Bound by Deception

by Trish McCallan

  He was silent for a moment, his face brooding. “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to my dad when he proposed to my mom. When I told her I intended to ask you to marry me, she gave it to me.”

  A ghost of a laugh escaped her. “Reluctantly, I imagine. It was obvious she didn’t like me.” She squeezed his hand. “Adele told me she died. I’m sorry. I know how close you two were.”

  He simply nodded.

  Becca fell silent as well. It was surprisingly comfortable sitting here with him. Their thighs brushing, his furnace of a body warming her left side. Without thinking, she shifted, until she was sitting squarely beside him, rather than at an angle. After a moment he moved too, his arm sliding around her shoulder.

  With a content sigh, she settled against him. They’d sat like this so many times in the past, it felt natural even now. A sideways peek through her lashes, proved he was watching her face, a searching, hungry look bright in his eyes. His face was hard, but not with disapproval or suspicion.

  Without thinking, she laid her head against his shoulder and reached up to stroke his cheek. When his head lowered, she kept her eyes open, and her hand on his face. His lips brushed hers, retreated, returned to sip and caress.

  His mouth felt warm against hers. Soft. In control.

  And so damn erotic her head spun.

  She’d kissed other men before and after Rio. Even went to bed with a couple of them after Rio and she had broken up. None of them had given her chills or sweaty palms. None of them had jumpstarted her pulse or made her head spin. None of them had affected her like Rio had, like he still did. There was something about the man that her body reacted to with extreme volatility.

  He’d been well practiced at kissing as a twenty-three-year-old. Knowing exactly how to bring her to a boil. But as an adult, he was even more potent.

  She moaned softly as the heat built, and the melting started. His mouth left her lips to bathe her throat in nips and nibbles and the warm, soothing glide of his tongue. Tingles and chills joined the muscle melting.

  The things he could do with that mouth.

  “You always were an amazing kisser,” she whispered, arching her neck to open his path of exploration. But instead of obeying her unspoken plea, he suddenly lifted and cocked his head, clearly listening.

  “Damn.” He bent his neck for a quick nibble at her lips, before groaning and straightening. “Hold that thought.”

  “What?” She shook her foggy head, as he pushed himself off the couch.

  “Someone’s at the door. Probably Tag.” He cast a frustrated glance toward the foyer.

  Someone had knocked? She hadn’t heard anything. As he skirted the couch and headed across the room, a knock sounded on the door. Someone was out there. He’d heard them. She hadn’t.

  Either his senses were incredibly sharp, so acute he’d heard the fall of footsteps, or the sound of a knock, even while making out, or he hadn’t been nearly as caught up in the moment as she’d been.

  The next morning, as Rio knocked on the door to Adele’s condo, thoughts of Becca still circled through his mind. That hot as hell kiss had followed him into his dreams, where it had revved his body and sweated his sheets. He’d dragged himself from bed hotter and harder than he’d ever been in his life.

  No question the combustibility was still there. They’d barely brushed lips, and whoosh—desire had ignited. But then chemistry had never been the problem between them. No, the issue had been her volatility…her unpredictability…the instability that her so-called-family had manipulated at will.

  That volatility was gone now.

  For Becca, these past five days must have been incredibly stressful. Between facing an antagonistic ex-lover, barely escaping a hit and run, getting shot, spending four days as the guest of a stranger while surrounded by strange men…well, things couldn’t have been much more stressful. If that old instability was going to rear its ugly head, it would have done so by now.

  Where exactly that left them, he had no clue. All he knew for certain was that something still lurked between them. Whether that something was simple chemistry, or something deeper, only time would tell.

  Not that they’d have time to explore this connection between them if she was determined to leave on Monday.

  He knocked on Adele’s door again. Louder this time. More insistent. He’d gotten her address from the DMV, which didn’t mean much. Half the population didn’t bother to update their addresses when they moved. Which reminded him of his first meeting with Tram’s Emma, which reminded him of Becca, which reminded him of that damn kiss.

