Sweat beaded his brow and his pupils dilated until the blue became tiny slivers in his eyes, engulfed in black irises. He panted, withdrew and hammered back into her again, her wetness clinging to him.
Keeping his eyes on her, he stilled, buried to the hilt inside her, and a yell released from his throat as he came. She felt him shudder slightly, and he wrapped his sweat-slicked arms around her a little tighter as she stretched her stiff legs and lowered back to the floor.
They both panted. She turned her cheek to rest on his firm chest, and he stroked her hair and pressed several soft kisses to her brow. He wrapped her in his embrace. For some reason, the tender gestures after such intense sex made her eyes burn. She blinked, not wanting him to think she was weird or overly emotional.
She stepped away from his arms and gave a self-conscious laugh, smoothing down her skirt. “Well, that was unbelievably hot. But you owe me a shirt—I just got that one.”
He laughed, raking a hand through his hair. It stood in small spikes on top of his head, a messy ’do that made him look infinitely sexy. “I’ll buy you twenty shirts if it means I can rip them off you again like that.”
Swallowing back the tight lump in her throat, she stepped toward him and slipped her fingers through his. “I’ll take you up on that.” But for now, she needed to clean up. And figure out what the hell she was gonna wear back to her parents’ home. No way did she want to show up doing the walk of shame in a ripped shirt.
Andrew slipped his clothes back on quickly, leaving his shirt unbuttoned, and gathered her shirt and bra while she ducked into the bathroom to straighten herself back up.
She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed to hell, cheeks flushed red, eyes bright and dancing. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly satisfied, she thought with a smile.
But there was something else in her eyes, a hint of a deeper emotion that she wasn’t quite ready to examine yet.
Something akin to feelings for Andrew that she’d thought were long gone.
Chapter 18
“You’ve been busy lately,” her mom said as she handed Maggie the bowl of peas across the dining room table. Her tone wasn’t chiding, just curious. “How are things going with the investigation? Are you making any progress?”
Maggie took the bowl and scooped out a couple of spoonfuls onto her plate, studiously avoiding her mom’s gaze. “I’m still in the research phase,” she said.
Yes, the answer was generic, but that was because she literally had nothing new to report on. The PI hadn’t sent her anything else beyond the info on reaching Scott. And Scott had proven to be a dud, though the thing about him remembering her sister’s outfit was still disconcerting. Maybe she needed to reexamine, dig deeper on it.
Andrew hadn’t found anything new either. After they’d had that supremely hot sex last night, they’d sat up late in the evening, drinking more wine and talking about the case, and he’d shared all of his notes with her. Which looked just as sparse as hers, if not more so. He’d loaned her a T-shirt to wear home, which was now folded up on her dresser.
Every day, Cassandra’s case grew even colder than it already was. And Maggie risked Bethany or her brother making headway and ultimately beating her because she couldn’t seem to get the ball rolling. It was frustrating, to say the least.
“Mom,” she said gently, looking at her mother’s face, “can I . . . do my interview with you? Tonight?” She’d been so busy running around with Andrew, working on her client’s site and so on that they hadn’t had a chance to reschedule before now.
Plus, she already knew the whole discussion was going to stress her mom out. And a part of her had been reticent about dragging the woman through all of this again. But time was ticking by, and she couldn’t keep putting it off.
Her dad was working late at the office tonight, so it was the perfect opportunity to talk to her mother. Maggie had tried a couple of days ago to ask her dad about that night, but he’d told her to talk to her mom instead, that she’d have a bit more information on the topic than he did. Confusing and disappointing, but he wouldn’t budge.
Her mom sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The bags under her eyes were smudged with blue. She looked . . . tired. Was it all this fighting between her parents? Was it the case? Something else? “I figured we’d have to get around to it eventually.”
Maggie bit into her salmon. Light and flaky, with a slight lemony tang. Her mother made the best dinners. “I know,” she said after she finished chewing. “We can wait until after we’re done eating, if you want.”
“I’d rather just get it over with.” Her mother pushed her half-eaten plate away from her and set her forearms on the table. “What do you need to know?”
Maggie’s appetite fled. Now that the moment was here, she had an inexplicable swelling of nervousness flood her system. She pushed her plate away too, taking a swallow of ice water. “I’ve already talked to a couple of people about . . . that night. And I’ve read some police reports on it.” She’d even pored through news articles for several hours the other day, which were filled with wild speculation but no solid leads. “But I want to hear what you remember. Anything at all.”
Her mother fidgeted with the cloth napkin in her lap, staring at the wall across from her seat. “There’s a . . .” She cleared her throat. “That night was so hard on all of us, you know. We hired a couple of detectives to help us fill in the blanks, answer our questions about what really happened to Cassandra, but no one could give us the answers. From what I remember, your sister went to that party even though I hadn’t wanted her to go, but she’d begged me.”
