“Robbie? What are you doing in here?” Her stepbrother was rifling through his father’s desk drawers, tossing papers and files through the air. It looked like a war zone.
“It’s Robert, and it’s none of your damn business. He was my father, not yours. Now get the hell out and leave me alone.”
Annabelle wanted to argue, but he was right. No matter the rift between the two, it was his father’s house. She backed out and shut the door, intending to retreat to her room when the doorbell chimed, altering her plans. She’d given Mrs. Porter the day off. The housekeeper had been with Rob for years and his death had been hard on her.
She walked to the intercom and switched on the monitor. A man waited at the gate in a flashy red Porsche. Oily hair was slicked back from a pock-marked face, and his fingers were smoothing a pencil-thin mustache. She shuddered. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes through the screen, but she bet they were dark and beady.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Robert Singleton.”
“Senior or Junior?”
“Junior, I guess.”
“Can I tell him your name?”
“Just tell him Bixby’s here to see him. He’ll know why.”
“One moment.” She returned to the study, not liking the thought of the slick-looking man stepping foot in Rob’s house. With a single knock, she twisted the knob.
Robbie’s head jerked up. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to get out.”
Breathing deeply to control her temper, she said sweetly, “Bixby’s here to see you.”
Robbie lurched upright, knocking folders off the desk. Papers went flying. His eyes were wide in panic and they darted around, as if looking for an escape. “You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”
“I’m not your social secretary. He’s waiting at the gate for you.”
“Dammit.” He pinned her with an evil glare before throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Buzz him in.”
“Did you ignore the part about me not working for you?” She spun around. “Buzz him in yourself.”
“Just do it, Annabelle.” A sigh. “Please.”
She could tell it took a lot out of him to beg, so she decided to be the bigger person and open the gate. Rob would want her to be nice to his only son. Probably.
She watched on the monitor as the man casually strolled to the door. He reminded her of a slimy snake, slithering his way up the steps. Against her better judgment, she opened it for him.
He screeched to a stop when he spotted her, one side of his Snidely Whiplash mustache curling into a lecherous grin. He raked his dark, beady—she’d been right about that—gaze up and down her body. She wanted to gag.
“Well, hello.” He dragged the last word out obnoxiously.
“Robbie’s in the study. This way.”
She led him to the door, feeling his stare on her backside the entire time. Jerk. She held the door for him and he winked as he walked by—much too closely. Cheap cologne tickled her nose and she fought a sneeze. She whipped the door closed, but left it open a crack so she could hear what they were talking about. Robbie had been terrified when she gave him this man’s name. He was up to something and she intended to find out what that something was. She took out her phone and hit record.
“Why are you here, Bixby?” Robbie demanded in lieu of a greeting. “Don’t you know my father just died.”
Snidely…er, Bixby slithered his way around the office, taking in the elegant décor. “I do know that. Condolences by the way. You owe me some money, Robert.”
“And I’ll get it to you. The reading of the will is in one week.”
“Ah, but the note is past due.” He tsked. “You know the drill. Interest is a hundred grand each day you’re late with payment.”
Annabelle sucked in a breath. One hundred thousand dollars a day? How much did Robbie owe this man?
“Of course, when you owe five million, another few thousand is no big deal. Right, Robert?”
Annabelle smacked a hand over her mouth to cover the startled gasp. Five million dollars? He’d bragged that he was so successful, richer than his father. He was a contender for Congress and he owed a loan shark five million?
“Look, I’ll make it good. My old man was loaded.”
“Yes, you will, because the next shipment is due to arrive soon, and you already owe me for the last one.”
She could practically hear Robbie grind his teeth. “I know that. I already have bids on most of the product but if any of them are sickly, like last time, we’re going to have a problem, Bixby.”
Annabelle covered her mouth in horror. Shipment? Bids? Oh, dear Lord, was Robbie dealing in human trafficking?
