Thrill Me to Death

by Roxanne St Claire

  Chase retrieved an envelope that had fallen on the floor. “You might want to give Lucy a call when you have a minute,” he said, dropping it faceup on the table.

  “I’ll do that,” he said, turning toward the door. “After I—”

  He froze in place. What had he seen on the table? Spinning around, he stared at the envelope Chase had just picked up. Foreign postage, strange handwriting…

  Coffee splashed out of the mugs as he dropped them onto the table, then seized the envelope to stare at the postmark.

  Kyoto, Japan.

  Addressed to Cori Peyton, care of Overlook Glen, Healdsburg. In the left-hand corner, instead of a return address, were the initials Y. B.

  He tore the envelope open, vaguely aware of Chase and Johnny staring at him as he yanked out a piece of paper. He knew from the embossed seal from the Office of the Medical Examiner, Miami–Dade County, that it had to be an original. He scanned it, processing as fast as he could read.

  Decedent William George Peyton…age sixty-three years…

  Height, weight, sex, race, medical terms and findings, toxicology results…then his gaze landed on a line in the middle of the page.

  Manner of death: homicide.

  “ ‘She gets it next.’ ” Cori slapped the envelope and the incomplete autopsy on her lap. “Maybe that’s all the note that Dan found means. That I get the autopsy report next.”

  From the driver’s seat, Max gave her a look that said that was not what the note meant.

  “But why send it to me here in California?” she mused. “Why not Miami?”

  Max shrugged. “And why only the top page of the report? Why not send the whole thing?”

  Cori dropped her head back and closed her eyes. “You know what’s funny, Max?”

  “Nothing, at the moment.”

  She smiled. “I feel better.” She didn’t open her eyes, even when he reached over and closed his fingers over her hand. “Closure.”

  “Nothing’s closed until you know who, how, and why.”

  They hardly talked for the next hour, but he held her hand for the entire drive to Vacaville, where Doug Nash lived. Once in town, he pulled out the directions Raquel had e-mailed and handed them to Cori to read. “We’re looking for the intersection of California Drive and Los Robles Court.”

  They found it easily, passing modestly upscale homes built on cul-de-sacs with Spanish names. On a Monday afternoon, the little neighborhood hummed with professional landscapers and moms doing errands. According to the address, the Nashes lived in a well-maintained two-story stucco house with a welcoming, bright red door.

  “It’s as neat as the office was,” Cori said. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he just runs a tight ship and really was surprised to see me yesterday.”

  “Maybe not.” Max rang the doorbell. When it opened they were greeted by the wary, dark eyes of a woman who’d fought the onslaught of her fifties and mostly lost, with sun-weathered skin and wiry, dark hair wisped with a few grays.

  She looked from Cori to Max. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Mrs. Nash?” Cori asked.

  “I’m Donna Nash. Who are you?”

  “My name is Corinne Peyton and I’m looking for your husband.”

  “Try his new condo in Napa and be sure to look for the blonde named Sandra,” she said bitterly. “He moved out a month ago.”

  Max felt Cori’s shoulders sink, but he wasn’t disappointed. A woman scorned was a woman who would talk.

  “Have the police been here about what happened last night?” he asked her.

  She frowned, a few lines setting around her mouth. “No. What happened?”

  “There was a fire at the mall being built in Petaluma. Do you know where we can find him, Mrs. Nash?”

  She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pleated jeans, concern showing in her eyes. “Is he okay?”

  Cori nodded. “He’s fine. Can you give us his new address?”

  “Honestly, I’d swear the mob is involved on that job or something.”

  Cori glanced at Max. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m kidding, but that job has been weird from day one.”

  “In what way?” Max asked.

  She shifted from one sneakered foot to the other as she considered her words. “For one thing, it was way bigger than anything Doug’s company ever handled before. It was since that job started that Doug got all weird and sneaky on me.”

  “Was that where he met Sandy?” Cori asked.

