OVER HER DEAD BODY: The Bliss Legacy - Book 2

by Sheedy, EC

  Keeley gasped and plunged her hands into his hair. Her breathing shifted to ragged. “What a … way to start the day.”

  He looked up at her. “And end it.” Reluctantly releasing her, he said, “You’d better go. Fordham’s waiting.” Along with her arrival, the Starks and their dirty secrets also came to mind, and he felt the warmth of the night slip away. Mayday was still at risk. His home was in danger. He glanced out the window.

  Still raining. When he looked back, Keeley was dressed and looking down at him.

  She brushed his hair back from his forehead and leaned to kiss it.”You look grim,” she said.”You’re thinking about Christiana, the Starks. You’re worried about their meeting.”

  He considered glib assurances, rejected them. “No. It’s not them. Hell, tangled family ties are nothing new. They’ll work it out, if they want to.”

  “It won’t happen without Dinah Marsden.” She stepped away from him. “You have to get her here, Gus. It’s essential.”

  She made it sound easy, but Gus knew Dinah wouldn’t do anything it wasn’t in her interest to do. “I’ll do what I can.” He stood. “Now you better go downstairs. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” When she was gone, Gus hit the shower. Standing under the rush of water, he braced his hands against the shower wall, dropped his head, and waited for the water to clear his sex-crazed mind.

  Keeley was right, he did feel grim. He might not give a damn about the mess of a family about to gather downstairs, but he sure as hell gave a damn about a man called Mace.

  Still out there. Still a risk.

  Chances were the bastard was on Hagan Marsden’s payroll. Insurance in case Gus screwed up or didn’t come through.

  Mace would be back, all right, and this time it would take more than a feather pillow to take him out.

  He turned off the shower, slicked his hair back. This mess had to come to a head, and to make it happen, Keeley was dead right, he needed Dinah’s highly toned ass at Mayday House.

  He decided to pay a quick visit to Paul Stark.

  Keeley met Bridget in the hall outside her bedroom. The look in her eyes was censorious and Keeley’s stomach fluttered. For a moment she felt awkward, even defensive—until she reordered her thoughts, remembered the happiness, the ecstasy, of last night in Gus’s arms.

  She leaned on her door and looked at Bridget’s sullen face. “Okay, out with it.”

  Her gaze slid away. “Out with what?”

  “I was with Gus. You’re shocked.”

  “I didn’t know, uh, nuns did that kind of thing.”

  “What kind of ’thing’ are you talking about?” God, she was so tired of the darn nun thing.

  “You know. Have sex.” Her gaze shot to Keeley’s, then slid away again.

  Keeley let out a breath. “For the millionth and absolutely last time, I am not a nun, Bridget. I haven’t been for a lot of years now.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And Gus and I—” She stopped. She didn’t need to explain. Besides, how could she expect anyone to understand what was between her and Gus when she wasn’t sure she understood it herself? “Get used to Gus, Bridget, he’ll be around for a long time.” She smiled. Forever. “Now would you please go and tell Christiana I’ll be right down? I need to change.”

  “Sure.” Bridget nodded, started down the hall, then stopped and said, “Keeley?”

  “Uh-huh.” Keeley was opening the door when she heard her. She turned.

  “I felt like you once. I know what it’s like to, uh, want somebody. Real bad like.” She looked as if she were going to cry, ran a hand under her nose. “With me, it didn’t work like I wanted.” She sniffed and squared her bony shoulders. “Gus is nice, super … hot, but you’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be careful, Bridget. Thanks.”

  Bridget nodded and headed for the stairs, leaving Keeley with a lump in her throat and a dose of morning-after reality.

  When she’d closed the bedroom door behind her, she leaned against it. Bridget was right. About Gus being … hot—she smiled—and about the need to be careful. She should be smart about this, not rash or impulsive. She should be logical and cautious. Sober as a nun. Maybe the least bit guilty …

  But she wasn’t any of those things. She was in love, and last night she’d given Gus her body—and more important—her heart. She had no intention of taking either back.