“I want my money, Robert. By the end of the week. I’ll give you a few extra days, accruing interest of course, to liquidate, but that’s it. I’m a patient man, but I wouldn’t test my limits if I were you.” Snidely ran his hand over the globe that rested in a stand against the wall. She wanted to scream for him to take his filthy hands off her stepfather’s antique. “That’s a mighty fine servant you have working for you. Kudos.”
Annabelle’s mouth tightened in annoyance. She wasn’t Robbie’s servant. She wasn’t his anything.
“What? She’s ninety if she’s a day…oh, you mean Annabelle.”
“Annabelle. What a beautiful name. Is she your paramour? You know, a hot piece of ass to burn up the sheets while the wife’s off medicating herself?”
Ew, gross. And Paramour? What was this? 1820?
“Ew, gross,” Robbie spat, echoing her thoughts. “She’s nothing to me but an annoyance.”
She narrowed her eyes, regretting being nice to him earlier.
“Then who is the fair Annabelle?”
“Stepsister.”
“Hum.”
Annabelle jerked upright. What did that hum mean? She didn’t like the tone he used, as if he were interested. Over my dead body, Snidely.
“Look, Bixby, I have things to do.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let myself out. And I’ll be in touch, Robert. Don’t you doubt that.”
Annabelle scrambled from the door, scurrying down the hall to lock herself in the bathroom. She tensed when footsteps sounded outside and stopped. She held her breath. What was he doing, pitching a tent? Finally, the steps sounded again and retreated before the door slammed shut.
She exhaled in relief, checked the hall before hustling to her room and locking the door behind her. She prayed she’d never have to see Bixby No-Last-Name ever again.
#
Annabelle dressed in the blue Versace dress that her stepfather had loved. She accessorized it with the pearl earrings and necklace he’d gifted her with on her thirteenth birthday. She’d felt so grown up having her own pearls like her mom. Her long, blond hair was secured in a tasteful upsweep and her makeup was minimal. She’d probably cry it off anyway. After making sure to stock her purse with tissues, she drove to the lawyer’s office. Today was the reading of the will.
She’d sat on the recording she made of Robbie and Bixby for the last few days. She wasn’t sure who to give it to. On one hand, it might be nothing. The shipment Robbie had been talking about might be cattle or horses or any kind of livestock. That wasn’t illegal. But what if it was humans he’d been referencing? She’d decided to speak with Mr. Windham, her stepfather’s attorney. He’d know what to do.
As she waited in the lobby for the elevator, it felt like the air staled. Stilled. She sensed…malice.
“So, we meet again.”
She jumped at the words spoken directly into her ear and spun around. Bixby. She scrambled back until the wall halted her progress, unable to stop the shudder of revulsion. “What are you doing here?”
His lecherous gaze raked her body before coming to rest on her chest. Her hand felt along the wall for the elevator button, punching it repeatedly even though she’d activated it already.
“Just keeping an eye on my…interests,” he answered,
still not moving his lewd gaze from her breasts.
The elevator dinged. Should she get on and risk being trapped with him in a small, confined space, or make a run of it? She was just about to select option two when three women approached and entered the lift. She dashed in behind them. Relief crashed over her when the doors started to close without Bixby. Just before the panels met in the middle, a hand appeared in the crack, forcing them to slide wide again. Her stomach pitched when he swaggered inside with a smirk and crowded beside her until she had no place to get away from him. The nauseating scent of his cheap cologne assailed her. She turned her head away in disgust. She was getting off the elevator at the first stop, whether it was the one she wanted or not.
Luck was on her side. It was the correct floor. She shouldered her way past him, ignoring his amused snicker and beelined for the sign indicating the women’s restroom. She needed to regroup before meeting with the lawyer. Running her hands under cold water, she patted her cheeks and waited for her heartbeat to settle before adjusting her dress and touching up her lip gloss. When she’d stalled as long as possible, she carefully opened the door and glanced from side to side, relieved to find the hallway empty.