  Mrs. Nash closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  “He was very proud of his children,” Cori said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “He showed me their pictures at the construction trailer.”

  “If he cared about the kids,” she said, “he wouldn’t have moved in with his secretary.”

  Max leaned toward her. “Mrs. Nash, I’m sure you would like to avoid the publicity that would surround this if we had to subpoena records. Is there any chance your husband left files or records pertaining to the Petaluma Mall here?”

  She tilted her head toward the hall behind her. “You’re welcome to look at his home office. I’ve dumped everything he left into cartons and was just about to pitch it. I’m remodeling the room for my thirteen-year-old daughter.”

  She led them into the house, which was a cheery contrast to the unhappiness on her face. Off the center hall, she indicated a small room with mover’s boxes stacked against one wall and samples of fabric and paint chips laid out on the desk.

  “You’re welcome to take this stuff or look through it. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but this is what I took out of his desk and files.”

  If he had anything incriminating, it would be long gone. “Any phone bills that come to the house that you might have kept, records of his calls?” Max asked.

  “Oh, I have those,” she said dryly. “That’s how I caught him. Hang on, I’ll get them.”

  When she left the room, Cori lifted the edge of a carton. “What exactly are you looking for, Max?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it.” Max opened the top box and started sifting through files and bills. The cover of a magazine seized his attention. “For instance, this.”

  He held up the magazine and watched her reaction.

  “William,” she said softly.

  It was the same cover Lucy had shown Max: William Peyton, smiling from his glorious Star Island home, one happy billionaire. One cheating, happy, about-to-be-murdered billionaire.

  Cori started leafing through the magazine as Max continued examining the pieces of Doug Nash’s messed-up life.

  When Donna returned, Cori asked, “Did your husband keep this magazine because of the story on Peyton Enterprises? Because it’s nine months old.”

  “I’m sure he meant to take it,” she said. “There’s a picture of his girlfriend in there. See?”

  Max turned to look at the picture with Cori.

  “Her father is the guy who hired Doug,” Donna said. “The one who gave him the job and came out here to supervise everything. That guy, right there.”

  Cori looked up at Max, confused. “That’s Giff.”

  “You know him?” Donna asked. “I could kill the SOB for introducing my husband to his daughter.”

  Cori turned to her and shook her head. “But he doesn’t have a daughter.”

  Chapter

  Twenty

  W hen Cori stepped out of the Peyton jet, she paused at the sight of the most arresting woman she’d ever seen. Easily six feet tall, she wore pure white right down to her stilettos, with long silky black hair billowing around her shoulders and down her back. A thin streak of silver ran down the front of one side of her hair, and her exotic, tilted eyes were such a dark brown they were nearly black.

  Bathed in the night lights of the Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport, she looked like a black-and-white photograph, a shock of burgundy lipstick the only color.

  She moved like a panther, smooth and liquid. Before Cori reached the bottom step, Lucy h
ad crossed the tarmac and extended her hand. Long, cool fingers with deep-red nails closed around Cori’s hand.

  “I’m Lucy,” she said simply. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Peyton.”

  “Cori. And the pleasure is mine.”

  Lucy Sharpe wasn’t beautiful in a traditional sense. Her face had so many outstanding features that any one could be the focal point on another person. But with Lucy Sharpe, you almost didn’t know where to look—except you couldn’t look away. She was mesmerizing.

  Max joined them at the bottom of the steps as the engines quieted. “Luce,” he said with a nod. “What a nice surprise.”

  She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth and a hint of warmth in her eyes. “I decided to meet with Thomas Matuzak at Beckworth to bring him up to speed, and it made sense to stay and talk to you.” She indicated a limousine that waited at the far end of the tarmac. “We’ve been assimilating information and doing some background work.”

  Max put his arm on Cori’s shoulder to guide her forward. “The pilot will deal with the plane and bring our luggage.”

  Before they could take a step, Lucy stopped him. “You deal with the luggage, Max. I want to talk to Cori alone.”