  Keeley brought the thermos coffeepot to the table, set it down between her and Christiana, and took a seat. “Erica and Paul are upstairs now.”

  Christiana instantly got to her feet, looked around the kitchen as if to pinpoint an escape route. “God, I don’t know if I’m ready for this. For them.”

  “You can always cut and run.” Keeley’s response was facetious and accompanied by a smile. She didn’t peg Christiana for a runner—from anything, but she empathized with the tense woman now pacing her kitchen. It had to be emotionally tricky to stay calm when you were about to meet a brother and sister you didn’t even know you had until a few days ago.

  “I think you know I won’t do that. I want to meet them. Need to. But my … mother? Have you found out anything about her?”

  Keeley didn’t know what to say, and she wasn’t ready to tell this elegant and proper woman her first sight of her mother might be in a triple-X-rated film. She was glad when Gus came into the room and answered for her.

  “We’re working on it.” He took a mug from the cupboard, strolled to the table, and poured himself a coffee. He glanced at Keeley. “Where are they?”

  Keeley knew he meant the Starks, but before she could tell him they’d be right down, Erica strode into the room. She looked tired and irritable. But then Erica always looked irritable. Paul, his hand securely bandaged, followed her in. Both were dressed casually, but expensively, in jeans and shirts, Paul’s neatly tucked in, Erica’s flowing over her pregnancy.

  Erica stopped in her tracks when she spotted Christiana. For a few seconds, the two women stared at each other. Christiana looked calm enough, but Keeley saw her knuckles whiten.

  “Jesus,” Erica finally said, “You’re her.” If she was feeling anything, it didn’t show through her obvious shock.

  “If by ‘her’ you mean your half-sister, you’d be right.” Christiana held out her hand; Erica ignored it and continued to stare.

  Paul stepped toward the two women and took Christiana’s hand just as she was pulling it back.

  “Paul Stark,” he said. “You’ll have to excuse Erica. We weren’t expecting you. Not yet, at least.”

  “Neither were we,” Keeley said. “Christiana’s visit is a surprise, but now she’s here, I thought you should meet.”

  Erica shook her head as if to clear it. “I need a coffee.” She followed Gus’s path to the cupboard and retrieved two mugs, poured for herself and Paul, and sat down heavily at the table.

  “You’re pregnant,” Christiana said, stating the obvious and clearly no more able to start a dialogue than Erica.

  Erica rolled her eyes, said nothing.

  Given Erica’s non-answer, Christiana looked at Paul’s bandaged hand. “And you’re hurt.”

  “Another astute observation,” Erica said, rising from her chair. “Now can we get down to business?” She eyed Christiana, then tilted her head. “You look a lot like her. Same bland blondeness men seem to like so much.”

  “Excuse me?” Christiana looked confused.

  Erica ignored her. “Wouldn’t you say, Paul? Especially from an angle. Long neck, too.” She smiled. “Of course we’d have to see her naked to know for sure.”

  “Erica!” Paul gave her a disgusted look.

  “Nice,” Gus said, his tone dry. He was standing, hip propped against the kitchen counter, as far away from the tableau at the table as the kitchen allowed.

  Keeley got to her feet and faced Erica. “If you’re going to be crude and cruel, Erica, pack your bag and get out of here. Otherwise—and I quote—if you can’t say something nice
, keep your ugly mouth shut” She leaned closer. “Have I made myself clear?”

  Erica’s face filled with heat and anger. “I don’t have to—”

  Keeley raised a brow. Her own temper barely restrained, she sealed her lips into a tight line.

  “Erica,” Paul said. “For God’s sake, shut up.” He looked at Christiana, who appeared frozen to her chair. “I apologize for my sister. This whole experience is just overwhelming.”

  Christiana was holding her breath, had been since Erica’s words had filtered through her shock and reached her brain. Not only were these two strange people her brother and sister, it was obvious they knew who her birth mother was—or thought they did. She didn’t warm to Erica, nor Erica to her. So much for sisterly affections. She quelled the tiny shaft of disappointment, putting it down to some romanticized idea of what having a sister might mean. She’d actually hoped to like this angry woman.

