Definitely not. Yvette Horne is no queen.
Since this morning, she’s changed clothes and apparently lost her ever-loving mind. Her hair is no longer subdued into an updo but rather down and frizzy. Her demure dress has been replaced with sweats and a tank top, and her earlier fury has given way to utter madness.
I shrug against my captor. “I wasn’t expecting you because I wasn’t expecting to get kidnapped.”
“Good one,” I hear from behind me, and I jerk my head, trying to look over my shoulder at the man holding me hostage.
“Sebastian?”
He looks at me and then Yvette, then back to me, his brows getting lower and lower in confusion. “Hey! How’s Chunky doing with the exercises?”
“Uhm . . .” How in the hell am I supposed to answer that when he’s got both my wrists gripped in one of his big, paw-sized hands?
Luckily, or maybe unluckily—I’m not sure which yet—Yvette answers for me with a shout. “Enough!”
Sebastian’s hands tighten uncomfortably, and I wince, hissing in pain. “Oh, sorry.”
His apology is unexpected and even more confusing than his questions about Chunky. And I’m not in the mood to be confused anymore. It’s wearing on my last nerve, especially after the day I’ve had.
“Look, I’ve had a really shitty day. So how about you tell me what the plan is here and let’s see if we can work something out that’ll get me home, in a bubble bath, with an extra-large glass of wine? Deal?” I offer with an exasperated sigh.
Yvette’s eyes bulge wide, nearly bugging out of their sockets. “You’ve had a bad day? You’ve. Had. A. Bad. Day?” she repeats herself, getting up in my face. “I lost everything! And it’s all your fault!” she screeches.
Her hands are gesturing so wildly, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s going to slap me, either accidentally or intentionally.
It seems I’ve hit a nerve.
Sebastian pushes me toward the car, and I stumble away from him, catching myself on sore wrists to keep from face-planting on the hood. He gathers Yvette in his arms instead, rubbing his palm over her hair as she buries her face in his wide chest. “It’s okay, Vettie. Calm down.”
Never in the history of time has a woman calmed down by being told to calm down. In fact, those words usually have the opposite effect. But Sebastian must have some magic, either in his words or in the gentle touch of his hand, because Yvette does settle. I’m guessing it’s his voice because I’ve felt his hand on my wrists and there was nothing gentle about it.
But I’m not done poking and prodding at Yvette’s wound, not when it seems to put her off-balance and that’s the only hope I can see at getting away. “My fault? I had nothing to do with your poisoning your husband, psycho.”
Yvette lunges at me, her clawed nails scraping down my arm, leaving lines of red in their wake. “Psycho? I’ll show you psycho!”
Sebastian catches Yvette around her waist, pulling her back to put some space between us. “Ladies, ladies . . .” Standing between us, he holds a hand out toward each of us as though he’s stopping a barroom catfight. This man must be either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. I’m leaning toward the latter. Smiling congenially, he acts like this is no big deal. “Let’s all take a deep breath and calm down.”
I am not Yvette, and his words have the expected and well-documented effect on me.
“Calm down?” I jeer. “I’ve been kidnapped and taken to the middle of nowhere. Know this . . . I’m not going down without a fight. You might kill me, but I will make you bleed in the process.” I spit out the words, covering my fear with venom and promises of painful retribution.
Inside, I’m panicking, the realization that I’m going to die hitting full force.
I’m so sorry, Jacob. I know I promised I’d be there for you, forever and always. I’m sorry I lied.
Flashes of a younger Jacob, crying openly at Grandma’s funeral and then hiding his tears at Grandpa’s funeral because he felt the need to appear grown despite being a teenager, fill my mind. He’d finally given in late one night when a bad storm scared us both, the lightning bringing Grandpa’s death back with a vengeance. Jacob had curled into my shoulder like the child he was, crying until dry sobs racked his bigger-than-me body.
I hope someone is there to hold him this time.
He’s eighteen and so responsible, but really, he’s a young man who’s lost so much. As much as I have . . . parents, family, Grandma and Grandpa.
And now, he’s going to lose me too.
Tears fill my eyes, burning hot and acidic. I wipe them away angrily, hating that they make me seem weak on the heels of my powerful ‘I will kill you’ speech.
Sebastian’s eyes ping-pong from me to Yvette, back and forth. “Kill? Nobody is going to die. That’s not what this is about. Tell her.”
His eyes land on Yvette, who’s still eyeing me like she’d be quite happy if I dropped dead right here and now.
