Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Her brows knit together as she exhaled heavily. The last person she wanted to think or talk about was a de Vincent. “Yeah, I was, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  Jilly laughed. “Here is where things get either super coincidental or get really weird. As you know, the Mendezes didn’t have any activity in their home until they brought the baby home. We of course assumed that was the cause of the activity.”

  Rosie nodded slowly. “Yeah. . . .”

  “But come to find out, at the same time they introduced the baby to their home, the house next door to them, which had been empty, was sold to a lovely young couple.”

  Rosie really had no idea where Jilly was going with this, and she wondered if she’d smoked some pot before they had come over.

  “The house next door to them eventually went under an extensive renovation that has lasted months and is still currently undergoing renovation,” Jilly explained, tipping her wineglass at them before placing it on the coffee table. “And what is the number one thing that stirs up ghosts?”

  “Renovations?” Lance answered.

  Jilly clapped. “Correct!”

  Sitting forward, Rosie crossed one leg over the other. “Okay. There have been cases of renovations in one house stirring up activity in another house. And if that’s the case, then that’s good news for the family. Usually activity simmers down once the renovations are done.”

  “Or the spirit will make its way back to the house it originated from,” Lance added.

  “Either way, what does this have to do with the de Vincents?” Rosie asked.

  “Because who do you think bought the house next door to the Mendez family?” Jilly bit down on her lip as she looked between the two of them. “Lucian de Vincent.”

  Rosie’s jaw dropped.

  “What?” Lance stiffened.

  Jilly nodded. “Yep. Preston met him over the weekend. He happened to be out in the yard while Lucian and his girlfriend were there checking on the renovations. Now, you tell me, is this just a bizarre coincidence that someone who just happens to live in one of the rumored most haunted locations in all of the United States is moving in next door to the family who reported strange activity in their house around the same time?”

  Rosie had no words.

  “Ghosts can sometimes follow people—you know, the whole person is haunted versus the house or property, but . . .” Lance dragged his hand through his hair. “But man, what a small world.”

  Jilly grinned as she lifted her brows at Rosie. “So, since you’re apparently now best friends forever with a de Vincent,” Jilly said, and Rosie opened her mouth to correct that horrifically wrong assumption, but she kept talking. “You need to get us into the house next door to the Mendezes.”

  Rosie snapped out of her stupor. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  Across from her Jilly met her gaze and her grin turned downright demonic. “I’m willing to bet my entire signed first-edition set of the Twilight series that it will happen.”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  Dev lifted his gaze from the glow of his computer to where Gabe stood. It was late, damn near midnight, and the columns of numbers—deposits from banks in China, Russia, and Uzbekistan—were giving him a fucking headache. Deposits from banks in countries where Dev knew damn well they did not do enough business to warrant seven-figure deposits.

  It had taken the forensic accountant months to peel back layers of fake accounts and transfer numbers and all the false information provided by some of Lawrence’s lawyers and financial advisers, then to ferret out where the deposits had originated from, and these banks were confirming the worst of Dev’s suspicions.

  So, at the moment, he really didn’t have the patience for whatever Gabe wanted to talk about.

  “I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to, but I’m not exactly in the mood for this conversation.” Dev minimized the spreadsheets before he sat back in his chair.

  “You’re never in the mood for anything, at least anything good.” Gabe strolled on into the office and planted his hands on the backs of the two chairs seated in front of Dev’s desk. “But I’ll give you a refresher.”

  “Of course.”

  Gabe’s jaw hardened. “The way you spoke to Nikki’s friend today? That was unacceptable.”

  Tension crept into Dev’s neck. “Unacceptable to whom?”

  “To any decent fucking human being,” Gabe shot back. “You made her go move her car and for what? You normally don’t give two shits about your truck being parked outside the garage.”