  “I’d like to say I understand,” she said to Paul, who was at least attempting to be pleasant. “But I don’t.” She looked at the taut-faced, sullen Erica. Paul had put his coffee down and was massaging her shoulders. “And you have the advantage over me,” she added, “because I have no clue who my mother is.”

  “Lucky you,” Erica murmured.

  “And all we have is a ‘clue,’” Keeley said calmly. She stood beside Gus across the kitchen. “We think we know who she is, Christiana. We’re not certain.”

  Gus folded his arms across his chest but said nothing.

  “Speak for yourself, sister.” Erica looked up at Paul. “Get the disk.” She leered at Christiana. “One look at Icy Cream and this little mystery is solved.”

  “Icy Cream,” Christiana said. “What are you talking about?” Something with a thousand legs skittered across her nape.

  “We’re talking about a sex tape, a third-rate porn movie with your mommy’s naked ass—along with everything else—in the starring role.” Erica spat the words.

  Christiana swallowed her response as Erica’s words sank in. Her mother wasn’t an actress, she was, she was— God, she didn’t want to think about what she was. Again, she had the insane urge to laugh.

  Paul didn’t move. “I don’t think we have to deal with that right now, Erica.” He sounded stern, but looked uncertain.

  Gus said, “Watching the movie will prove nothing. All you know is your father—allegedly—took off with the woman who was in it. That might make her the evil other woman in your books, but it doesn’t make her Christiana’s mother.”

  “Bull. She’s a dead ringer.”

  “So you say,” Gus said.

  “So will you when you’ve seen the movie,” Erica said.

  “He already has,” Paul said.

  “When?”

  “This morning. Couldn’t think of a reason not to show him.” He glanced at Gus. “Persuasive guy.”

  Erica knit her brows and seemed to think on what Paul had said, then nodded her head. “Doesn’t matter, we can still use it.”

  “No, Erica, we can’t,” he said, his tone hard. “Give it up, would you? It’s over. I should never have let your ridiculous plan get as far as it did. Mace could have killed you and the babies. Nothing’s worth that. Certainly not a failing pornography business.”

  “It’s not failing, all we need is—”

  “Stop!” Christiana slapped a hand on the table, then stood. She’d had enough, and she refused to be drawn into the Stark family disagreements. “I don’t care about your business. If you have a tape of my mother, I want to see it. And I want to see it now.”

  All eyes turned to her. Keeley looked alarmed.

  Gus’s gaze came last, his amazingly vivid eyes sliding over her as if taking her measure. “I don’t think you do,” he said, his tone soft.

  “If there’s a chance this Icy Cream person is my mother, I want to know.” She wondered if that were a lie even as she said it, because right now, she wanted to run until she couldn’t breathe anymore, get as far from these people as her legs would take her. She’d already had enough of her new family, and by the sound of things, the worst was yet to come. Her mother.

  Christiana needed the truth, so she could process it, deal with it the best way she could.

  Keeley coughed. “It’s an adult film, Christiana. And even if you’re okay with that, seeing someone who could be your mother starring in it will be painful.” She looked at Gus, who stood as still as steel beside her. “Don’t you agree, Gus?”

  “Whether I agree or disagree won’t change anything.”

  His non answer seemed to disturb Keeley, and she turned back to Christiana. “Why not give us time to confirm things? Then—if you still want to—you can watch it.”

  “Where? On the Internet after my new sister plasters it up on a Web site?” Christiana shook her head while looking pointedly at Erica. “No. I’ll watch it now.”

  Erica smiled. “Get the disk, Paul, and your laptop. It’s got a nice big screen.” She looked at Christiana, and her smile changed to a smirk. “Shall I make some popcorn?”

  Paul put his hands in his pockets and cast a nervous glance at his sister, then a questioning one at Gus, who responded with a raised brow and a noncommittal twist of his lips.

