by Lucy Farago
Lizzy glanced down at the grainy reflection of a man taking the sex shot.
Duncan let out a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“Who is it?” Lizzy asked
“It’s Tom Ferguson. Beth’s husband. He too works for me.”
Damn, that had to sting. Poor Beth.
“We questioned Turner a second time. He claims Mrs. Ferguson walked in on their threesome. He ended it with your wife shortly afterward because he couldn’t look your secretary in the eyes every day when he walked into the office.”
“Funny, he didn’t have any problem facing me every week.” Clearly it wasn’t funny.
“Some people believe there’s nothing wrong with stealing from those better off than themselves. We checked the tapes as you suggested. Mrs. Ferguson did go into the office on Friday. Looks like she forgot something at her desk. That’s when she got into it with your wife. She found her sitting at your desk and they had a small catfight. Harris walked in on it and broke it up.”
“That might explain the earring I found,” Lizzy said.
“By any chance, do you still have it?” Cooper asked, sounding eager.
“I left it on your desk,” she told Duncan.
“Did you touch it?”
Duncan shook his head. “Only Lizzy.”
“Good. Can we go to your office and get it?”
“Sure.” Duncan led the way as Cooper took out another evidence bag. In the office, he bagged the earring and grinned. “Perfect.”
“Lieutenant, how does any of this prove Beth killed Victoria?”
“Do you know, Mr. Moore, I have to congratulate you on an excellent security system. Those cameras are state of the art.”
Lizzy felt the blood drain from her face as realization hit. They’d made love in his office. Duncan must have seen her reaction because the son of bitch snorted. She did her best not to glare at him, and if the lieutenant noticed anything between them, he said nothing. Exactly who had watched them go at each other like teenagers? She was mortified.
“Yes,” Duncan agreed. “State of the art. It doesn’t record when the staff is in the office. Only when we shut down for the evening or weekend.”
Inwardly, Lizzy groaned.
“It’s programmed to shut off once our codes are entered into the security number pad, so it knows we’re in the building and on our way to our offices.”
If it’s the last thing she did, she was going to make him pay for that. She gave him her sweetest smile. If he was as smart as everyone said he was, he’d be afraid, very afraid.
“So Mrs. Ferguson couldn’t shut down the camera in your office because she didn’t have your code. Is that right?”
“Right. And she probably didn’t realize I’d engaged the one in my office.”
“Again, how does this prove she killed Victoria?” Lizzy asked.
“Their confrontation in Mr. Moore’s office. It appeared that Mrs. Ferguson recognized the diamond earrings Victoria was wearing. She didn’t realize she managed to tear one off, and that it had fallen on the carpet. That’s when Turner walked in. It was clear as day. Great cameras,” he said, reiterating what a fantastic system Duncan had. “Your wife left with no visible scratch marks and unaware she’d lost an earring. After we talked to Turner, we had enough motive to search Mrs. Ferguson’s house. She wore black the night of the gala and the dress had gone to the cleaners already, but she forgot about the shoes. They looked clean… except for the bottom. We found your wife’s blood under her shoes. And”—he held up the bag—“the matching earring. They’re questioning Mr. Ferguson as we speak, but I’m sure he’ll corroborate his wife’s claim that the earrings were a gift from him to her. She doesn’t know we have the video of your wife wearing the earrings.”
“Those are over a carat,” Lizzy said, pointing to the bag. “What the hell does he do for you?” She knew Duncan was a generous employer, but those rocks had to be worth a fortune.
“He works with Harris.” Duncan shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was pissed. Having three employees stab you in the back would do that. “So sum this up for me.”
“Sure. Ferguson and Turner have been working together for about a year, skimming here and there, so no one could notice. Then the funds for this new app of yours start coming in… Turner does your books, Ferguson contracts. They have a sweet deal. Until Fiji mucks things up. Mr. Ferguson reports the earrings as stolen from the hotel, only he’s the one who steals them and gives them to your wife. His way of apologizing for the scene his own wife caused when she caught the three of them together.” Cooper shook his head in disgust. “He’s screwing another woman and he doesn’t have any sympathy for his wife when she walks in on it. I’m going to enjoy raking his ass over the coals.”
“Then let me guess,” Lizzy said. “She confronts Victoria at the party?”
“It’s the likely scenario. The press was there and I’m thinking your wife didn’t want her affair with two men exposed. Plus as you said, she was trying to extort money out of you. She couldn’t do that if someone else told you about the affair. She agrees to talk to Mrs. Ferguson privately. That late in the evening, the pool would have made a viable option. We found broken glass on the patio deck and in your wife’s hair. The murder weapon we told you about was the remains of a broken wine bottle. It had your wife’s blood on it.”
“So they fought? Was it murder or an accident?”
“No, sir, not an accident. If your wife had fallen in the pool, Mrs. Ferguson didn’t help her get out. But as we said, we found blood under her shoe and traces on the deck. Her body was dumped in the pool and then the evidence tampered with. The camera in the hotel lobby caught Mrs. Ferguson leaving at 2:30.”