  They shared a look, then Max said, “I’ll meet you at the limo.”

  “You seem to be holding up well, Cori,” Lucy said. “Discovering embezzlement in your company and suspecting your corporate attorney is responsible can’t be easy for you.”

  Not to mention the fact that her husband’s death was a covered-up homicide. “That’s a fairly major leap you’re making, Lucy. It appears that there are problems with the books regarding the Sonoma property, and I’ve yet to figure out why Mrs. Nash believes that young woman is Gifford Jones’s daughter, but—”

  “Because she is his son’s sister.”

  Cori stopped completely. “Excuse me? Galen had a sister?”

  “Galen was a twin,” Lucy said, a light hand on Cori’s back to get her moving again. “He was adopted, didn’t you know?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know he had a twin. Only that he passed away from a rare neurological disease when he was seventeen.”

  “Gifford Jones didn’t know his son was a twin until just before Galen died, from what we can determine. We’ve been digging through his computer files via your company. I hope you don’t mind the invasion of privacy.”

  “Of course not. Do what is necessary.” Did Breezy know Galen had a twin? Wouldn’t she have told Cori if she did? At the thought of her friend, Cori’s heart sank for the twentieth time that day. She ached to share everything, but they needed time to investigate Gifford’s role in the misappropriation of funds. Once they had proof in hand, they would go after Giff. Then, and only then, could she enlighten Breezy.

  Keeping this from Breezy made her sick, but so did the possibility that Giff had siphoned funds for…for what?

  “He makes three or four million dollars a year,” she said to Lucy, thinking out loud. “I can’t imagine why he would embezzle ten million dollars.”

  “Max said his wife is high maintenance.”

  “His wife is my dearest friend, and Max doesn’t like her for some reason.”

  As they reached the limo, Lucy asked, “How are you doing with Max?”

  Cori just smiled. “Max tells me you know everything, Lucy.”

  Lucy laughed and opened the door. “That’s just Bullet Catcher folklore.”

  “What is?” A man sprawled across one of the long, leather seats sat up and rubbed sleepy eyes as the interior light came on. “I love Bullet Catcher folklore.”

  “The rumor that I know everything,” Lucy said, indicating for Cori to precede her into the car. “I believe you’ve met Dan Gallagher before.”

  Even in the dim light, Cori was blinded by the smile she remembered. Bottle green eyes danced sleepily, but were so inviting that leaning forward to accept his kiss on her cheek seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

  He held her shoulders afterward, his expression a mix of sincerity and tease. “She does know everything. And she tells me. Don’t forget that.”

  She took a seat across from him. “It’s nice to see you again, Dan.”

  “Ditto. And how’s fun Max?”

  “Still fun.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, tousling the brown and gold locks, then shaking them back. “Wish I had a better report from Japan.”

  “Did you find out any more about the ME? Max told me it wasn’t suicide.”

  “I started with security at Kyoto Station and that led to the Japanese authorities. Apparently, a reluctant witness came forward and called it a cold-blooded assassination. And we found a trail to some money. Big money.”

  Cori divided a look between Dan and Lucy. “I have to tell you: I don’t know why Giff embezzled from Peyton, but I believe in my heart that he didn’t kill my husband.” Nothing could change her mind about that. “He might be a thief, but someone else killed my husband.”

  “I spent the past few hours with Thomas Matuzak of Beckworth Insurance,” Lucy said. “It seems Mr. Jones has already been sniffing around, wondering what the insurance company knows. They didn’t tell him anything, but why would he be suspicious if he’s innocent?”

  Cori’s gut burned certain on this one. Still, she hadn’t known that Giff’s son had a twin sister. And what was their relationship? There was no reason for Giff to have contact with the young woman; Galen had been dead for five years. And wouldn’t Breezy have told her if Galen’s biological twin suddenly turned up?

  “I realize you are conducting an investigation, but I want to talk to Giff directly.”