  Scowling, he pounded even harder on Adele’s door.

  At least he knew Adele was home. The Renaissance condo towers sat on prime San Diego real estate. In the heart of the prestigious Marina district the condos came with all the amenities, including twenty-four-hour concierge service. After he’d flashed his badge, the woman at the concierge desk had told him that Adele still lived here and that she was home.

  So why wasn’t she answering her damn door?

  When his latest round of knocking went unanswered, he stepped back and, glanced down the quiet, subtly expensive hall. The towers boasted a fancy pool and exercise room. Maybe Adele was swimming or working out. He’d head down to the rec center and take a quick look.

  As he turned away from the door, a click and creak sounded behind him. He turned back, his gaze settling on the towel wrapped hair of the woman he’d come to see.

  She must have been in the shower, which explained the lack of response to his knocking.

  “Rio!” Her hands flew to the belt of her yellow, sleeveless dress and she cinched the material tighter around her waist. “What a surprise. You should have called first. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting.”

  He brushed aside her light complaint. He was more likely to get the truth from her if he showed up unannounced and unexpected at her door, if he didn’t give her a chance to cobble a storyline together or call someone for advice.

  “Can I come in?” Rio asked, his voice cold, detached. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  Her eyes widened, nervousness flaring in the pale blue depths. “Of course.” Her hands shot to her head and nervously adjusted the towel wrapped around her hair. “Questions about what?”

  “Becca.” Rio stepped forward as Adele stepped back.

  After another long step back, Adele spun and led the way down a short hall papered in oriental themed wallpaper. She stopped in the living room, in front of a bank of windows, her thin frame haloed by a flood of brilliant sunlight. The view from up here, on the twentieth floor, was incredible. San Diego sprawled far and wide below, winding right up to the glittering blue of the bay.

  “This is about the party, isn’t it? When we were kids? I thought you were going to question me about it when you showed up at Mother’s place.” Adele's voice quivered, her fingers knotting in the yellow belt that wrapped her waist. “I offered to tell you everything, but Becca told me not to bother.”

  “That’s part of it.” He studied her tense, anxious face. “You drugged her.”

  It was an accusation.

  She swallowed hard, her blue eyes swimming with shame and fear.

  “Not me. That was Adam.” She flinched as he scowled. “Really! That’s on Adam. He’s the one who drugged her drink.”

  “The drink that you gave her, knowing full well it had been doctored. Drugging someone’s drink, without their awareness or permission, is felony assault.” He took a threatening step forward. “Knowingly passing on a drugged drink is accessory to felony assault.”

  Not that he could do a damn thing about it twelve years after the incident. The statute of limitations had expired years ago.

  Whatever she saw on his face had her cringing and stepping back. “But…but…but…”

  He locked down his rage. Hearing what had happened from Becca had been bad enough, but here was Adele, one of the people who’d drugged her, and all he heard were fucking excuses.
Too bad his hands were legally tied. He couldn’t do a damn thing about what Adam and Adele had done to her back then. He needed to concentrate on the present, and the possibility they were behind the shots and hit and run.

  According to Becca’s account of events on Monday, Adele had already lied to him about a couple of key issues.

  “I found out last night you’d visited Becca at her hotel just before the shooting,” he said, his voice icy. “Why did you lie when I asked you Tuesday if you’d seen her recently?”

  He watched dispassionately as she recoiled from him, her face bleaching white.

  “Because Mother was there,” she stuttered the answer out. “She would have been angry that I went to see her. You saw how she reacted when you told us Becca had been shot. Mother’s not rational when it comes to her.”

  Hell, Adele was right about that, the woman’s insistence that Becca had shot herself had been paranoid as hell. “Is it true your mother knew Becca was in town? That she even told you where Becca was staying?”

  “Yes,” Adele admitted.

