourth-floor hallway tested positive for traces of atropine."

  "Arthur was poisoned," he said, as another puzzle piece fell into place. "It makes perfect sense. I was wondering how anyone was able to throw him over that railing without there being more of a struggle. But atropine causes paralysis."

  "He would have been incapacitated within seconds."

  "This was meticulously planned out in advance, with the security hack to cut off visibility to that corridor."

  "Yes. I also spoke to Lucas," Damon added. "He's syncing up with Stella in my office to see if they can trace the hack at the museum and also at Judge Corbyn's home. Do you need me to send a team through the house?"

  "No. My team can handle it. I've already looked through the entire house, so I doubt there's more to find there. However, I'm going down to Palm Springs after this. Callie Harper, the judge's stepdaughter, told me that Arthur purchased a house down there several months ago, but it doesn’t appear on his list of holdings."

  "Did you trace the ownership?"

  "I don't have the address yet, but I'll get it." He didn't mention to Damon that he would get it when he took Callie to Palm Springs. It wasn't his first choice but legally compelling her to reveal the address would take longer than letting her come along for the ride.

  "Keep me posted. And don't forget to keep Detective Gage in the loop."

  "Savannah is my liaison with the police department. You really don't have to worry, Damon. This isn't my first case."

  "I know, but we're dealing with the murder of a federal judge, and you have a personal connection. That makes everyone nervous."

  "I always get the job done. Trust me."

  "I do trust you."

  "Good."

  He'd no sooner finished speaking when Bree stepped onto her porch and called them inside. Bree was dressed in a dark-green sweater dress that set off her light-green eyes and brown hair.

  "Sorry to interrupt," she said, as she hugged them both. "Nathan is going a little crazy."

  "Why is Nathan going crazy?" he asked curiously, as she led them into the house.

  "Because he has something he wants to share with you all." She waved them into the living room where Sophie and Ciara, Savannah and Lucas, Wyatt and Avery, and Diego Rivera and his girlfriend Tara Powell, were already seated.

  Bree walked over to Nathan, who was standing by the window. "Everyone who could be here is here. So, go for it."

  "I think you should say it," Nathan told Bree.

  "But you wanted to do it."

  "Somebody say it," Savannah put in.

  Bree grinned. "Fine. I'm pregnant." She let out a happy squeal at the end of her statement.

  Congratulations came from every corner of the room.

  "Ciara will have a playmate," Sophie said, as she and Damon hugged Nathan and Bree.

  "And I will be asking you for plenty of advice, Sophie," Bree said.

  "Truly happy for you," Savannah put in.

  "Likewise," Lucas said.

  "I'm so glad we came home early," Avery interjected, as she and Wyatt offered their best wishes. "This is the best news."

  "We're very happy, and I'm sure you're all very hungry," Bree said. "Please hit the buffet and load up your plates."

  As the others headed toward the dining room table, Flynn shook Nathan's hand and then gave Bree a long hug.

  "I probably should have already told you, boss," Bree said, as her husband went to make mimosas. "I wanted to tell everyone at once, but I kept waiting for the right time and finally realized that while our team is tight, we are often scattered. I had to text Beck, Jax, and Caitlyn, but at least it's not a secret anymore."

  "I'm very happy for you. I hope this doesn't mean you're quitting."

  "Are you kidding? I'll probably be working up until the last minute. It's who I am," she said with a happy laugh. "Although, Nathan would prefer I spend more time in the office than the field."

  "I'll use you wherever you feel comfortable."

  "How are you doing, Flynn? I'm so sorry about your friend and that I wasn't able to help yesterday."

  "It's all good. I heard you found the kid."

  "I helped find the child," she corrected. "It's nice when there's a happy ending. It doesn't happen all that often."

  "But this time you got a win."

  "Yes. But tomorrow I am at your service."

  "I will take you up on that."

  "There have certainly been a lot of changes in our group," she said. "Marriages and babies. Don't you want to join us?"

  He laughed. "I'm very happy being single."