  Keeley was angry and didn’t try to hide it. “If you’re intent on being self-serving, unfeeling idiots, I’m taking a walk.” She glowered at Erica. “I need some fresh air.”

  Christiana watched Keeley take a yellow rain slicker from a peg near the kitchen door and walk out. She’d like nothing better than to go with her. Run away. Instead she sat down and waited for Paul to go and get his laptop, her heart racing in her chest.

  CHAPTER 19

  Keeley pushed through the rain-washed hedge to St. Ivan’s and went to the bench that sat against the back stone wall of the church. The bench overlooked the graveyard. There was some protection from the rain here, depending on which way the wind blew.

  A few minutes later, Gus sat down beside her, zipped up his windbreaker, stuck his hands in his pockets, and stretched his legs out in front of him.

  Where his shoulder touched hers a nice heat grew.

  “You’re mad,” he said, not looking at her.

  “I’m always mad,” she said. “You might as well get used to it. It comes with the hair.”

  He slid her a glance, one she felt rather than saw, because her eyes were straight ahead, trying to pierce the soft sheets of rain falling on the graves, while her mind sorted through the clamor and tangles haunting Mayday House.

  “Care to tell me what’s got you stoked this time around?” he asked.

  “You didn’t tell me you’d seen the video.”

  “I didn’t get a chance. Too many people.”

  Keeley turned to him. “It was Dinah, wasn’t it?”

  “Yup, and money in the bank for Hagan, because knowing Dinah, she’d do anything—pay anything—to stop that movie being seen. By anyone.” He rubbed his forehead. “As graphic sex goes, I’d say all her body parts got their fifteen minutes of fame.”

  Keeley’s stomach tightened. “Now I’m sad. I like Christiana. It’s terrible to think she’ll meet her mother that way.”

  “She won’t.”

  Keeley gave him a questioning look, which he ignored. When he continued to sit there like one of those life-sized bronze statues you see sitting on park benches, she finally asked, “What did you do, Gus?”

  He held up a disk. “I borrowed this.”

  “That’s the Icy Cream movie?”

  He nodded. “It’ll hold them off for a time.”

  “Why not just destroy it?”

  “I think you know why.”

  She sighed. “It’s only a copy, and the Starks probably have a warehouse full of them—plus the original.”

  “You got it.” He stuffed the disk back inside his leather jacket. “And if you’ve still got room at the Inn, I’d suggest you make up another room.”

  They were staring at each other, and when Keeley could g
et past the stunning fact she was in love with this enigmatic man, and he with her, she said, “She’s coming, then? Dinah Marsden is coming to Mayday House?”

  He nodded. “I called her after I saw the video. Figured she should be the first to know. She’ll be here tonight. So we might as well go back in and let everyone know.” He stood up, offered her his hand. “As family reunions go, this one should be a beaut.”

  Mace had driven to the next town, dropped into a doc’s office, and gotten himself patched up. Thank God, that bastard back at the Jasper had used a knife. Gunshot wounds weren’t so easy to lie about.

  Turned out the cut was clean, more blood than anything else, but he’d lost the tip of his ear.

  Now he was holed up in some place called the Homespun Motel. Both the town and the motel were even crummier than Erinville, and his head was pounding like a son of a bitch.

  He should have blown the fucker away. Him and Stark. Would have, too, but a double homicide tended to attract a cop or two—and there was too much at stake.

  He’d get them both when the time was right.

  His gut was on fire and it wasn’t heartburn. It was white-hot fury. Who’d have thought the skinny, sad-assed Stark had it in him? If either of the Starks had balls, he’d have put his money on Erica.

  He’d been taken out by a fuckin’ feather pillow!

  That twisted in his craw like a dull blade. His neck heated and he looked at the phone again.

  Dolan was expecting him to call, tell him his sister had died an accidental death. He wouldn’t be happy, knowing the job wasn’t done. Add to that he was an unpredictable asshole and damned full of himself.

  Which meant, for Mace, the smart thing to do was keep his little fuck-up to himself.