Billion Dollar Murder: Single Daddy Billionaire Mystery Romance

by Sloane Peterson

  I let my head fall forward against the steel of the vault. I placed a hand to my forehead, shaking and sobbing in spite of myself. I couldn't do this... I simply couldn't do this.

  “Fuck,” he said, like I was the one inconveniencing him.

  “I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!” I repeated, unable to think of anything else I could possibly say to him.

  WHAM!

  I screamed, certain that he'd just shot me. But no, all he'd done was kicked the door to the vault, making me jerk my head back as the impact reverberated through the metal.

  “I don't want to hear you keep saying you're sorry, you dumb bitch! I want that goddamn painting!”

  “I don't know it! I don't know it!” I pleaded with him, weeping like a child.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

  I sunk down onto my knees, struggling just to keep on breathing.

  “I swear to God he never told me! He never told me the combination!”

  I shrieked. The next thing I knew the gun was in my face, right between my eyes. I felt like vomiting, or passing out, or doing anything to get away from it.

  “You think I won't do it?!” he barked at me. “You think for one second I give a damn whether you live or die by the time this is all over? Because I really couldn't fucking care less!”

  “Please! Please! No, I don't-” I begged.

  KRACK!

  My ears rang, and the flash of white light lingered in my field of vision. He fired a shot down along the hallway, like I needed evidence of his willingness to kill me. I'd now pieced together that this was almost certainly the same man who'd killed Johnathan's old housekeeper, and I needed absolutely no evidence to convince me that my life rested in his hands, precariously and completely.

  “Do I look like I'm fucking around?!” he asked, his eyes bugging through the ski mask.

  “I swear to God,” I begged him. “I swear to God, if I knew it I would tell you!”

  He gazed down at me, shaking with anger, and I could practically spot the exact instant he seemed to know I was telling him the truth. He closed his eyes, and took a deep vicious breath. His hand tightened around the gun, and I thought this might just be my curtain call.

  Then he exhaled slowly, seeming to relax some, yet I knew he still couldn't possibly be that happy about things at that moment.

  “Of course you don't,” he muttered, and he adjusted his ski mask, dragging it up and down along his head while he tried to think. At last he fixed the gun on me again, and peered darkly into my eyes. “Alright. New plan. I'm not leaving this fucking place without something to show for it. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to take every last painting down from the walls in that main hallway. And I'm going to follow you while you take them to my car. Then you're going to come back in, and show me to every last scrap of jewelry you've got hidden away in this place.”

  “Okay. Okay, yes. Of course. Anything.” I said, my heart racing at the possibility that I might still come out of this alive.

  “Whether or not you cooperate will go a very long way in determining what I decide to do with you by the time we're finished.”

  “I understand,” I said, and it was like I'd just been told I'd been given a second chance at life.

  He led me along down the hall, moving from piece to piece. I took them down carefully, stacking the frames atop one another, my arms quickly growing weak from the weight of them all in no time whatsoever.

  “Alright,” he said, “That's enough for this trip. Load them up in the back seat and we'll come back in and-”

  KRACK!

  AUGH!

  I leapt into the air, screaming as his gun went off in his hand. The paintings toppled from my hands, some of the frames shattering as they careened to the floor in front of me. I jerked around, my eyes wide, my heart in my throat, not having a clue what I should expect.

  The man was hunched forward, gripping the back of his skull, and it took me a moment in my disorientation to see who was standing over him.

  Then my eyes went wide.

  “Johnathan...”

  He too had a gun in his hand, the butt of the pistol dripping with blood from where he'd cracked it against the head of my attacker. The kidnapper's own gun had fallen to the floor by his feet and discharged, and Johnathan seemed in the exact position he needed to be to take this guy down.

  “Do. Not. Move.” he said, the tone of his words so impactful that I wouldn't have dared to cross him were I in this man's shoes. Unfortunately, this man wasn't me...

  He stood hunkered like that for several seconds, seeming like he might just be smart enough to heed Johnathan's advice. But then, just when I thought it was safe, the man lunged for his gun, not seeming to give a damn anymore how hopeless it might seem.

  Johnathan jerked his foot up and smashed it down hard against the man's hand, crushing his knuckles and evoking a howl of pain.

  “I said don't fucking move,” he barked, in a tone echoing that of the man hunched there beneath him.

  In a single swoop of motion, he dragged his foot from the man's hand and smacked the pistol with his shoe, spinning it across the floor out of reach of my attacker. It seemed like that should have been the end of it, but this man simply did not give up.

  Taking advantage of the moment, it had taken Johnathan to kick away the gun, the criminal leapt up and slammed his head into his opponent's jaw, striking him with a loud crack that was physically sickening to listen to.

