Defending the Heiress

by Susan Kearney

  Her stepmother whispered in her ear, her tone gloating and loud enough for those nearby to hear. “I heard the rumors, but I still think you did it.”

  “You do?” Ryker pressed.

  “Oh, yes. She’ll get just what she deserves.” Shandra glared at the exotic flowers as if the sight of them offended her.

  “This is no time for a squabble,” her father muttered. “Sheathe your claws, Shandra.”

  Just then organ music floated through the speakers, and people took their seats. Ryker led Daria up the center aisle. Heads turned to watch them pass by, but she didn’t acknowledge the stares.

  Her eyes focused on the white lacquer casket that held Elizabeth’s body. Not too long ago, Harry and Fallon had lain like this, side by side, in another cemetery. No amount of beautiful flowers could ease the heaviness that squeezed her heart.

  The minister spoke, but she didn’t listen. Instead, she remembered happier times, midnight chocolate fests, cramming for exams, convincing Elizabeth to manage the Fifth Avenue store. Their college years had been busy, the years after even busier. Sometimes they hadn’t talked for days, but then they’d get together and it was as if no time had passed since their last visit.

  Goodbye, my good friend. I will miss you.

  The minister had asked if Daria wanted to say the eulogy, but she’d refused, and now she was glad that she had.

  If only she’d checked her message machine that night and returned Elizabeth’s phone call. What had her friend wanted to tell her? Daria supposed that the mystery might haunt her for the rest of her life.

  When the minister finished speaking, Ryker handed her a handkerchief. Daria wiped the tears from her cheeks. She hated the next part of the funeral the most, but she would do this last act for Elizabeth and stood with the other pallbearers to roll the casket toward the mausoleum. Peter walked directly behind her, her brother’s face too white, too tight and full of pain.

  Coming to the funeral so soon after he’d been released from the hospital might be too much for him. A light sweat had broken out on his forehead, his eyes were glassy, and she wondered if he could be feverish. After they placed the rain-spotted casket in Elizabeth’s final resting spot, Peter stumbled into Daria.

  “Peter?”

  “Not now. Don’t say a word,” he ordered softly. He wrapped his large black raincoat around her.

  Something pointed and hard jabbed her ribs. She tried to move away from the hard pressure, but Peter grabbed the front of the raincoat, trapping her against his side and keeping her there with the pressure from a weapon in his other hand. To everyone else, they would appear as brother and sister, helping one another through a trying time, with Peter trying to protect her from the rain.

  But her brother had a gun at her side.

  Daria should have been scared, shocked, surprised. But all she could think was that poor Peter had gone crazy with the loss of Elizabeth and blamed her.

  She didn’t dare say a word.

  “I’m taking you to the car.” Peter nudged her with the gun and she stumbled, but he held her upright.

  Ryker couldn’t possibly know anything was wrong, but he fell into step beside them on her other side. She didn’t dare glance at him or say a word. Peter had obviously lost his mind. He could start shooting at random.

  And suddenly her fear spiked. Not just for herself but for the other people around them. If he fired in this crowd, there was no telling who would go down.

  “You okay?” Ryker asked.

  She nodded.

  “She isn’t fine,” Peter disagreed, his voice soft and syrupy with fake concern. “Look at her face, she’s as white as Elizabeth’s casket.”

  “We’re parked over there.” Ryker pointed.

  Panic washed her thoughts in a wave of terror. She had to warn Ryker or the Shey Group. None of them knew anything was wrong. Or did they? Peter’s behavior was odd, but odd enough for anyone to take notice? And the bugs at the ceremony would pick up his words, but they were ambiguous.

  Her brother’s eyes were red-rimmed from tears, glassy and hard with his grief and fury. Obviously overcome by his distress at the loss of Elizabeth, his actions might seem perfectly natural considering the circumstances. With Ryker walking beside them clueless, he clearly intended to accompany her in her car.