  That wasn’t exactly untrue, and to be honest, Dev wasn’t sure why he’d demanded that Rosie move her car. The request was . . . immature and asinine. Even he could admit that to himself. He’d done it because he knew . . . he knew it would get a rise out of her and for some reason he wanted to do that. “You waited until midnight to have this conversation?”

  “I waited until Nikki was asleep and wasn’t going to have a goddamn nightmare to come to talk to you.” Gabe pushed off the chairs. “Right now Nikki needs to be surrounded by her friends and family and people who give a damn about her. And if that means Rosie is going to be here to visit her, you need to get the hell over that.”

  “I don’t care if Rosie comes to visit her,” Dev replied.

  “Really? You don’t? Sure didn’t seem that way. The moment you knew someone was here, you made her feel about as welcome as a cat in a room full of dogs.”

  Contrary to what his brothers believed, he didn’t have a preternatural sense that told him when people were in the house, nor did he waste time worrying over what they were doing when they were there. As long as his brothers’ guests didn’t roam around and stayed the hell out of his line of sight, he couldn’t care less.

  His gaze lowered to the glass of bourbon on his desk. Gabe had no idea just how much of an asshole he had been to Rosie. Shit. Even Dev felt a stirring of . . . guilt. The woman, though, she pushed every single one of his buttons—buttons he didn’t even know he had—but he had been unreasonable and uncouth toward Rosie. What he’d said to her . . . ?

  Not only had that been completely uncalled-for, it also had been a lie.

  Not the part when he said she’d be begging him to stop and pleading to keep going. Or the part where he promised no one would fuck her harder or longer. That was the truth. Saying that the mere idea of him ever fucking her was laughable was the lie.

  There was nothing funny about that, and he’d thought about it a lot since Saturday morning. Enough that he was already convinced that she’d be . . . Exhaling roughly, Dev picked up the glass of bourbon and took a drink. Rosie would be like no other. He already knew that.

  “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked, lifting his gaze to Gabe.

  His brother was silent and then he asked, “What in the hell did that man do to you?”

  Every muscle locked up. Dev didn’t even twitch a finger. “What man?”

  “Don’t play that game with me. You know I’m talking about Lawrence. What in the hell did he do to you to make you this miserable?”

  For a moment he couldn’t believe his brother had asked him that question, but then he remembered Gabe didn’t know. Neither did Lucian. He stared back at his brother, wishing he would go back to Nikki. Not because he wanted Gabe to get the hell out of his face. But because he didn’t want his brother digging up fresh skeletons.

  “What did he do, Dev?” Gabe wasn’t leaving. Not yet. “I need to know, because with every day that goes by, you’re becoming more like him, and that fucking terrifies me.”

  Dev’s jaw locked down as his right hand tightened on the glass. He couldn’t even speak.

  Gabe stared at him for a long moment and then barked out a harsh, short laugh as he shook his head. “Whatever. Good night, Dev.”

  He sat there and watched his brother walk out of his office, closing the door behind him. The glass was heavy in his hand as Gabe’s words cycle
d over and over. “You’re becoming more like him.” Dev would never become Lawrence. Never.

  Dev’s body reacted without thought.

  Standing, he cocked his arm back and threw the glass across the room. It smashed into the closed door, shattering upon impact. Liquor and glass sprayed the hardwood floors. He stood there, still, for several moments and then he drew in a deep, slow breath. He fixed the cuffs of his shirt and sat back down, turning his attention to the evidence of what Lawrence de Vincent had been involved in.

  Chapter 10

  The following afternoon, Dev stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared out over the city, his mind running in what felt like a thousand different directions even though he was still and solid as the building he stood in.

  He’d just finished a meeting with the city planning officials over plans to break ground on the project de Vincent Industrials was funding. What had begun as a new office had now morphed into an entire damn medical complex, but the state-of-the-art facility meant Dr. Flores remained discreet whenever his family needed medical assistance, and for that, there was no price tag.