Maggie nodded, remaining silent so her mother would keep speaking.
“The last time I saw her, she was half out the front door, waggling her fingers good-bye at me and telling me she’d check in every couple of hours.” She sighed and darted the corner of her napkin to her eyes to dab away the sudden wetness there. “She was so excited. But even with all her excitement about going, she still asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Maggie blinked. “She did?” Her chest tightened in response. She hadn’t known.
Her mom nodded. “She knew you were heartbroken about your breakup, and I promised her I’d make sure you didn’t stay in your room all night.”
But Maggie had. She’d cried and then fallen asleep.
“I checked on you later that evening and you were conked out,” she continued, obviously reading the look on Maggie’s face. “I hated waking you up, so I let you sleep.”
“Why did Dad . . .” Maggie paused. Should she push forward and say what was on her mind? “Why did Dad ask me to talk to you instead of answering my questions?”
Her mom’s back stiffened, and she plopped the napkin on the table. “Who knows. Your father’s a hard man for me to read anymore.”
Definitely tension between the two of them. “How long has it been like this?” she asked, not expecting an answer but hoping for one, anyway.
Her mother barked out a laugh. “Oh, ten years? Fifteen? Who even knows anymore? It didn’t happen quickly. It was a slow progression into—” she waved a hand, “—into whatever this is.”
Maggie’s lips pressed together, and she bit back a sigh of sadness. Even before her sister had disappeared, her parents’ marriage had been on the rocks. She’d never seen her mother so blunt about talking.
Perhaps the fact that she was on her third glass of wine helped.
“Why do you stay together if it’s so bad?” Maggie whispered. “If you’re both so unhappy?”
Her mom’s gaze skittered to the table, and she stayed silent for nearly a minute, her face blank. Then she looked up at Maggie’s face. “Because this is my life,” she said simply. “And, anyway, our relationship isn’t the topic of the conversation. It’s your sister.”
Maggie nodded. Her mom obviously didn’t want to broach the subject of their marriage that deeply right now, but maybe Maggie could talk to her dad and see what
he had to say about it. Was there anything Maggie could do at all to help heal the rift?
Would solving the case work? Sure as hell couldn’t hurt, right?
“So. Back to the subject.” Her mom took a sip of her wine. “Your sister checked in a couple of times, the last time around eleven or so. She sent text messages to my cell phone.” Her face flashed an odd expression, one Maggie couldn’t quite pin. “I . . . fell asleep that night then woke up around seven in the morning, and I checked in your rooms to see if everyone was home okay. Neither your brother or your sister were there. Naturally, I assumed they were together, so I didn’t worry too much at first. Then your brother came home around a half hour later. Cassandra wasn’t with him.”
Her mother swallowed. Maggie felt her own throat clench up. She knew what was next, but knowing didn’t stop the ache in her heart.
“I called her phone probably a hundred times, sent another hundred texts, but she didn’t answer. Your brother said he thought she’d left with some of her friends, that she’d already be home when he crawled in.” Her nose wrinkled up. “He reeked of booze. I was so mad at him.
“But really, I was more mad at myself. She was just a child, and I’d let her go to a party where she shouldn’t have gone.” She pressed a slender hand to her mouth for a moment, then dropped the shaking fingers back into her lap. “I should have listened to my gut and kept her home that night.”
On impulse, Maggie reached over and stroked her mom’s upper arm. “It’s not your fault. If you hadn’t given her permission, she probably would have snuck out, anyway. And what were you going to do, put bars on her windows and locks on her door? Cassandra was a stubborn girl.”
Her mom turned red-rimmed eyes to Maggie, tears welling up in the corners. “I can tell myself that all day long, Maggie, but the truth of the matter is if I’d done something, anything, Cassandra would probably still be here.”
“Do you think she’s . . .” Maggie couldn’t make herself finish the sentence.
Her mom bit her lower lip. “I want to say that despite the passage of time I think she’s still alive. But . . . so many years have passed. It just seems like an impossible dream to hope for.”
That was how Maggie felt too. For a moment, she didn’t feel so alone in her agony over Cassandra. It made her achingly sad that it had taken her grandpa’s inheritance competition to make her have a conversation with her mother about this. They could have worked it out instead of them pretending life was normal, hunky-dory. That this horrible thing had never happened to them.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie whispered. “I’m so sorry I left you here.” Because she knew that given how bad things were with her parents, each one had felt alone dealing with this. Maggie could have been there for them. Her youthful selfishness made her stomach clench in a knot, the air whooshing out of her lungs.
“You’re not at fault. You had to keep going on.” Her mother gave Maggie a sad smile. “Moving forward. You were a child, and it was our job to take care of you. Not the other way around.” She patted her eyes again with her napkin, pulled back into herself and smoothed her facial features. She stood and gathered her plate and wineglass. “We are all dealing with this the best way we can. And you and your brother will figure this out. I know you will.”