  She didn’t want him there in danger of catching a stray bullet. If she said something, would Peter shoot her?

  However, opening her mouth to speak would put her life on the line. But she would risk it to ensure Ryker’s safety. And that’s when the thought struck her like lightning. She loved Ryker. And eventually she would have to do something about it. But not now.

  With her heart skating into her throat, she took a chance. “Ryker, my brother and I need some private time together.” Peter dug the gun harder into her side, warning her to speak with care. But at least he didn’t shoot. “Why don’t you take Peter’s car back into the city?”

  While keeping the gun in her side, Peter dug into his pocket and then handed Ryker his keys. “Thanks. I’m four cars back. The navy Cadillac.”

  RYKER DIDN’T LIKE leaving Daria, but with the bug he’d fastened onto her purse when he’d slipped the gun inside, he’d be able to not just track her but eavesdrop on her entire conversation with her brother. Peter had seemed ready to crack under his grief, so Ryker had agreed to her request.

  Ryker found the Cadillac without any trouble and pulled out right behind Daria, who was driving. In the heavy downpour, Ryker couldn’t see inside the other car that well, even with his efficient windshield wipers. But through his earpiece he listened to the crystal-clear conversation in the other car.

  “Peter,” Daria spoke softly. “Surely you don’t believe that I would poison my best friend.”

  Peter cackled, his laughter out of control. “You have no idea what’s going on in my mind.”

  “Well, I’m not psychic. Why don’t you tell me.”

  “Take the Holland Tunnel.”

  “Sure.”

  Now, why would Peter make such a bizarre request? They’d driven here through the tunnel and would naturally go back the same way without him giving directions. Was he cracking up, or simply stating the obvious?

  Peter’s voice broke on a sob. “You must have heard the rumors about the India deal falling apart.”

  “You couldn’t have known the new government wouldn’t uphold the contract.”

  “Dad blames me.” Peter said. “His entire company is at risk. I’ve got too many responsibilities, too much on my plate, too much riding on me. You don’t know what the pressure is like with everyone depending on me. I’ve got to fix things.”

  “Of course you will.”

  Peter started to shout. “Don’t hand me platitudes.”

  At the undertone of violence and despair in Peter’s tone, Ryker, suddenly uneasy, closed the distance between the two cars. He adjusted his frequency. “Jack, you up in the chopper?”

  “Not in this weather. You have a problem?”

  “I’m not sure. Why don’t you drive toward the city, just in case I need backup.”

  “I’m ten minutes out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryker tuned back to Daria and Peter’s conversation. Although the radio remained clear, the rain beat down so hard that he had to turn up the volume to hear over the pelting drops.

  Peter sounded as if he was sobbing. Could he be having a nervous breakdown?

  “The money Mom gave me is just a fraction of what I owed. So I went to Sam for a loan.”

  “You went to him instead of a bank to keep the problems private,” Daria guessed.

  “With his outrageous rates, I owe him hundreds of thousands in interest alone, and he’s sending some goons after me.”

  So, Daria’s college bookkeeper, Sam, did have connections to organized crime. He used his job with Daria as a cover. Of course Sam had lied. He’d told them that to make collections he used the phone, but Peter knew how criminals dealt with
unpaid loans. No wonder he was afraid.

  “Why didn’t you ask me for help?”

  Peter’s tone turned sly. “You don’t have that kind of cash, but you will after you collect Fallon’s insurance money.” The bad feeling in Ryker’s gut started to knot. “And when I collect on the policy—”

  Daria gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  Had Peter just threatened Daria’s life? Ryker wasn’t sure. Both Fallon and Daria had huge life insurance policies made out to one another. Peter couldn’t collect unless both women died, and they’d named him next in their wills.

  “For a smart woman, you don’t have a clue. You think your little brother is cracking up over the loss of his dear Elizabeth. But she betrayed me.”

  “Because she knew you owed Sam money? Was that what she wanted to tell me?”

