by Meryl Sawyer
It was a long moment before a faint “yes” came from the bedroom. Taylor led the way into the nearly dark room. The shades were drawn, blocking out the scorching Miami sun. The only light came from a small lamp on the nightstand next to the bed.
Vanessa Maxwell’s head was propped up by a bank of lavender pillows. All the color had vanished from her face, leaving it the color of wax. Her blue eyes were glazed. Shane figured she was on heavy-duty pain medication.
“Mother, why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you or Trent. You have enough problems right now. You don’t need mine.” Vanessa’s tone was chillier than usual by several degrees.
Taylor sat on the bed beside her mother and took her hand. “I love you. Nothing in my life is more important than you.”
Shane waited for Vanessa to say she loved Taylor, but the woman merely gave a wan excuse for a smile.
“Tell me what Dr. Field said.”
“They gave me the wrong blood test results. I’m actually severely anemic.”
“Is it bad enough to warrant a blood transfusion?”
Vanessa nodded.
Christ! Shane swore under his breath. He knew during the advanced stages of myeloma patients became severely anemic and required blood transfusions. Their immune systems went wacko, and they had to have chemotherapy or they would die.
Even with chemo, it was a terminal illness.
Taylor was in for a rough go. He planned to be at her side the whole way.
“Have the police found out who killed my baby?” Vanessa asked.
“No. Apparently, they don’t have any new leads. Vince and Shane are working on it. We all want to find Renata’s killer.”
Vanessa didn’t answer, but she was looking at her daughter with reproachful eyes. How could she possibly think—for one second—Taylor had anything to do with Renata’s murder?
He knew every plane, every line, every nuance of Taylor’s face. If her feelings were hurt, she didn’t show it. She continued to gaze at her mother with a loving expression.
“My fingerprints were in Renata’s room because I went in there to get hair for a DNA test.”
“I know. The police told me how you explained the prints. I guess they’re still suspicious because your prints were in so many places.”
Taylor glanced at him, and he tried to reassure her with a slight nod. Evidently, Caleb was slowly poisoning Vanessa’s mind. How long would it be until she openly accused Taylor of murder?
“I know it was wrong, but I looked through her things. That’s why my fingerprints were all over the place.”
“What did you expect to find?”
“Proof she wasn’t your daughter.” Shane heard Taylor’s quick intake of breath. “I was wrong. The DNA results came back late yesterday. Renata was your daughter.”
Suddenly, tears brimmed in Vanessa’s eyes. “I never doubted it for one moment.”
“How could you be so sure?” Shane asked, speaking for the first time.
Vanessa hesitated for a second, then said, “Instinct. Mothers know things, feel things.”
“I’m truly sorry I didn’t get the chance to know her,” Taylor said.
“You would have liked Renata. She was a wonderful, intelligent person,” Vanessa told Taylor, a hint of censure in her tone.
“You’re right. I’m sure I would have liked her.”
Shane had a real problem with this, but he kept his mouth shut. Just because Renata was her daughter did not elevate the woman to sainthood.
Caleb Bassett sauntered into the room. “What are you doing here?”
Just the sight of the jerk made Shane want to piss in his gas tank or punch his lights out. Something.
“I’m visiting my mother,” Taylor answered.
“You should be at the station, helping the police.”
A curse clawed its way up Shane’s throat, but he managed to bank it. Taylor was a pro. She could handle this man. If not, Shane was here for backup.
“They’ve searched my apartment. I’ve answered every question.”
“She’s done everything she could,” Shane added.
Caleb shot him a look that was close to a death threat. Shane damn near grabbed the bastard by his throat, but he knew a fight would only drive a bigger wedge between Taylor and her mother.
Caleb’s dark eyes cut to Vanessa, and he beamed her a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak. Too weak to do anything but lay here.”
“When are you going for the transfusion?” Taylor asked. “It’ll give you strength.”
“She’s due there at one,” Caleb answered.
“I’ll take you,” Taylor said.
“No. Caleb is taking me.”
They were standing outside Vanessa’s house talking twenty minutes later. Shane knew Taylor would have stayed longer, but after Caleb had come into the room Vanessa became colder by the moment.
“She thinks I killed Renata,” Taylor said yet again. “I can’t believe it.”
Shane pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She leaned into him, needing to be comforted. Holding her felt so damn right.
“She never actually accused you, but I agree. Caleb has your mother seriously considering the possibility. We’re going to find the killer. Then she’ll know the truth.”
“We’ve got to hurry. I’ve worked with the local myeloma chapter, and I’ve seen myeloma patients go down fast once they reach this point.”
“Okay, I’ll get right on it.”
He reluctantly let her go, and they walked to their cars, promising to keep in touch by cell phone if anything came up. As he drove off to interview Jim Wilson, the man who’d been fired from the company over his affair with Vanessa, Shane thought about Taylor’s mother.
She could be a bitch.
Vanessa had seemed charming when he’d first met her, and Shane admitted he hadn’t paid much attention to her. He’d been too focused on Taylor. Now that he’d been around her more, he understood why some people didn’t like her.
Get over it.