  After all, if it hadn’t been for Dr. Flores’s silence, the world would’ve easily discovered that his sister, Madeline, had been alive for the last ten years, and if that knowledge ever got out, there’d be a lot of questions. Ones Dev and his family would rather not answer, because of where those questions would lead.

  The world didn’t need to know that not only had his sister purposely disappeared, but she’d also been shacked up with their cousin and she had been a murderer.

  Suppose that ran in the family.

  His phone buzzed and he turned, walking swiftly back to his desk. He hit the intercom button. “Yes?”

  The voice of Derek Frain, his assistant, came through the speaker. “Ross Haid is here to see you.” There was a pause and the annoyance in Derek’s tone was clear in the one word. “Again.”

  Dev’s jaw clenched as he stared at the phone. The man had been dogged when it came to the de Vincent family, confident that they were involved in some grand conspiracy and misdeeds.

  Ironically, Ross would be right, but he was barking up the wrong tree. As always.

  But Dev knew what fueled Ross was way more personal than the need to write a must-read tell-all on the de Vincent family, and unlike his uncle and the rest of his family, he didn’t avoid these meetings, which were becoming like clockwork, with Ross.

  “Send him in,” Dev ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  No sooner had Dev sat behind his desk than his assistant opened the door and in walked the reporter from the Advocate. Derek didn’t even need to ask if they needed anything. He simply closed the door behind him, leaving Dev alone with the reporter.

  Ross smiled, flashing straight, ultrawhite teeth. “You don’t look too happy right now.”

  “Do I ever look happy when you visit?” he asked.

  Completely undaunted, the younger man stepped forward. “Thought you’d want to give a statement on the untimely and rather scandalous demise of Parker Harrington.”

  Dev leaned back in his chair. “We’ve already given a statement, as I’m positive you’re aware of.”

  “Ah, yes, but I figured there’d be more than the standard thoughts and prayers BS, especially considering the brother of the woman you’re engaged to tried to kill someone and Sabrina was reported missing.” Ross sat in the chair in front of the desk.

  “Then you’d figured wrong,” Dev replied blandly. “And Sabrina is no longer my fiancée.”

  Interest sparked in Ross’s dark eyes. “That’s interesting.”

  “Not really. The engagement ended over a month ago.” The lie rolled off his tongue as smoothly as the truth, but he always had a devil’s tongue, didn’t he? That’s one thing Lawrence taught him. “You didn’t know that? I’d expected a journalist with your talents would’ve known that.”

  His jaw hardened. “You know what I find even more interesting? Is that complete lack of information regarding Parker’s victim. It’s like this woman doesn’t exist or is connected to someone or some family powerful enough to keep her information completely out of the public eye, and you know who that makes me think of? The de Vincents.”

  “Or it should make you think that whoever your inside person is in the police department is actually doing their job for once and keeping the victim’s identity private.”

  Ross smirked. “I’m sure that’s the case and has nothing to do with the new chief of police afraid of dying the same way as the old one.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Dying of a heart condition? I’d sure hope not.”

  “Yeah.” Ross smiled tightly. “I’m sure he died of natural causes, just like I’m sure your father hung himself.”

  Dev smirked. “You have such a fanciful imagination, Ross.”

  “Imagination? I’m lacking in the department.”

  Eyeing him, he crossed one leg over the other and idly clasped his fingers together. “You know, I’m actually glad you visited me today.”

  “Really?” Ross’s response was dry.

  “What’s going on with Rosie Herpin?”

  Ross’s brows knitted together. “Rosie? What about her?”

  “You of all people are going to play coy?” Dev met his gaze. “What is your relationship with her?”

  “My relationship?” Ross coughed out a low laugh. “That’s nosy of you to ask.”

  “Considering you have no problem being up in my business, then you should have no problem with me asking questions,” Dev replied. “What is she to you?”

  Ross didn’t answer for a long moment. “Why would you be asking that kind of question?”