  Peter let out an odd-sounding sigh. “Elizabeth didn’t know about the business. She felt bad about letting me into your apartment to use your computer. She suspected that I planted the e-mails, stole the backup tapes and wiped your drive, and she wanted to tell you, but I stopped her.”

  “It was you! Oh, God.” Daria must have understood the implications just as Ryker did.

  “All of you betrayed me,” Peter whimpered. “Fallon wouldn’t give me the money I needed, but now she will, and so will you.”

  Ryker pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He spoke to the team. “You recording this?”

  “Got it,” Travis acknowledged. “I think Peter’s about to make a move on Daria.”

  Ryker hadn’t seen this coming. He’d suspected Mike Brannigan and her father, maybe Shandra. But Peter? The beloved, grieving little brother?

  And now Daria was sitting in the car, trapped with the bastard.

  Although she had to be terrified, Daria sounded calm. “Of course I’ll give you whatever money you need.”

  Peter cackled again. “You still don’t get it, do you? I killed Harry and Fallon and framed you so I could inherit your business and the life insurance.”

  “You wouldn’t have inherited until I died.”

  “Murder is easy to arrange in jail.”

  Oh, God. Peter had killed Fallon and Elizabeth and Harry. Daria started putting the pieces together. “And you swallowed that poison on purpose to throw us all off?”

  Clever. The sick bastard’s ploy had worked. Once he’d been poisoned, they never considered him a real suspect.

  Ryker prayed that Daria would remember the gun. That she’d have the guts to turn it on Peter to protect herself.

  Damn! Damn!

  Daria had known her brother was dangerous when she’d found an excuse to send Ryker to the other car. She’d known something was wrong. But how? Peter hadn’t said anything suspicious or the hidden mikes would have picked it up and he’d have heard. Ryker recalled the raincoat. Any number of weapons could have been hidden beneath it.

  Daria hadn’t been white-faced due to the funeral. She’d been terrified. But she’d tried to protect him—at a risk to her own life. And Ryker hadn’t even suspected her ruse.

  “I only ingested a little of the poison, and I vomited immediately. I had no idea it could make me that sick.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re going to be more sorry,” Peter crowed. “Once we go through the toll, I’ll duck down, and you’ll appear to be driving alone. The cameras will give me an alibi when I claim to have gotten out of the car.”

  “Why do you need an alibi?”

  “Because you’re going to write a note, admitting your guilt before you kill yourself.”

  HE INTENDED TO kill her. Daria had to keep Peter talking while she stalled for time, but her stomach sickened, especially when she knew his plan might work. She needed to think, to do something drastic. Crashing the car at high speed would only kill both of them. And she couldn’t retrieve the gun from her purse, hide her action from Peter and drive at the same time.

  Think.

  She’d have to slow down at the tollbooth. Could she open the door and run before Peter grabbed or shot her? When she slowed down for the toll, perhaps she should smash her car into one of those concrete pilings.

  What else could she do? Trying to talk him out of killing her didn’t seem likely, not after he’d admitted to murdering three people.

  Her silence had him stroking the gun. She had to distract him.

  “How did you know that you were in our wills?”

  “Your lawyer’s secretary thought she was in love with me.”

  “And causing the computer to disappear from the police evidence room?”

  He shrugged. “I had nothing to do with that. I intended for them to find your e-mails. Some cop’s kid is probably playing Half Life on your computer as we speak.”

  The tollbooth came into view, and she swung smoothly into the far left lane, praying he wouldn’t suspect, fighting to keep her face calm, her breathing even. She slowed, opened her purse. Peter would think she was reaching for her wallet. Her fingers closed around the gun.

  Peter kept his weapon pointed at her, but beneath his raincoat so the toll attendant couldn’t see it. Daria took a slow deep breath, braced, then jerked the car to the right, slamming toward a concrete barrier.

  At the same time, Ryker’s car careened out of nowhere, the blue Cadillac blocking her car from exiting the toll. Metal crunched, specifically the front right fender caved. She’d missed her target.