  Johnathan growled with pain, jerked his head back, and his attacker leapt up, grabbing at the gun in his hand, striving to pry it from his grip.

  “Johnathan!” I screamed, not sure what the hell else I could contribute to this situation.

  The two men danced in a circle, their arms locked together, as each tried to claim control of the gun. The man pulled Johnathan's arm forward with the gun in his grip, and my eyes widened as I saw him pushing back on the trigger, trying to jerk the weapon in my direction. Johnathan shoved out a finger and blocked him from firing, and the two of them battled it out, each of them straining to overpower the other.

  Finally, Johnathan head butted the man, in the same fashion he'd just been head butted by him.

  “Fuck!” the man yelled, and the gun was knocked free from both men's hands.

  It clacked down onto the floor and skidded several feet away from them. Both pissed off by this point the men lunged at one another, each of them trying to tackle the other to the ground, both of them finding themselves locked in a stalemate.

  I watched as they twisted around in a vicious circle, moving like two wrestlers locked in competition. The assailant was clearly the younger of the two men, his movements swift and determined. But Johnathan was in incredible shape, for a man of his age or of any age, and he was pissed enough at this point that it was a long time before he would even budge.

  I thought about moving in and grabbing my attacker's fallen gun from the floor, but every time I even made a move to get close the men swerved back in my direction, like they might stumble onto me at any moment if I didn't watch myself.

  They traded blows, and kicked and scratched at one another, finally becoming more like two animals than two humans attacking one another.

  What finally jerked me back to life and spurred me into motion was when my kidnapper hurled his entire weight into Johnathan's chest, and managed with that herculean effort to knock him back off of his feet and down onto the floor. Once he was down, there was nothing stopping him from landing blow after blow against Johnathan's beautiful face, hooking him from the right and the left, determined to knock his lights out.

  Johnathan strained to resist him, but was finally forced to surrender. His attacker landed a final blow to the side of his face, and he fell to the floor, gasping, no longer able to put up a fight.

  “Alright, rich boy. Your whore wouldn't tell me the combination to the safe. Maybe I'll have a little bit better luck getting you to spill the beans...”

  He reached acros
s the floor. I knew he was going for his gun, and I knew it was imperative that I stopped him before he got there.

  I sprang into action, going for the closest thing I could think of. I grabbed a vase sitting near me by the wall- a fairly expensive one, I was sure, but now wasn't the time to worry about that.

  I swung it through the air in a vicious arc, determined to kill this man if I had to. He turned to me at the very last second, glancing me from the corner of his eye. But it was already far, far too late for him.

  I shattered the vase over his stupid, unsuspecting head.

  His body went slack, and he plummeted forward into Johnathan's lap, the gun falling from his hand as he slumped to the floor. I took the pistol away from him and grabbed the other one so he had no chance of getting to it. Then I took hold of Johnathan, and helped pull him out from beneath the fallen criminal.

  “Johnathan... Jesus Johnathan, are you alright?”

  A low moan emanated from his lips like air leaking out of a balloon. His face was bloody, but it didn't look like there was anything broken, thank God. I cradled his head in my hands until gradually his eyes opened. He smiled the moment he got a clear look at me. And when he saw my attacker was lying there unconscious on the floor beside me, he let out a relaxed sigh, and gently let my name seep through his lips.

  “Veronica...”

  “I'm here. I'm here baby,” I assured him, kissing him softly on the forehead. “Are you okay? Are you badly hurt anywhere?”

  “Marry me,” he whispered, and I thought I must have misunderstood him.

  “What?” I asked, furrowing my brow at him.

  “Marry me,” he repeated, taking my hands in his own. “I know I'm supposed to be down on one knee, and not all the way down, but...”

  I couldn't help but burst out laughing, and he smiled at me.

  “You're delirious,” I said, shaking my head at him. But even as I did so I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Delirious with love,” he said, and again I laughed. “I'm serious,” he persisted. “Seeing you... Just now, so close to- Well... I don't think I can live without you, Veronica. Marry me. Make me the happiest man alive.”

  And what the hell else could a girl say to that at a moment like this?

  My tears spilled over, and I nodded my head at him, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Okay...” I said. “Okay. Of course I'll marry you. I love you Johnathan.”

  “I love you too,” he said, gripping my hand tight. “So, so much.”

  Part of me still expected him to come out of this and forget every word he'd just said to me, and so I tried not to take it seriously at just that moment.

  But looking into those eyes, so gorgeous and sincere, I couldn't help but feel almost certain that he'd really meant all of it. Every. Last. Word.

  EPILOGUE

  Johnathan

  Julie was almost two and a half years old now. I never got tired of holding that beautiful little girl in my arms, but it was starting to get to be more and more of a challenge the heavier she got. I set her down gently in her crib, and stared down smiling at her.