Vanessa was Taylor’s mother, and Taylor loved her. He’d do whatever he could to make Taylor happy. Their relationship was progressing just the way he had hoped.
She didn’t need to know how he’d found his way into her life. Man, oh, man. He’d have to tell her eventually. But now wasn’t the time.
Taylor had all the bad news she could handle.
Doyle prided himself for holding his temper in check while Trent pitched some half-baked shampoo that didn’t lather. Another one of Raoul’s ideas.
“We’re selling the company soon. We don’t have the time or the money to develop another product.” He steepled his fingers and gazed across the desk at his nephew, and decided now was the time to lower the boom. “If you bother me with one more of Raoul’s ideas, I’m telling your mother about your arrest.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wrong. Don’t try me. Save Raoul’s ideas for when you two go into business together.”
Personally, Doyle thought Raoul was using Trent. Raoul would probably dump him if someone richer came along.
Brianna sailed into the office, her smile breaking the tension. Usually, he looked forward to having lunch with her. But not today.
With the sale of the company on hold, he was being forced to have a talk with her about money. He had to put the brakes on their spending immediately.
“How’s it going, Trent?” Brianna asked.
Before Trent could answer, Taylor walked into the office.
“Bad news,” she said in a choked voice. “Mother is so anemic she has to have a transfusion.”
Trent said, “I thought her test results were okay.”
Doyle listened while Taylor explained about the mix-up at the laboratory where the blood sample was processed. Vanessa didn’t have long to live, he thought.
“Mother is beginning to believe one of us murdered Renata,” Taylor told them.
“Is
Caleb still hanging around?” Trent asked.
“Yes, and it seems they’re pretty close. I wanted to take her for the transfusion, but she wouldn’t let me. Caleb is going with her.”
Trent shook his head. “This sucks.”
Doyle’s stomach pitched as a terrible thought occurred to him. What if Vanessa didn’t will her shares to Trent and Taylor? He’d thought with Renata dead, Vanessa would put the will back the way it had been. But if she blamed her children for the stripper’s death, no telling what she might do.
Jesus Willie Christ. The way things were going they were never going to sell To The Maxx.
What in hell was he going to do for money?
“I need to talk to you about something,” Doyle told Brianna.
They were sitting in the upstairs gallery overlooking the main floor of Norman’s restaurant, having just ordered lunch. Doyle thought Norman Van Aken was the best chef in Coral Gables—in all of Miami, for that matter.
He liked eating at great restaurants and ordering fine wine at night. He enjoyed showing off Brianna. He had no intention of giving up his lifestyle, but they were going to temporarily cut back.
“You want to talk to me about money,” Brianna said, taking him by surprise.
“Yes. How did you know?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Last week I went to use my American Express card and it was refused. Then I went home and checked in your office. We were overdue on most of our bills.”
“Were?”
“I paid them with money from my account.”
When they’d married, Brianna had kept her own bank account. He had no idea how much was in there, but it couldn’t be a lot.
“I’m sorry you had to spend all your money. I’ll repay—”
“No, you won’t. For better or for worse, remember?”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Besides, it didn’t empty my account. I’d saved a lot by the time you married me. I wasn’t going to be a lap dancer forever. I planned on opening my own boutique.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry. I—”
“Stop saying you’re sorry. Tell me how bad it is and what we have to do.”
He explained the economic measures he planned on taking. Brianna surprised him with a few ideas of her own.
“Lunches at expensive places like this will be out,” she told him. “I’ll bring in food from home or we’ll go have a picnic somewhere.”
“This isn’t going to last forever,” he assured her.
“I wouldn’t count on the company selling anytime soon. After what Taylor told us about her mother, I wouldn’t be surprised if Vanessa left her share to charity or something.”
Doyle nodded. “We’ll have to live on my salary then.”
“I could get a job. I—”
“You don’t have to work.”
“I want to work. I want to help. I’m not one of those—what do you call them?—trophy wives. I love you. We’re in this together.”
Doyle honestly didn’t know what to say. Brianna had always said she loved him. Until this moment, he hadn’t believed her.
She really did love him.
Pretty amazing.
It made anything he had to do worthwhile.
Anything.
Chapter 19
“Most people go to their graves their song still in them.”
The quote from the legendary jazz singer Billy Holiday fit Renata Rollins perfectly. Of course, there’d never been a doubt.
“She went to her grave when her life was just beginning.”
She deserved to die.
“Her song wasn’t worth hearing anyway.”
The sun dipped below the palm trees, throwing long, skinny shadows with tufted tops across the lawn. Miami was nothing more than New Jersey with palm trees.
And sticky heat.
And palmetto bugs.
And condos.
The pool was the center of life in those cookie-cutter condos, he’d observed. Not much swimming. Just a lot of bald-heads and blue-hairs cooling off in the shallow end, gossiping.
Life in Miami.
Renata Rollins would never know the condo life. Or any other life. She’d served her purpose.
A preemptive strike had been made.
He had to develop new plans immediately.
Vanessa’s condition was deteriorating, accelerated, no doubt, by grief over Renata’s death. Suspecting someone in her family was responsible only added to her worries.