A sign indicated the law offices of Windham, Wallace and Pierce to the left. Straightening her spine, she marched forward with confidence. Turning a corner, she jerked to a stop. Her stepbrother was standing a few feet away with his back to her and approaching him at a leisurely pace was none other than Bixby. She ducked behind a leafy potted plant and crouched down. Fumbling in her purse, she found her phone and hit record.
Her brother looked every bit the slick politician, while Bixby looked every bit the smarmy loan shark. Robbie jerked Bixby aside. They were so close, all they had to do was look down and they’d see her. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“What are you doing here?” Robbie hissed.
Bixby looked unfazed. “Just making sure my investment is repaid.”
“It will be.” Robbie’s teeth were clenched so hard, she was surprised they didn’t crack. “I told you it would be repaid with interest.”
“The latest shipment arrived and I covered the cost. Again. Last chance, Singleton. My patience is running out.” Bixby strolled away, leaving Robbie cursing up a storm.
“Robert? Who was that man? What was that about?”
Annabelle kept recording as Robbie’s Stepford-wife Vespa tottered over. She wore heels that were at least six inches, putting her taller than Robbie. Her blouse was shrink wrapped around her double D’s and her skirt was so miniscule, she’d flash the room if she bent over.
“What? Nothing. Now keep your mouth shut and come-on.” He jerked his wife’s arm and she squeaked as she stumbled along beside him. Though the woman hadn’t said two words to Annabelle, just blinked at her with a vapid expression, she felt sorry for her. Either she was a French fry short of a carton, or she was drugged. Judging by the red eyes and occasional sniffle, she was betting on the second option.
Annabelle waited for them to enter the office before she followed. Mr. Windham’s secretary greeted her warmly and instructed her to his office. An elegant mahogany desk was situated in front of corner windows that provided a stunning view of Los Angeles. Four chairs had been arranged around the desk, two occupied by Robbie and Vespa. She studiously avoided their glares while speaking with Mrs. Porter, Rob’s long-time housekeeper.
Mr. Windham entered and greeted Mrs. Porter first. He was a robust man in his early seventies, with a thick head of white hair and kind gray eyes. She’d met him several times when he’d visit Rob. “Annabelle, how are you holding up?” He clasped her hand between both of his.
“As good as can be expected.”
He patted her hand before nodding at the other two and rounding his desk. He smoothed his paisley blue tie. “I’ll now read the Last Will and Testament of Mr. Robert Singleton.” He eased to his leather executive chair and slid on a pair of glasses. “As the executor, it’s my duty to administer the will through probate. In lieu of complicating the distribution of assets, Mr. Singleton gifted relatives and friends with trinkets before his death, a list of which will be included in the will, a copy of which will be provided to each of you.” He read the legal terminology and started with Mrs. Porter. Rob bequeathed the sum of two-hundred thousand dollars a year for the rest of her life. She wept openly into a handkerchief. Mr. Windham then escorted her out of the office, leaving Annabelle, Robbie and his wife.
Mr. Windham retook his seat and cleared his throat. “To my son, Robert Junior, I leave my grandfather’s antique pocket watch. It’s been handed down to the first-born son for generations. I also leave my mother’s wedding ring, which was given to her by her grandmother.” There were a few more heirloom items. “And finally, I leave the sum of one million dollars, to be made in one lump sum payment.”
He flipped a page. “And lastly, to my dear daughter Annabelle—”
Robbie surged to his feet. “Wait. What? That’s it? That’s all he left me? What about his billions? I’m his only son.”
“Please sit down, Mr. Singleton. I’m not finished.” Robbie grumbled but dropped down to his chair. Mr. Windham continued. “To my dear daughter Annabelle, though not mine by blood, you were my precious, cherished daughter. Along with your beautiful mother, who, if you’re hearing this, means I’m with her right now, brought sunshine into my life.”
Annabelle couldn’t keep the tears from flowing.