  She was out like a light.

  We'd gone down to the beach today, here on vacation for the first time as a family. I'd watched, beaming, as Veronica played with her near the water's edge, building sand castles and walking barefoot through the wet sand.

  It was amazing to think how much had changed in the year or so that had passed since I'd saved Veronica's life- and of course, since she'd saved my life in return.

  The police showed up not long after she knocked out my would-be killer. He survived and was taken to the hospital, and I was brought in and treated for my injuries a few rooms down from him.

  It turned out that the kid's name was Zac Thompson, a young man in his mid-twenties who'd decided to throw his life away in the hopes of making a quick buck. My housekeeper Celia was his aunt.

  Apparently, Celia had been talking with Zac's mother at a family get-together about her job cleaning for me, and happened to mention my $200 million Picasso painting in passing. The young man must have immediately seen dollar signs, and set off figuring out how he might go about stealing the piece from me and cashing it in for big-time bucks.

  Honest to God, I would have given the thing to him in a heartbeat if it could somehow mean bringing Celia back...

  He'd never meant to kill his aunt on that horrible night. All he'd wanted was to get in the house and gain access to the painting. Celia, ever the faithful employee, had tried to resist him, then made the fatal mistake of recognizing his voice through the cover of his ski mask.

  There was no possible way he could let her get away with that information...

  Thinking ahead, he'd stolen the gun Celia's husband Stan had stashed away for protection, and even had the foresight to bring along hairs from his clothes to make it seem like his DNA was present at the scene. And so, when police had investigated, they'd come to the simple conclusion that Stan was responsible for the killing, nothing more than a domestic dispute, and that had been the end of that.

  He might have stayed in there rotting forever had Zac not gotten greedy again, and decided to have another go at robbing me after so nearly being caught the first time. Apparently, thinking he would have a better time with Veronica than he would with me around the house, he waited for just the right moment before striking again. His obvious mistake was assuming that Veronica knew the combination to the safe, and that was, of course, ultimately his downfall.

  There was enough security footage of the entire incident for things to all go fairly smoothly at the trial, including video captured on the streets of New York City. In the end, he hadn't had much choice in the matter but to confess, and pray to God above that they went easy on him.

  And so, in the end, Stan was exonerated for his crimes, and Zac went to prison in his uncle's place. I decided it would only be right of me to give Stan some money, and a pretty healthy amount at that. It wasn't that I felt that I owed him anything, exactly. I was just sorry for what had happened to him, and I wanted to at least try and make his life easier for him. After all, I knew just what it was like to lose someone like that, and I had cared an awful lot about Celia myself. A few dollars would never be enough to make up for her loss and the pain of his nephew's betrayal, but I thought it could at least help him get his life a little bit more stabilized after such a period of turbulence.

  And in a way, I felt like there was almost a kind of karmic justice about that. Like having my own grief relieved as I had was enough to make me want to pass that on. Even if I knew a monetary gift paled in comparison to the love of a woman like Veronica.

  God, Veronica... My beautiful angel.

  She seemed to think I was joking, or delusional or something when I asked her to marry me. Maybe I was, just a little bit at that time, but I meant it with the utmost sincerity.

  I asked her again after the moment had passed, this time with the engagement ring I'd bought for her in hand, and down on one knee. And thank God her answer was the same as it had been before.

  “Yes. Yes. A million times yes.”

  And so, we'd gotten married. Six months ago to the day, and we hadn't looked back ever since.

  And as I stood there, looking down at my little Julie sleeping away there in her innocence, I swelled with pride to think of the other little bundle of joy growing in my wife's belly. Our first child together, only a couple months along, but the thought of it so beautiful that it sometimes made me break down crying before I could even stop myself.

  Veronica would never be a replacement for Lydia, of course. Not in my life, or in Julie's. She couldn't be, and I would never ask her to be. They were both their own separate selves, each beautiful to me in so many ways, each coming into my life exactly when I needed them.

  What had Veronica had done was bring me a hope I'd come to fear I might never know again, and the way I felt in that moment I had every reason to believe that would last forever.

/>   I crept silently from Julie's room and into the main area of our hotel suite, returning to join my beautiful young wife for the night.

  Only to find, when I entered our room, that she was lying on our bed, completely naked. Her body still glistening from a shower, her hair soaked in curtains along her shoulders and her perfect breasts. One arm tucked over the gentle slope of her pregnant belly, her hand pressed down between her legs, gently stroking herself, looking as pretty as a picture- if a slightly x-rated one.

  “I want to paint you like one of your French girls,” I teased, and she beamed at me. Her art career had taken off like a ship in flight ever since the need to worry about money had been taken from her life, and I loved to remind her of her success whenever the opportunity arose.”