  She’d been aiming to strike the passenger door to pin Peter inside.

  Her air bag popped open, slapping her face, making breathing difficult.

  A gunshot fired. She expected pain, a burning sensation. But instead she could again breathe. Peter’s shot had missed, hitting and deflating the air bag.

  She had to run before he fired again. Pinned by his air bag for several critical seconds, he wouldn’t take long to recover.

  Daria fumbled to release her seat belt, shoved open the door and, gun in hand, ran toward Ryker, who crouched on the hood, his weapon aimed at the air bag and Peter.

  “Get down,” he ordered.

  A second shot fired from inside the car. She screamed, fearing for Ryker’s safety. And then she was in his arms.

  For several long moments she stood within the circle of his embrace just appreciating the comfort he could give. Her heart battered her ribs and her blood roared in her ears, blocking out the commotion around her. Daria didn’t move as police sirens closed in on the scene. She wanted to stay right here with Ryker, letting him comfort her.

  “I never thought…I had no idea…I was so scared…” She tried to turn her head toward her brother.

  But Ryker placed his back between them. “Don’t look. He killed himself.”

  As Detective O’Brien approached, Daria realized that she still had no proof to clear her name. This might be the last time she could hug Ryker without handcuffs on her wrists. Because with Peter gone, she was left to take the blame.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Harrington?”

  “She’s just shaken.”

  “Travis patched through the recordings to my squad car. If you can get me a copy of the tape, I can close this investigation.”

  She raised her head to look at Ryker. “Tape?”

  “I slipped a bug onto your purse. From our tech van, Travis recorded everything Peter said during your conversation.”

  “You bugged me?” Mixed emotions simmered through her, surprise and shock, then gratitude and elation mixed with a bittersweet tenderness. “You could have told me.”

  “You weren’t in a listening mood.”

  She pulled back from Ryker just enough to face O’Brien. “You aren’t going to arrest me?”

  “You’re free to go. Maybe tomorrow you could come down to the station to give a statement?”

  “Okay. Sure. Yes.” She was free, free to live the rest of her life, thanks to Ryker and the Shey Group.

  Gently, Ryker took the gun from her numbed fingers. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”r />
  “I won’t?”

  “Not with me here to protect you.”

  “But—”

  “I know you love me.” And she did love him. She hadn’t chosen to fall in love. Love had just happened. He might not have roots in the city, he might leave her to go on missions, but she loved him.

  “You risked your life trying to keep me out of danger,” he said.

  “You knew?”

  “Not then. I figured it out as I listened to your conversation. But I know now, and I’m not letting you walk away.”

  “So much has happened, I’m not sure…”

  “I’m willing to wait until you are.”

  “But suppose—”

  In typical Ryker fashion, he didn’t let her speak. His mouth came down over hers. For once she had no hesitation, no doubts. He might not be what she’d thought she wanted. But she’d been wrong. This man was meant to be hers.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Daria squeezed Ryker’s hand so hard he winced, but he didn’t think of complaining. Not even when his lovely wife cursed at him.

  “You son of a bitch, I’m never letting you touch me again.”

  “Okay.”

  She panted. “You could at least argue. Help me keep…my mind off the pain.”

  In the childbirth classes they’d taken together he’d learned that women in the transition stage were often irrational, that they said things they didn’t mean. He let her insults slide off his shoulders like rainwater. Right now she could swear a blue streak and he wouldn’t care what she said. The joy she’d given him this past year, the happiness they’d found together as husband and wife, was worth any harsh words she’d tossed his way.

  And now she was giving him children. His heart swelled with love. Marriage had been good for both of them. For the first time in his life he had a real home.

  And so did she.

  He already felt attached to their children. He’d talked to them every night while they were in her womb, getting them accustomed to his voice as he massaged Daria’s swelling belly with oil to try to prevent stretch marks. Not that he cared about a few little marks, but Daria had insisted.