  “Do you think I don’t know that Rosie is who introduced you to Nikki?” Dev cocked an eyebrow. “Your friendship with Rosie is rather convenient.”

  “I’ve known Rosie for about two years.” A muscle flexed along Ross’s jaw. “Before I even knew who Nicolette Besson was.”

  “Really?” Dev’s gaze flickered over his face. “If you’re using her to get information, like you tried to do with Nikki, you’re putting her in a very bad situation. Hopefully you wouldn’t do that to an innocent person. That is, if she is innocent when it comes to whatever you’re up to.”

  The reporter’s nostrils flared and a long moment passed. “I will do anything to get to the truth.”

  “Will Rosie?” Dev asked. “Is she willing?”

  Ross smirked as he gripped the arms of his chair. “I can see that I’m getting nowhere with this conversation. I’ll show myself out.”

  “Wait.” Dev smiled faintly when the reporter stilled. “I have another question for you. Something I’ve been curious about.”

  Ross lifted his brows. “I’m all ears.”

  “Do you think I don’t know who your girlfriend was?” Dev asked. “Or is. Since she’s still considered to be missing.”

  A change came over the man. His gaze sharpened as did his features. A tenseness filled him, settling into every line and shadow on his face.

  “I know why you keep coming around. I know what you think and what you believe about my family and their involvement,” Dev continued. “I even understand why you won’t let it go.”

  The man’s knuckles were turning white. “Do you understand, Devlin?”

  “I do.” And he did. He understood in ways he hoped Ross never had the misfortune of knowing.

  “Then you have to know I will never give up until I know the truth of what happened to her,” Ross bit out. “And don’t you dare sit in front of me and tell me that none of you had anything to do with her disappearance.”

  Dev said nothing as he stared back at the man.

  Ross’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “All this time, you’ve never told me you knew. Why bring it up now, Devlin? Am I getting too close to the truth?”

  “You’ve never been further from the truth,” Dev said. “And if you continue down this road, you’re never going to find it
.”

  “Is that a threat?” A flush of anger crept into Ross’s cheeks.

  Dev shook his head. “It’s advice. Free of charge. And another piece of advice? Don’t send me another photograph with the words ‘I know the truth’ carved into it. This isn’t a mystery novel.”

  “And how do you know that was me?”

  “Because I’m not stupid, Ross.”

  “Fuck you.” Ross rose to his feet. “You have no idea what I know. You have no idea how close I am to exposing every last one of you sons of bitches.”

  “Exposing us as what?” he asked, a little curious.

  “For what you all are,” Ross said. “Murderers.”

  Chapter 11

  The costume dress was . . . it was just wow.

  Rosie twisted at the waist as she stood in front of the full-length mirror tacked to her bathroom door. Time had gotten away from her and she hadn’t tried the dress on to make sure it worked before the ball. So, here she was, Friday, the night of the Masquerade, and she had just put it on.

  Thank baby chupacabras everywhere, it worked—the dress definitely worked.

  Rosie had found the old wedding gown in a thrift store, and when she purchased it in all its cream-and-ivory glory, she wasn’t sure what could be done with it to make it into an appropriate costume, but it now looked nothing like the wedding dress she’d found.

  A slow grin tugged at her lips. The gown was made of silk with nylon lining, enabling the seamstress to work her magic. It was dyed a crimson red and the beaded detail from the bodice had been removed, dyed black, and used as lacy trim around the collar of the dress, the edges of the loose, flowing sleeves, and along the hem of the skirt. Without the black corset, the bodice would be loose, but with it, her breasts never looked better and her waist never looked smaller, and she didn’t even have it cinched as far as it could go.

  She knew that some women would most likely wear petticoats or a taffeta underskirt to create the volume typical of the time period the Masquerade represented, but she was opting out of the heavy and cumbersome undergarment. She liked the way the dress moved against her thighs and hips. Why ruin that with a huge underskirt?