  “Who told her Becca was in town? Where she was staying?”

  “I don’t know. Mother never said. But she didn’t tell me so I could go see Becca. It was more like a warning in case Becca tried to stir things up. Mother was worried about the wedding.”

  Rio cocked his head, frowning. “Stir things up?” he repeated. “Like requesting we reopen her mother’s case?”

  Adele nodded slowly. “I guess.” Her forehead wrinkled, and a question ghosted across her face. “You said she was okay?” She hesitated at Rio’s nod, before swallowing hard. “Then why hasn’t she returned my calls? I must have left a dozen messages.”

  “I confiscated her phone. Calls can be traced.”

  “Oh.” Adele’s throat trembled. “I thought she was avoiding me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I thought she’d lied when she said she forgave me. I thought she wasn’t returning my calls because she didn’t want to talk to me.” She stared at him, her eyes watery. “She doesn’t think I had anything to do with her getting shot, right? I mean, she knows I would never hurt her, right?”

  He could clearly hear the pain vibrating through her questions, see it on her face and in her eyes. A trace of sympathy slid through him. Hell. He scowled. “She wanted to call you. I wouldn’t let her.”

  Adele nodded, squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. “I see.”

  While Becca didn’t appear to believe Adele had anything to do with the attempts on her life, Adam’s involvement was a different matter. From their conversation the night before, Becca clearly believed Adam hated her enough to try to kill her.

  Rio didn’t see how Adam could have been on the rifle though. His investigation into Adam’s whereabouts had proven the bastard was in Miami, as Adele had indicated on Tuesday.

  Of course, like his mother and sister, Adam had the means to hire someone to take that shot. Christ knew the family had plenty of money. He glanced around the bright modern lines of Adele’s condo. The Renaissance condos, at least ones this size, cost a cool two million. Where had the money come from? Her grandmother? Her mother? What about her father? What had Aaron Hart’s net worth been at the time of his death?

  While Lena Hart had brought most of the wealth into the marriage, Aaron must have been worth something toward the end of his life, yet Becca hadn’t mentioned inheriting anything from him. Maybe the motive here was more about greed than hatred.

  “What happened to your father’s estate,” Rio asked.

  Adele cocked her head slightly as she stared at him, a confused look flickering through her eyes. “Most of it went to Mom. But Adam and I each got a percentage.”

  “And Becca? Did she get anything?”

  A frown joined the confusion on Adele’s face. “I don’t know. She wasn’t at dad’s funeral or the meeting with the probate lawyers. Mother never mentioned her sharing in dad’s estate.”

  Aaron had cut Becca out of his will? That didn’t seem likely. Had Becca contested the will? He’d ask her, but he doubted it. She was giving most of her inheritance from Hopewell away. A woman like that wouldn’t fight over money.

  And if she hadn’t been interested in fighting for her share of her dad’s estate, then why kill her to keep it? Which took him right back to the hatred angle.

  “What about your brother? How did Adam treat Becca while she was living with you?"

  She snorted at the question. “Terrible. But then Adam treated everyone horribly.”

  “Would you say he hated her?”

  Becca sure thought so.

  Her eyes went distant and dark at the question. After a few moments of silent, she offered a slight shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Of course, there were also the questions surrounding Rachel Blaine’s death. The timing of the attacks on Becca were suspicious as hell. Someone had tried to kill her hours after she’d showed up at the precinct claiming her mother had been pregnant and murdered.

  Had Lena known Rachel was pregnant? Had she been behind the lack of investigation into her rival’s death? Was she behind the missing evidence and autopsy reports? Did what had happened back then play into the attacks on Becca now?

  “What do you remember from sixteen years ago, around when Becca moved in with your family? Was there tension between your mom and dad?”

  She scoffed at that, a pensive look settling over her face. “There was always tension between them. They fought constantly.”

