Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Landish, Lauren

  He’s right.

  About Martha, but more importantly, that I don’t want to see Blake.

  Not now, not ever. I’m afraid I’d be inclined to call down hellfire and fury, beg the universe to do to him what it’s done to me. And I don’t want that on my shoulders.

  So I take Jeff’s advice and leave but forego Martha’s, running to Holly’s to hide. But now I really want to drown my sorrows in some cookies.

  Chapter 22

  Blake

  I’m listening to Frederick, getting more and more frustrated as he and Mr. Monroe make Everlife sound like nothing more than a scam.

  That’s not who we are, not who I am. I’m damn proud of what I do and the sense of peace I give my clients while they’re living, and their families after their death.

  But we also don’t rush through claims willy-nilly because someone is in a hurry, and we certainly don’t pay out benefits when there’s a reasonable question of cause of death.

  My blood is boiling, and I desperately want to look at Zoey to commiserate, but I can’t do anything that could highlight our connection. Especially after everything we’ve done the last week to prevent any accusation of conflict of interest.

  When Zoey runs out of the courtroom, I get up to follow her, but Frederick’s assistant, Mason, glares at me with the smallest shake of his head. So I sink back into my chair even though my heart is in the hallway with Zoey.

  What’s wrong? Did Sheriff Barnes do or say something to upset her and that’s why he ran out after her?

  The urge to gather Zoey in my arms battles with a desire to tell Jeff, and everyone else in Zoey’s life, to sit on their thumbs and take a good, long, dry spin. They deserve to get fucked for the way they treat her, carelessly taking shots at her fragile heart.

  But Mr. Monroe is still taking aim at Frederick, and this case is anyone’s guess right now. “Just how far would Everlife, you, and Mr. Hale go to not pay a widow what is rightfully hers?”

  Frederick is utterly calm, nearly unflappable. “A rightful claim? We would pay without question, and with our utmost sympathies. Once due process had been completed.” Frederick’s no-nonsense style only adds sharp validity to his next words as he stares Mr. Monroe down. “However, a problematic claim by a widow, where there is a question that perhaps she sped up the policy holder’s demise to get access to the funds and is attempting to sue her way into a quick payout before due process has even been completed? We would exhaust every avenue legally owed Everlife under the policy contract itself to ensure that criminal matters are not rewarded with civil luxury.”

  Damn, Frederick. He’s not holding any punches, flat-out calling Yvette a money-grubbing murderer.

  We have a lot of questions, even more concerns, but I don’t have full evidence of all that . . . yet. But it’s hard to mitigate those kinds of charges once they’re put out there, especially when the law and the policy contract are on our side, not Yvette Horne’s.

  Judge Hopkins looks thoughtful while Mr. Monroe and Mr. Walsh give closing statements, but he makes up his mind quickly.

  “I’m ready to rule. In the motion by Yvette Horne against Everlife Insurance, I find for . . .” I hold my breath, even though I know what the outcome should be.

  But things work differently out here in Williamson County, and at the end of the day, Yvette Horne is one of their own. Hell, for all I know, she has coffee with Judge Hopkins every Saturday morning.

  Judge Hopkins puts us all out of our misery. “The defendant, Everlife Insurance.”

  I finally exhale, my lungs thankful for the reprieve. But while I’m breathing again in relief, Yvette Horne is inhaling sharply and loudly in shock. “What?”

  She sounds defeated, and actual real tears slip down her cheeks. For the first time, I believe she’s actually feeling loss. Not the loss of her husband, but of the money.

  Judge Hopkins narrows his eyes at Yvette, and I see no friendliness there, so my worries on that front were obviously not needed. “Mrs. Horne, once your husband’s death has been fully investigated and cause of death has been fully determined, I’m certain Everlife Insurance will be able to process your claim appropriately. I know time feels like it is not on your side, especially when you’ve had such a great loss.” He lifts his eyebrows as he dips his chin in challenge, and I’m pretty sure Judge Hopkins has a solid read on Yvette Horne’s true intentions. “The truth always comes out, and those who should pay, will.”