“And the earring?” Duncan asked.
“We found a photograph of your wife taken by one of the papers. She’s wearing the earring.”
“So she kills my wife and takes the earring.”
“That’s our theory. I’ll let you know what happens once we’re done questioning her. Right now there’s enough evidence to charge her.”
“Thank you, lieutenant. I appreciate that.”
“Not a problem. And the two of you should get some sleep. You both look like you’ve been up for days.”
Duncan saw Lieutenant Cooper to the door while Lizzy threw herself onto one of the couches. If she shut her eyes, she’d be out in seconds. Yawning, she stretched from fingertips to toes and cuddled deeper into the overstuffed cushions. She could sleep for a week and still she didn’t think it would be enough. She covered her mouth as another yawn overtook her.
“Breathe,” Duncan said.
“Breathe?”
“Yawning is our body’s response to lack of oxygen. We get tired and we forget to breathe properly.”
“And what app told you that?”
“No app, my yoga teacher.”
“Yoga?”
He nodded, taking a seat beside her.
“As much as I am dying to know the when, where, and why of you taking yoga, I’m way too tired. Remind me to tease you tomorrow.”
“May I also remind you that you need to tell me you love me?”
“Tomorrow.” She let her head, too heavy for her neck to hold, fall onto his shoulder.
“Good. Lizzy?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes drifting close.
“It’s tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” She was too tired to argue and too tired to think straight.
“Lizzy?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you remember finding out your name was on my plane’s manifest for Tahoe?”
Her eyes flew open. She’d completely forgotten about that. “Now I do.” Her first reaction was to rip out the hair of whomever he’d been planning to take to Tahoe. She brushed that wild notion off to exhaustion and then realized she was an idiot. Saying goodbye to the comfy couch, she sat up. “You’d planned to take me to Tahoe for Valentine’s, without asking?”
“No, of course not.”
“You told your pilot you were.”
“I was planning ahead.”
“I see. And when had you planned to do the asking part?”
“I hadn’t worked that out yet,” he said, looking far more confident than one should after admitting to plotting a romantic getaway without yet asking the woman.
This was not the Duncan she knew. It did odd things to her girlie parts. He did odd things to her and not just in a hot and bothered kind of way. She stared at him, all cute and rumpled, dark circles under his eyes proof they’d been up far too long and should be having this conversation after a good night’s sleep. He was way too smart for her. Way too smart.
“Just how smart are you? Exactly what is your IQ?”
He shrugged, looking confused as to why she was asking. “You know those tests aren’t accurate. A kid who’s never seen a saucer doesn’t know it goes with a teacup.”
“I take it your score was off the Richter scale?” Whatever she’d have scored, it wouldn’t have compared squat to his.
“Scientists have proven three different tests are needed to accurately measure IQ.”
“You sound like you’re embarrassed by how smart you are.” Brains never hurt anyone.
“Let’s just say, being normal, or seen as normal, would have gone a long way when I was growing up.”
“You’ve made billions because of your brains.”
“No, I made money because I used my brains. You did the same thing back in Canada. You found yourself in a dilemma, you dealt with it and then got the hell out.”
“That doesn’t make me smart.” If she’d been smart, she wouldn’t have found herself in that situation in the first place.
“Sure it does. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” He said it so seriously she almost believed he believed it. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s true.”
“Duncan”—she couldn’t believe she was admitting this—“I didn’t finish high school.”
“So?” he said, not missing a beat. “Harris Turner has three degrees. Victoria graduated with a degree in liberal arts from Brown University. One is dead, the other going to jail.”
Dear Lord, she wasn’t even as smart as that woman?
“Come on. I’m not saying education isn’t important. But all the education in the world isn’t as important as intuition, instinct, being able to read people or the situation and act accordingly. It might not make you hugely, financially successful, but it keeps you alive, and if you’re very lucky, happy. Are you happy, Lizzy? Wait”—he held up a hand—“before you answer that.” He turned, propping a knee onto the couch.
“My first instinct was to assume Victoria married me for my money. I ignored that instinct in favor of pumping up my lacking ego with a beautiful woman on my arm. It proved to be a stupid move. I saw it, ignored it, and in the end I was miserable. Then I fell in love with you.” He ran his knuckles along her cheek, and unable to resist, she leaned into his hand.
“When I’d finally grown a pair and shoved aside my dumb insecurities, I knew you weren’t ready to hear it. Then you stormed back here all huffy and indignant, and it was time. It wasn’t my IQ that made me take that leap of faith. It was my heart, because deep down inside, I also knew you weren’t going to stomp on it. I know you love me too. But you’re scared.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. She was afraid if they became a couple, then one day he’d wake up and realize he’d hooked up with a dumb ex-stripper who couldn’t hold a candle to him.
“In your heart, you know I love you and you me. So what is it? What’s scaring you? And is it real?” He tapped her nose. “Or dumb insecurities?”