“To you, dear Annabelle, I leave you everything that has not been bequeathed already: my estate, the chateau in Aspen, the beach house in Maui, my automobile collection, stocks, bonds and all financial accounts and insurance policies. Use it as your heart desires. It’s yours now. Have a good life, Daughter. Fall in love, have beautiful babies. Your mother and I will be watching out for you from above. I love you.”
Annabelle couldn’t breathe. He’d left her everything. Every. Thing. He was worth billions.
Robbie surged to his feet again, knocking over the chair and sending it crashing to the floor. “This is an outrage! I’m contesting this.” He stabbed a finger in Annabelle’s direction. “She manipulated him when he wasn’t of sound mind!”
Mr. Windham was calm in the face of Robbie’s anger. “I can assure you, Mr. Singleton, this is very much legitimate and impenetrable. It was drafted five years ago. The only amendment came six months ago when the senior Mr. Singleton’s accountant passed away and was removed from the beneficiary list.”
“I don’t care. I’m contesting it anyway. He was my father. Not hers.”
“You do have that option.”
“Furthermore, I want to report a robbery. All of the original artwork is missing from the house and his safe has been emptied.”
“How did you know about the safe?” Mr. Windham’s tone was harsh.
“I checked. Of course I checked. He was my father.”
“For your information, Mr. Singleton instructed me to broker the sale of his paintings. This was done one year ago, when he first became ill. As far as the safe goes, he moved the contents to a safe deposit box, also close to a year ago.”
“This isn’t fair. I will kill you!” He lunged at Annabelle. Vespa gasped. Mr. Windham bellowed for security. Robbie’s hands were poised to wrap around her neck. She waited until he was close and then levered her foot up as hard as she could between his legs. He lurched to a stop, gurgled, grabbed his crotch and fell to his knees. Vespa shrieked and dropped down beside him but he shoved her away. She fell in an ungainly heap, her legs akimbo, displaying a teeny red thong. Annabelle jerked her gaze away.
The doors burst open and two uniformed guards came rushing inside. Mr. Windham instructed them to cart Robbie away from the premises. After the guards hauled him to his feet, Mr. Windham said, “Mr. Singleton, the locks and security codes are being changed at the estate as we speak. You are not to attempt access, or you will be immediately arrested for trespassing.”
“That’s my house!”
“N
ot anymore.”
“You’ll pay for this.” His malice-filled gaze encompassed the entire room. “You’ll all pay.”
Vespa, having regained her balance and a semblance of dignity, tottered after them. When the door closed, Annabelle turned to Mr. Windham.
“What was Rob thinking? He had to know Robbie would be furious.” Furious was an understatement. Murderous was more like it.
“He did, but he didn’t want Robbie to have the things he spent his life building. He wouldn’t tell me exactly, but I believe he discovered Robbie was involved in unsavory activities. I had to talk him into leaving him a monetary inheritance, mostly because I feared his reaction. I hoped that would appease him. One million is quite a large sum of money.”
“Not when you owe a loan shark five million.”
Mr. Windham gaped. “Five million dollars?”
“Plus a hundred thousand each day the payment is late.” She paused. “I overheard Robbie and the loan shark talking. They also mentioned a shipment of something. I don’t know for sure, but I think they were possibly talking about humans.”
“Your father was right,” Mr. Windham sighed. “He knew Robbie was involved in something nefarious.”
“I recorded the conversation, even though it’s not incriminating.”
“Email me a copy and I’ll make sure it gets into the right hands.”
“I can do better.” She reached into her purse and withdrew the flash drive, handing it to Mr. Windham. “As I said, it’s not conclusive, but I hope it’s enough to get the authorities to investigate.”
He placed the flash drive in a drawer. “Your father arranged for a bodyguard until the will has cleared probate and can no longer be questioned by Robbie.”
“How long will that be?”
“It could be two to three months, or it could take as long as a few years. And we need to draft a will for you so that there’s no question what happens to the estate once you take possession. We can do that now for you, if you’d like.”
“I would, yes.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a preliminary document. You can think about what you’d like to do and call me.”
Last Dance (COBRA Securities Book 14) Page 21