  Judge Hopkins turns his attention to Frederick, but all the heat and accusation has melted from his expression.

  “This is not over,” Yvette snaps as she rises. Pushing past her lawyer, her heels click on the floor as she stomps her way out of the courtroom.

  Judge Hopkins adjourns court, and Frederick shakes Mr. Walsh’s hand. To Mason and me, he says, “Well done, gentlemen. Let’s get a bite before I head back to the office.”

  A business lunch with Frederick is something that should excite me, and any other time, it would. Especially after a win like this morning’s case. But all I can think of is tracking Zoey down, and going back to the city, having lunch, and getting Frederick and Mason out of my hair means that it’ll be hours before I can see what’s wrong with Zoey.

  Unfortunately, Frederick’s idea wasn’t a question, and I find myself walking down the stairs toward the front door of the Williamson County offices. I look around, hoping to see Zoey, or even Sheriff Barnes so I can step away for a minute and give him a piece of my mind. But we don’t pass anyone, and even the front desk, where Alver usually sits as the building’s guardian, is vacant.

  Mason drives us back to town with Frederick and me sitting in the back seat.

  “Where would you recommend for a good steak and a nice scotch?” Frederick asks.

  I have no idea. A bar? I have multiple recommendations, and some of them don’t even have trivia nights.

  A place to grab a quick bite that’ll leave me with leftovers for tomorrow and not kill my macros?

  Sure, I’ve got those too.

  But fancy, white tablecloth places for business deals on Frederick’s level? Nope, not my area of expertise.

  “Sure, let me see if I can get us a reservation,” I tell him.

  On my phone, I click into a review app and filter restaurant options by steakhouse and three-dollar signs to get the expensive ones a man like Frederick would expect. A few more clicks and I have a table reserved for thirty minutes from now. Which is good, because we’re a bit out of town.

  Before I put my phone down, I take advantage of the fact that Frederick is distracted by his own device and send a text to Zoey.

  You okay? I’m doing lunch with Frederick and then I’ll call you.

  I wait a minute to see if she responds, but nothing comes back. She’s probably busy after taking the whole morning for court. I just hope she stood her ground with Sheriff Barnes about whatever pissed her off. If not, I’ll comfort her and kill him.

  “Reservations made,” I tell Frederick and then give Mason the address. We head over there . . . and lunch drones on for hours. More precisely, Frederick does.

  Our steaks are gone, so delicious I ate every bite despite knowing it’ll make me sluggish as hell for tomorrow’s run, and my second scotch is watered down to the point of being undrinkable after I sipped the first as slowly as possible.

  Frederick swallows his scotch easily, imparting wisdom from his years in a role similar to mine—‘in the trenches’, he calls it—all the way up to sitting in a leather, button-tufted, VP chair.

  Mason is rapt at attention, listening to every word from Frederick’s mouth as though he can absorb them and put them to instant use. Admittedly, Frederick is a brilliant man with a wealth of experience, and I respect what he’s accomplished. Any other time, a one on one with him would be a highlight of my career, an opportunity to learn and even show off a bit.

  Today, all I want is for him to shut up, get in the back seat of his car, and let Mason drive him home. He’ll probab
ly either be passed out for a power nap or back to working within minutes of pulling out of the restaurant lot, and at the same time, I’ll be well on my way back to Williamson County to find Zoey.

  Finally, Frederick gives his corporate card to the waiter to pay the bill and I’m on the cusp of freedom.

  “We can drop you by your office?” Frederick offers.

  “Thanks, but I don’t mind taking an Uber. I know you have a long drive back,” I say as if that’s the reason I’m trying to ditch him.

  “Appreciate the understanding,” Frederick replies as he offers his hand. “You did good work this morning, Blake. Really showed how dedicated you are to your clients and any claims. Everlife appreciates that. I appreciate that.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot,” I reply honestly. “I take my client’s trust seriously, while ensuring that Everlife’s interests are protected. Integrity on all sides is what allows us, as an industry, to thrive.”