Was he right? Were her insecurities dumb? She was one of the number-one caterers in Vegas, and in a city that understood how to party and eat well that was saying a lot. She hadn’t gotten there on her looks. She’d worked her tail off, taken the guidance when offered, and learned the business side of cooking. She knew that. So why did she feel so insecure around Duncan? She bit her lower lip, trying to come up with the answer.
“You’re overthinking this.” Taking her face in his hands, he leaned in and kissed her.
It felt good, his warm lips on hers. It felt right, safe. He’d survived a very public and nasty separation to a woman he’d come to realize was the biggest mistake of his life. He’d picked himself up, brushed himself off and fell in love, for real this time. Lizzy had survived something that might have broken another woman. She too had moved on, so wasn’t it time she fell in love again? This was Duncan, sweet, sometimes shy, oddly alpha when he needed to be, Duncan. He didn’t make her feel inferior. She did that all on her own.
“Ask me again,” she said. “Ask me if I’m happy.”
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Are you happy, Lizzy?”
“Yes. Want to know why?”
“Why?” he asked, brushing his lips across her mouth.
“Because I love you. You make me happy.” She threw her arms around his neck and sighed contently. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and I’m not sure I deserve you. And I think that’s what I’m scared of. But I’m pretty amazing too, so maybe you don’t deserve me,” she said, half smiling. “But we’ll never know until we try. Leap of faith, right?”
“Leap of faith,” he agreed.
“Cool, but can we still go to Tahoe for Valentine’s Day?”
“Sure. I’ll call the pilot and let him know. But first,” he said and stood, “there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
And before she could open her mouth and ask what, he bent down, put his hands on her waist, and hefted her over his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she screeched, her head bobbing up and down as he carried into the foyer and up the stairs.
“You’re smart. You figure it out.”
And she did.
Meet the Author
Lucy Farago knows there’s nothing like a happy sigh at the end of a good book. With the encouragement of her loving husband, she wrote her first manuscript. An unpublished historical novel, it sits in a file on her computer, there to remind her how much fun she had learning the craft and becoming part of an industry whose books make you believe anything is possible. A big fan of Agatha Christie, she set out to write her first romantic suspense novel. Thrilled to be a published author, Lucy also teaches yoga, enjoys cooking, and saying what other people are thinking. In her fantasy world, her beautiful Siberian husky, Loki, doesn’t shed, and her three kids clean up after themselves. Alas, that fantasy will never see fruition. Visit her at lucyfarago.com.
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Sin on the Run
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Sin on the Run
“Would you like to dance?” Blake asked.
“Only if I get to lead,” Rhonda snarked back.
“Why?”
“I like my toes, and if I let you lead, I predict they’ll get stomped.”
He looked down at the silver painted toes peeking through her shoes. “And very pretty toes they are, but I’m not that drunk.”
She quirked an eyebrow, not buying his bullshit. He liked her more and more.
“Fine, what the hell. A smart man knows when he’s beat.”
“A smart man wouldn’t consume fifteen ounces of alcohol in less time than it took the bartender to pour them.”
“Touché. Be gentle with me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the dance floor. “It would appear I’m drunk.”
Rhonda stayed still while the most beautiful man in the world circled an arm around her waist and drew her in far closer than needed for a slow dance between two almost strangers. But she figured, what the hell. When in her lifetime would this happen again? Never. She didn’t meet men like this and men like this certainly didn’t da
te strippers. When he smiled down at her, her silly knees forgot that fact and nearly gave out.
She’d never have gotten the nerve to talk to him if he hadn’t been in danger of drinking himself stupid. She recognized a man on a mission to numb himself. She’d not only seen it at the club but in her home. And yes, she’d done it for Maggie, stopped him from doing something that might embarrass the bride, but Rhonda had done it for him too. She certainly hadn’t been on a mission to save anyone. Hell, she was done with that part of her life. But standing by and watching him do something that pathetic was a sin. Alcohol solved nothing and ruined everything.
She kept their pace slow. She wasn’t sure if he could or couldn’t hold his liquor, but a dizzy six-foot-two guy wouldn’t be a good thing for a short, five-foot-five girl wearing five-inch heels. On a turn, she spotted the other bridesmaids staring and Shannon giving her the thumbs up. Blushing, she turned her face into his shoulder, which Blake mistook as her wanting to get closer, because he drew her in even tighter. She might as well enjoy it while it lasted. No way would a chance like this ever come her way again. And for once in her life didn’t she deserve to do something nice for herself? Sighing deeply, she inhaled his cologne and wasn’t surprised to find out he smelled almost as good as he looked. She actually stifled a groan when the dance ended.
“That was very nice,” he said, yet to let her go.
“Yes,” she agreed, “and I have all my toes.”
“Dare we try that again?”
“Another dance?”
“It beats being set up with matronly women.”
“Hey,” she said, “Mrs. Haddle is a very classy lady. And she likes them young and pretty. Who am I to judge?”
He blinked. Said nothing. And blinked again.
“What?”
“If it was the other way around, would you be saying he’s a very classy guy who likes them young and pretty?”
Now it was her turn to blink. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Mrs. Haddle is a pervert.”
He laughed, his accent making it hot and sexy as hell. She laughed with him.