  "That's because you haven't met the right person, but you will. And when you do, that will be it. You won't be able to imagine your life without her."

  Bree's words brought Callie's image into his head.

  "Wait, have you met someone?" Bree asked, her speculative gaze narrowing.

  "Let's get some food," he said, ignoring her question. "I'm starving."

  "Fine, I won't press. At least not today," she added, with a gleam in her eyes. "Who knows what will happen tomorrow?"

  "Who knows?" he agreed. Although, first he would have to get through today.

  After watching her mother sleep for almost a half hour, Callie left her room, both disappointed that she hadn't been able to speak to her and relieved that she was apparently sleeping without sedation. The nurse also said she'd eaten a little yogurt for breakfast, which seemed like a good sign. Dr. Clarke would be in to see her that afternoon and would give Callie a call after that conversation.

  Since there was nothing to do but wait, she decided to leave. She still had time before she was due to meet up with Flynn, and Layana's address was burning a hole in her pocket. After leaving the hospital, she headed to Century City.

  The studio was located on the corner of a block filled with small retail stores, boutiques, and gift shops, two hair salons and a nail studio as well as a bagel shop and a Mexican restaurant. Callie parked and got out of the car, walking up to the studio window. There were some smaller portraits on display. None were of Arthur, but they were all very good.

  Unfortunately, there was also a Closed sign on the door and while there seemed to be a light on at the back of the studio, there was no sign of life in the showroom.

  She turned around, feeling deflated. The sign said the shop would open tomorrow at eleven, but she really didn't want to wait until then. Unfortunately, she didn't appear to have a choice.

  She was about to return to her car when a woman came out of the bagel place with a coffee and a brown paper bag in her hand. Her focus was on her phone, her waist-long black hair flowing out behind her. She was a slender, curvy woman wearing skintight jeans and a loose tunic top with cutouts on the sleeves.

  She didn't look up until she was a few feet from Callie, and then she stopped abruptly, surprise and wariness in her dark eyes.

  "Layana?" Callie said, her heart start
ing to race.

  "What do you want?"

  "I'm Callie Harper."

  "I know who you are."

  Layana's mouth tightened, and the movement only made her face thinner and her expression bleaker. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying.

  Faced with that genuine emotion, Callie didn't quite know what to say. She'd been thinking of Layana as a monster, a homewrecker…but she was also apparently very sad.

  "We need to talk about Arthur," she finally said.

  "I don't have anything to say."

  "I think you have a lot to say, and that you're dying to say it. That's why you've sent my mom a text and an email. You want her to know what was going on between you and Arthur."

  "Well, you're not her."

  "I'm her daughter. Arthur was my stepfather."

  "He said you didn't like him much."

  She ignored that. "You can talk to me, or you can talk to the FBI. I know what I would pick if I were you."

  "Fine. You can come in."

  As Layana unlocked her studio door, Callie had the sudden thought that going inside with this crazy woman might not be the smartest idea, but she'd come this far, and she didn't want to leave without knowing what was between Arthur and Layana.

  The studio was beautiful, with Layana's portraits covering most of the wall space. In the back, she could see the workshop with easels and paints, but for now Layana seemed content to move behind the counter where she had her computer and phone.

  Callie was fine with that. She was near the door. Escape was not that far away, if she needed it. But she wasn't really afraid of this woman hurting her. She was more afraid of what the truth would do to her mother.

  "You were having an affair with Arthur," she said, not bothering to make it a question. "How did it start?"

  "Arthur and I fell in love while I was painting his portrait. We didn't mean for it to happen, but it did."

  "How long has it been going on?"

  "Three months. He was going to leave your mother. He said he needed to be with an artist, someone creative, bold, rebellious and beautiful." Layana's hand shook as she sipped her coffee. "But now he's dead and that won't happen. Your mother got her revenge." She drew in a ragged breath. "It's my fault. I taunted her. I wanted her to leave him, not kill him. But he'd always said she'd lose it if she found out, and that he had to be careful what he said and when he said it. He didn't trust what she would do. I thought he was just making excuses. And I was angry."