  Damn, I should write that down for my next commercial with Amy. Though maybe I won’t have to hustle for more clients if Frederick stays true to his word and sends some corporate accounts my way.

  Frederick beams, his smile a little sloppy but pure. “Well said.” The compliment comes with a pointed finger to my chest. “You’re a good man. Exactly what Everlife needs.”

  I’d be floating on cloud nine, except that Frederick follows up the lovey-dovey fest with a hiccup that he doesn’t quite contain. Ignoring it, he leans in to whisper on scotch-scented breath, “Keep on top of the sheriff and that coroner out here. Make sure there are no shortcuts taken, because I’m sure this wasn’t the last we’ve heard of Yvette Horne. She’s a conniving one.”

  “Sure. Will do.” I’m more than happy to stay on top of Zoey, and behind her, and beneath her, and any other position she’d like to try.

  As for Sheriff Barnes, I will follow up to make sure he investigates further because I think Frederick is right. Yvette Horne methodically poisoned her husband for the money, and I don’t think she’s going to take a judge’s ruling as the final say on funds she feels entitled to.

  Mason opens the back door for Frederick, making sure he’s in the car and buckled up before he shuts the door. “Drive safe,” I tell him, and he laughs.

  “Always do.”

  Finally free, I message for a ride and then text Zoey again.

  Hey! I’m coming back out to see you. Should I meet you at work or home?

  I don’t wait for a response, figuring I can check it when I get closer to her. Not while driving, of course, because texting while driving leads to 1.6 million car crashes each year and I would never be that irresponsible, but while pulled over safely.

  The Uber driver drops me off to my office, and I don’t even go inside. I move from the Uber straight to my own car, hurrying as quickly as I can to get back to Zoey.

  I buckle up, check my mirrors and surroundings the way I always do, and make the drive to Williamson County for the second time in a row today. I head to the morgue first, seeing as it’s late afternoon and Zoey’s a bit of a workaholic.

  She’s probably elbows deep in the belly of a fresh body, with their guts being weighed on scales as she talks to the nonresponsive person about their family.

  Or the weather.

  Or last week’s Survivor episode.

  The idea that once would’ve made my stomach churn and turn, and threaten to give back my steak, doesn’t so much as make me blink now. It’s simply what she does and who she is. A brilliant mind, passionate about her work and about giving her DBs the respect they deserve.

  Once safely parked, I check my phone. Zoey hasn’t responded—not to my latest text and not to the one from this morning either.

  Shit, I hope she’s okay. This morning was rough, but it turned out okay. Yvette didn’t get the money. That’s what matters.

  Inside, I head downstairs to Zoey’s morgue.

  “Hey, sugar snookums!” I yell, laughing a bit at the nickname that started as a joke to irritate Thelma and Louise but now makes me smile. But I don’t find Zoey. Instead, I find Sheriff Barnes sitting at Zoey’s desk with a file folder open in front of him, papers spread out along the desk’s surface. “Oh, hey, Sheriff. You looking into Yvette Horne? I can pass along what I have if it’d be helpful?”

  One thing at a time. I’ll make sure he handles the investigation properly, and then I’ll kill him for whatever he did to piss off Zoey.

  His eyes narrow and he swipes a hand over his mouth, smoothing his moustache down. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growls.

  Whew, guess he doesn’t know about me and Zoey if he’s surprised to see me here. Good to know we hid it that well because it felt like everyone in the courtroom had to feel the tension between Zoey and me, had to know that I was sitting there with the smell of her still in my nose, the feel of her on my lips, and the desire to have her again in my heart and pants.

  But the subterfuge isn’t needed anymore.

  Any conflict of interest isn’t going to matter by the time this investigation is done because we’re going to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Yvette Horne killed Richard, and any claim as beneficiary is going to be moot at that point.

  “I’m here to see Zoey.”