  That surprised him. Lena and Aaron Hart had seemed the perfect power couple. Lena with her roots in old money and Aaron with his political connections. Outwardly, the two had appeared to have the strongest of marriages. At least until rumors of a mistress and illegitimate child had surfaced.

  Rio scratched at his eyebrow. “What did they fight about?”

  “Take your pick. Money. Business. Politics. Me. Adam. Later Becca.” She sighed. “Those last few years before Dad died, they existed in frozen silence. I think they hated each other.”

  “Do you remember them fighting about Rachel Blaine, Becca’s mother?”

  “No. But I used to run to my room and hide when they started yelling at each other. I never heard the actual arguments. Just the shouting.”

  And this line of questioning was getting him nowhere. He grunted, his mind shifting back to Adam. While he’d tracked down and verified Adam’s flight and hotel through his secretary, he hadn’t managed to talk to the guy. None of his calls had been returned.

  Maybe Adele had a personal phone number for him. “What phone number do you use to reach Adam?”

  He followed Adele over to an oval table against the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living area. She picked up a pen and scribbled something on a creamy notepad before ripping the top sheet free and handing it to him. “This is his phone number. But he’s flying home tomorrow morning. You could always talk to him at the reception on Saturday.”

  “I’m still invited?” Rio asked drily.

  Adele’s smile was forced, and not very convincing. “Of course.”

  As Rio took the sheet of paper his gaze fell on the framed photo on the table next to the notepad. It was a formal picture, the same one that had arrived with his wedding invitation. Neither Adele nor her fiancé were smiling. He looked stoic and stern. She looked terrified. But it was the necklace around her neck that caught his attention.

  A brilliant blue stone glittered on a web of silver filaments. The platinum strands interlaced, creating a miniature dream catcher. The stone and backing shimmered brilliantly against the pallid skin of Adele’s neck.

  No wonder the pendant in Rachel’s diary had looked so familiar.

  Adele had been wearing it in her engagement photo. How the hell had the pendant in Rachel Blaine’s journal ended up around Adele Hart’s neck?

  He picked up the framed photo. “That’s an unusual necklace. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Adele’s smile was stiff. �
�Mother gave it to me during the engagement party. It’s an old family heirloom.”

  “Is it.” Rio kept his voice casual. He set the picture back down. “From your father or mother’s side?”

  A half shake of Adele’s head, unraveled the towel and sent it sliding to the floor. “I’m not certain.” She bent to swoop the towel up, only to stand there, holding it absently. That uncertain look was back on her face. “She never said.”

  “You never saw it before?”

  “Well, no…why?”

  “No reason.” At least none he was going to give her. Turning, he headed for the door. He’d learned as much as he could from Adele.

  He needed to talk to Hilde again. Show her the sketch. Ask her if she’d ever seen that pendant around Rachel Blaine’s neck.

  Chapter Eleven

  The call—as her bodyguards called it—hit Lucas Trammel’s cell phone just after noon. The buzzing wrenched Becca’s attention from the book she’d borrowed from Emma’s library, and was trying to read, which was harder than normal since she only had one arm available for balancing.

  She frowned, catching Tram’s sudden tension, as he listened intently. Something was going down. Something serious. Cuddles must have picked up on it too. The small dog stirred in her lap, then sat up, glancing anxiously at Tram, who was stretched out in the recliner across from the couch. Suddenly, the dog’s thin body started to quake.

  “Hey,” Becca crooned. Setting the book down on the couch, she ran a soothing hand down the animal’s rigid spine. “It’s okay. Everything is fine.”

  Although from the way Trammel jackknifed up, and the sudden tension in his previously relaxed muscles, fine wasn’t the correct adjective.

  “On our way,” Tram said into his phone. His gaze settled on Becca, with glittering intensity. “Yeah, Tag’s with me. We’ll be there.” He lowered his cell and glanced at Tag, who was sprawled out on the couch across from Becca while perusing a magazine. “Wheels up in two.”