Maggie tried to tuck her raw emotions back inside as easily as her mom did. A skill she’d attempted to emulate but never could quite get the hang of. “Will it help you feel better to know? One way or the other?”
Her mom stopped to consider it. “I think it will. At least . . . at least we’ll have answers. Something both your father and I think is necessary in order for this family to heal.”
Maggie cleared her own plate in silence, her stomach unsettled. Then she moved to her room, lying back on her bed to think. What had she learned so far? Overall? There were snippets of information in here. But how was she going to tie it all together so it made sense?
Whatever happened to Cassandra was after midnight but before seven, that much was for sure. Robert had woken up from his passed-out position on the floor and come home from the party, according to the report. And he’d gotten home by seven thirty. Other party attendees remembered seeing Cassandra partying, having fun earlier in the night. Drinking and doing drugs, according to Scott.
There was still a big gap, one no one had accounted for yet. What happened after her brother had passed out? Should she ask him about it, in case he knew?
She should revisit his testimony. His and Scott’s and Joel’s, because maybe they’d seen something without realizing it.
Scott had remembered Cassandra’s outfit, despite the report saying the guys had been trashed. Perhaps he wasn’t as drunk as he’d thought he’d been. Or perhaps he wasn’t being fully honest with Maggie. She should try to approach him again, to see what he might know. Something in her gut told her he hadn’t told her the whole truth.
And she needed to find out why.
***
“I’m glad you came over,” Andrew said, stroking his finger along Maggie’s right shoulder. He had a big, satisfied grin on his face. The dark sheet draped over his hip, leaving the expanse of his chest bare to her wandering fingertips.
The sun had set about a half hour ago, but the blinds were open, so she could clearly see the stars starting to fill up the night sky. It was quiet outside. Peaceful.
She dropped her head back on the pillow and gave him a huge smile. “Well, you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Her body was fully sated from their sex.
She’d dropped by an hour ago with Chinese takeout to thank him for making dinner for her two nights ago. The containers were sitting open on his table—while they’d nibbled on dumplings, Andrew’s eyes had raked over her. He’d whispered in her ear, lips rasping over the curved shell the things he wanted to do to her, and they’d practically fallen in each other’s arms.
So now here she was, sleepy and blissful and oddly surprised at how things were evolving with Andrew. Then again, she’d hardly been able to keep her mind off him long enough to focus on work or anything else.
Somehow, over the last few days, he’d been wiggling his way into her thoughts more and more. It was disconcerting.
And yet so exhilarating. She wasn’t the same teenaged girl she’d been back then, the one who’d fallen for him without bothering to make sure he’d felt the same way. She was an adult now, wiser, being much more sensible about this. Diving headfirst into a mutually beneficial sexual relationship with him. No promises, no pressure.
Still, some part of her heart melted from the sincerity pouring through his eyes.
“I need to hop in the shower,” he said, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “It’ll be quick.”
She gave a lengthy catlike stretch. “Take your time. I’m just gonna relax for a bit.”
He shifted his way out of bed and strode to the bathroom door, muscles flexing from the sensual movement. Everything the man did was captivating.
The door was left open, and Andrew started the shower, slipping in and humming a song slightly off-key. She chuckled. Maybe she could join him in the shower. Slip her soaped hands along his skin and . . .
That got her sitting up. She dropped her feet to the side of the bed, stepping right on his dress pants. Whoops—he’d tugged them off so quickly she hadn’t paid attention to where they’d landed. With another chuckle, she picked them up to drape on the bed.
A piece of paper fell out of his right pocket, drifting to the floor. She glanced at it, and a strange sensation tickled the back of her throat. She knew that phone number. But where from?
Biting her lip, Maggie reached down and grabbed the number, holding it by the corner of the paper. Where did she . . .
It hit her in a slam of realization so hard the breath knocked out of her lungs. Her hands shook as she dug into her purse for her regular phone, shoving keys and makeup and other various things aside. She scrolled through her recent call list.
There
it was.
The number was one she’d called a few days ago. It belonged to her dead witness, Joel Neumeyer. And right below the number were written the words, Confirm time.
Her stomach flipped over itself and she swallowed several times. Why the hell did Andrew have Joel’s number in his pocket? Had he set up a meeting with the man but hadn’t told her about it?
This much was obvious—Andrew was keeping a big secret from her.
Read more of THE INHERITANCE Part IV
THE SECRET
Available from InterMix November 5, 2013
Olivia Mayfield has been an unabashed fan of romance since she was a teen, secretly devouring her mom’s Harlequins. She has a bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing, as well as a Master’s degree in English, and lives with her family in Ohio. In her free time she loves reading, shopping, wearing absurdly high-heeled boots, cheesecake, karaoke, and harassing her friends. Find her online at oliviamayfield.com.
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