  Just as Cori spoke, the car door opened.

  “Not alone,” Max said, folding his long body into the limo and sitting so close to her you couldn’t slide a hair between them.

  Lucy kept her expression blank, but Dan grinned as he reached out to punch knuckles with his friend. “Mad Max. ’Sup?”

  Max gave him a once-over. “You look like hell.”

  “I love you, too, honey.” Dan winked.

  Ignoring him, Max turned to Cori. “I mean it. You won’t talk to the guy alone. I will.”

  “Max, I’ve known him for years. If he stole money from the company, then he had a good reason. And maybe he can shed some light on William’s death, now that we know for sure it was not natural causes. I can get him to tell the truth.”

  “I can get him to tell the truth.”

  “What about Breezy?” Cori asked. “I have to tell her.”

  “After we arrest her husband.” As Cori started to argue, Max held up a hand. “This is a multiple homicide situation, and your life has been threatened more than once. You’ll do this my way.”

  She sighed, leaning back and closing her eyes. Max lifted his arm and pulled her even closer, dropping a soft kiss on her hair. “It’ll be okay, kid.”

  When she opened her eyes, her gaze landed on Lucy who stared at Max with an expression so clear, even Cori could put words to it.

  I told you so.

  Not for one minute did Cori doubt that Lucy did, indeed, know everything.

  “Why aren’t the new security lights on?” Rain had started to fall, and Max peered through the blurry limo window as the gates to Cori’s house opened. “I know they were installed, and the installer gave detailed instructions to Marta.”

  “Wednesday’s her night off, so she might have forgotten to put them on,” Cori said. “Though when I’m out of town, she usually stays and has her sister over.”

  Dan and Max shared a look as the car moved up the dimly lit driveway. They’d dropped Lucy off at her hotel and then driven to Star Island.

  “It’s almost midnight,” Dan observed. “No doubt she’s in bed.”

  “There’s doubt,” Max said. Grilling the housekeeper was first on his list. Her background was murky; even Raquel couldn’t find much information on her.

  They unloaded the car, agreeing that Cori would wait outside with Da
n while Max searched the house. Drawing his gun, Max entered through the kitchen door and began a room-to-room security check, yielding nothing. The place was dark and empty.

  No one answered when he knocked on Marta’s door.

  Confident the house was secure, Dan went off to a guest room while Max took his and Cori’s luggage up to her bedroom.

  When Cori didn’t immediately follow, he jogged back downstairs and found her in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, stepping behind her and laying a possessive hand over her stomach.

  “Brewing tea.”

  “Come upstairs and don’t leave my sight again for thirty seconds. Bodyguard’s orders.”

  She laughed softly. “I need my lemon balm. I’m still on West Coast time.”

  He dipped into the waistband of her jeans, the feel of her warm, tight flesh shooting blinding arousal through him. “I’ll make you tired.”

  She turned her face toward his and he kissed her instantly, making no effort to hide the effect the kiss and physical contact had. God only knew what tomorrow held. Tonight, he wanted to touch, taste, and own every inch of her.

  The teapot whistled, ending the kiss. He kept his arms around her and his body pressed against her, as she opened a ceramic container full of loose tea. She escaped him to open and close a few drawers, shuffling their contents in search of something. “Where’s my tea ball?”

  He reached into the sink and lifted a metal ball with holes in it. A few drops of water dripped from it. “This it?”

  “That’s strange,” she said, taking it. “Marta never leaves anything out. She must have been in a rush to leave.”

  “I’m in a rush,” he reminded her, taking his cozy place at her back again. “Hurry up.”

  She filled the container with loose tea and tapped it a few times. “Relax.”

  Relax? He was growing harder by the second. He took a deep breath of her, and got a whiff of citrus mixed with something pungent and sweet brewing in her cup.

  “That stuff won’t make you too sleepy, will it?” he asked, pressing a kiss against her neck.

  She chuckled. “No.”