  For some reason, the five words ignite volcanoes in the sheriff’s eyes, and he stands, pushing the chair from beneath him forcefully. It rolls haywire before crashing into a table and toppling over loudly. Shoulders wide and hands clenched at his side, he snarls, “Haven’t you done enough to that poor girl?”

  Uhm, what?

  I didn’t do anything. He did.

  Which I was trying to not mention until I handled the professional side of things first. But if he’s ready to rumble, he can bring it on. The sheriff might be barrel-chested and armed, but he’s old, beer-bellied, and probably—hopefully—not going to shoot me.

  I send up a quick thanks for all the cardio Trey has made me do because I might need it in the next few seconds if I’m throwing down with Barnes.

  “What did you say?” I sneer harshly as I wiggle my arms to loosen up a bit because I don’t want to pull a muscle with my first punch.

  “Leave Zoey alone. You’ve done more than enough, asshole. I’m tempted to toss you in her refrigerator myself, ‘forget’ about you for a few days until your outsides are as frosty as your insides, and then let her cut your dick off as a trophy.”

  “That is . . . graphic,” I admit begrudgingly, and though Sheriff Barnes’s lips lift, it’s not a smile. It’s feral and predatory. But why is he mad at me?

  Higher logic takes over, my brain overriding my fight or flight instincts. “Before you try that—and to be clear, it would be nothing more than an attempt before I kick your ass—”

  Sheriff Barnes takes a step closer, and I hold my palms up, hoping to freeze him in place before he can toss me in the refrigerator.

  “Before that . . . exactly why are you trying to kill me? This is supposed to be my big moment of kicking your ass for whatever you did to hurt Zoey so badly that she ran out of the courtroom.”

  “Kick my ass? That’s funny as hell, kid.” Sheriff Barnes laughs. And then, as though it never happened, he sobers. “What I did? To Zoey? I didn’t do a thing to that poor girl. You did . . . using her like that. Shameful is what it is.”

  He pokes a finger in my chest, much like Frederick did not too long ago, but where Frederick’s had been a gentle prodding, the sheriff’s poke makes my arm flinch reflexively.

  Shit, did he hit a pressure point or something? I rub at the spot and work my shoulder back and forth a couple of times.

  “Use Zoey?”

  What in the hell? I’m not some selfish asshole. And I didn’t even know she’d told anyone about us since that was the whole point of hiding our relationship. And what did she tell Sheriff Barnes?

  “Look, I’m not a kiss and tell sort, but rest assured, I wasn’t ‘using’ Zoey. I made sure she came . . . multiple times, and she was . . . into it
.”

  That might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever told another man. Even Trey and I don’t talk like that, sharing that degree of personal stuff, which is why I damn near stumble over the words as I try to say them.

  I don’t see the punch coming, not a single tell is telegraphed. My jaw just explodes in fire, and I stagger, looking for purchase on the slick floor.

  “You son of a bitch!” Sheriff Barnes shouts. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

  He’s stalking toward me, winding up for a round two I can’t let him start. I throw an uppercut to his gut, and though he huffs at the contact, it doesn’t stop him. What does is my answering shout, “Then what the hell are you talking about? What did you do to Zoey?”

  “You keep saying that. Why do you think I did something to her?”

  I glare at him, panting. “Because she ran out of the courtroom this morning and you were the only one sitting next to her. What did you say to her? Did you call her one of those hurtful names? Drop-Dead Gorgeous? Or Black Widow? Or something worse? Do you know how much that guts her? This whole county just shits on her, treating her like a pariah, when she hasn’t done anything wrong. She never did anything wrong!”

  We’re scuffling, arms flailing as we push off one another, neither one of us making any headway. He gives me a big shove, creating a gap between us that we fill with panting breaths. “She ran out because of you, you stupid idiot.”

  I’m struck dumb and forget all about the fight, dropping my guard and standing defenseless. “Me? What did I do?”

  “You used her for this whole Everlife case. I know she put that invoice together and gave it to you.”