What a shame. Poor, poor Vanessa.
It would be too soon to kill Taylor right now. Vanessa was already suffering. She could linger for weeks, months. Who knew?
Murdering Taylor might be premature. Even though she deserved to die much, much more than Renata had. Taylor, the bitch who’d fallen into Shane Donovan’s arms.
He had an ironclad rule: Never play your ace until you’re positive you didn’t need it any longer.
“Taylor is the ace. I’m not taking Taylor out—just yet. Let her screw Shane all she wants. Let her think she’s safe with him.”
A little scare might be … interesting as well as amusing.
It would throw off Shane Donovan, if nothing else. The prick was nosing around way, way too much.
“Sex in a basket. Kink in a basket. S and M in a basket.”
Lisa Abbott smiled up at Shane, her dark eyes full of mischief.
“Jim’s good at marketing, don’t you think? For our clients who are in a hurry or don’t know how to plan their sex lives, these baskets are perfect.”
Shane had tracked Jim Wilson to Midnight Lace, Lisa’s trendy love boutique in SoBe. Jim was out, but Lisa expected him in a few minutes. Meanwhile, she obviously adored a captive audience.
“Sex in a basket is for those into traditional sex. It has aromatherapy body oils and scented candles. Condoms in exotic flavors like piña colada and mango. It also has Love Dust, my own invention. I gave some to Taylor for her to try.”
“Mmmm. Love Dust.”
He looked at the small canister of amber powder with the miniature feather duster. He imagined dusting every inch of Taylor’s body with it.
“You lick it off,” Lisa informed him as if he couldn’t figure it out on his own.
“What’s in ‘Kink in a Basket’?”
“Heads Up Cream in four flavors: cinnamon, chili, menthol, and spice. You know, the cool/hot thing.”
He didn’t know squat. Obviously, he’d been out of the country too long.
“Two dildos. The French model is the favorite. Glow-in-the-dark condoms—flavored, of course. Superglide, the wonder lubricant for when you want … things really slick.”
“Beats Mazola.”
“The SoBe update of the Karma Sutra is included. It has illustrations of interesting positions people may not think of on their own. Oh, yes. There’s edible panties in a variety of yummy flavors.”
“I guess S and M in a basket is pretty much self-explanatory.”
Lisa giggled. “Yes, but I’ve added a few innovations of my own. Furry handcuffs, for example. The metal ones are too uncomfortable, especially if you wear them for hours.”
Hours in handcuffs. No friggin’ way.
“There’s a serious leather whip that can be converted into a tickler-style whip made of French rabbit fur.”
“I guess American rabbits are too scratchy.”
“No, but Jim says people pay a premium for French imports. They have cachet.”
Lisa picked a small black leather book out of the wicker basket.
“I’ve written an S and M manual, featuring various bondage techniques for those couples with a limited imagination where—”
“Lisa, could you give me a hand with this? I’m double-parked.”
A man in his early forties left a stack of boxes at the door and went to move his car. SoBe being SoBe, horns were impatiently blasting.
“Jim’s back.” Lisa dashed to the door. “More Love Dust. We can’t keep it in stock.”
Jim Wilson was much younger than Shane had expected, considering the affair. Vanessa had to be at least twenty years older. So what? She was beautiful and rich.
While Shane was waiting, he helped Lisa carry in the cartons of Love Dust. It was another five minutes before Jim Wilson returned, parking being a real challenge in SoBe.
Tall and toned with sun-bleached blond hair, Jim Wilson was so tanned he might have just hopped off his surfboard. He eyed Shane, who was helping Lisa unpack the boxes, with male possessiveness.
So that was the deal. He had a thing for Lisa. Shane wondered if it was mutual. Lisa had barely glanced at Jim.
“Shane Donovan.” He extended his hand, and Jim shook it, his grip firm. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
“He’s a friend of Taylor’s,” Lisa told him. “A good guy.”
Jim appeared to have his doubts, but he didn’t verbalize them.
“There have been some computer problems at To The Maxx.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“I know they terminated you, but—”
“They fired me. It had nothing to do with the way I did my job.”
Shane waited for him to say more, but Jim stood there, his clenched fists rammed into the pockets of his khakis.
“I understand you had an affair with Vanessa Max—”
“Affair? Hell, no.”
He slanted a glance at Lisa.
“Look, I had a little too much to drink at one of the company parties. Vanessa had been coming on to me all night.”
“It’s true,” Lisa said. “I was still married to Trent then. I remember the party. Vanessa liked to flirt with the younger guys. I think she deliberately tried to make Duncan jealous.”
“We ended up doing it in the cabana. It was a quickie. That’s all. Somehow Duncan Maxwell found out. He fired me the next day.
“Then he tried to ruin my career. I put To The Maxx on my resume, and when potential employers called, Duncan made it sound as if I were a criminal.”
Shane sympathized with the guy. He hadn’t known Duncan Maxwell, but from what he’d seen of Vanessa, she was a woman he wouldn’t care to cross.
“I couldn’t get a job without saying where I’d been for the previous five years. I was working as a bartender until Lisa came along.”