“Vettie?” Sebastian warns when she doesn’t agree.
Begrudgingly, she huffs out, “Whatever.”
“Good,” he says soothingly. “How about we talk things out like adults?”
“Adults do not kidnap people, Sebastian,” I growl, bristling against his placating tone while I’m contemplating my mortality.
He turns hard eyes on me. “I’m trying to help here. Work with me.”
It’s an order, blunt and clipped. Any sense of kindness dissipated, both in his words and his eyes, which are cold now, freezing me in place. Yvette, I feel confident I can handle. I’ve got size, age, and desperation on her. Sebastian, he could turn me into a puddle of Zoey goo easily, probably without breaking a sweat.
Sweat . . . ew, that’s what that the bag of wet, smelly clothes was in the trunk. His workout clothes.
Absently, I wipe my hands on my scrubs again.
“Okay,” Sebastian says, taking my silence as agreement. “Vettie, tell Zoey what you want,” he prompts, playing the mediator.
I swallow down the questions I want to ask, trying to pick up any clue I can in the hope that it’ll help me get away safely. Because I don’t believe for a second that they don’t intend to kill me. It’s the second rule of kidnapping, just after don’t go to a secondary location . . . if you see the kidnappers’ faces, they can’t let you go.
And here I am in the middle of nowhere at a secondary location, not only able to see Yvette and Sebastian’s faces, but I know who they are. Hell, I’ve been in Yvette’s trash and likely have Sebastian’s junk in my work refrigerator.
Ugh! It was gross when I didn’t know whose it was, but with a definite name and face of where it came from . . . extra yuck!
Yvette smiles at Sebastian sweetly. “Okay, babe.” To me, she drops the smile to say, “You need to rule Dickie’s death from natural causes. Fill out whatever paperwork you need to so this whole thing is cleared up.”
I gape, eyes and mouth wide open in shock.
Is she for real? All this cloak and dagger kidnapping to get me to change some paperwork?
“Sure. I can do that,” I tell her.
She beams at Sebastian, and he pats her head like she’s a child. “See, Vettie. I told you it’d all work out.”
“Just one teensy-weensy problem,” I interrupt, garnering both their attention. “No one’s going to believe it. Not even for a split second. Everyone knows you killed Richard, Yvette. And by now, you’re likely the number-one suspect in my disappearance. If I show up and change the paperwork, it’ll be the biggest red flag in the history of red flags.”
Shut the hell up, Zoey! Why the hell are you saying all this? Fucking professional pride?
“But I didn’t kill my Dickie,” Yvette pouts. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” she implores Sebastian as tears spill down her cheeks in trails that leave mascara rivers. “I loved him.”
Sebastian yanks Yvette into his chest again in a forceful hug, and I feel like an unwelcome intruder into a private moment between them. But
it’s not like I asked to be here.
“Shh, it’s okay. They just don’t understand. You did everything for Richard for so long, and he didn’t appreciate you. Not like I do. You’re an amazing woman, Vettie.”
Sebastian tilts Yvette’s chin up and kisses her fully. He has to be eating mascara, tears, and probably snot too because Yvette is full-on sobbing, but he keeps on kissing her.
I take a couple of slow steps away, hoping to go unnoticed as I get a head start. But I’m not too far away to miss when Yvette stutters out, “I did everything for Dickie. Took good care of him, even making those awful tasting smoothies you recommended so we could be healthier. I don’t care how good for me you say they are, I’m not drinking those anymore. They said in court that they had dangerous metal in them.”
She sounds shocked at the very thought of heavy metals being in the smoothies.
Wait . . . did she say ‘so we could be healthier’? Was Yvette drinking the smoothies too? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she drink them if she were using them to poison her husband?
Like the puzzle of the invoice, pieces start to move in my mind, rearranging themselves into a new image. I thought I knew how the puzzle ended up . . . with Yvette Horne as the murderous poisoner of her husband.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if we’re all wrong?
My eyes narrow as the new image comes into focus. One that doesn’t have Yvette as a black widow—ugh, the hated nickname stings even as I use it for someone else.
Nor does the picture have Yvette and Sebastian in cahoots, two lovers removing a roadblock to their relationship. No, this latest picture has only one person on the puzzle box.
Sebastian.
“Yvette, you’ve been drinking the smoothies too?” I clarify before I get too far down this new path of thinking.
She sniffles. “Yeah, they’re gross and give me headaches, but they’re better than eating three pounds of broccoli a day.”
She says that as though someone said it to her and she’s quoting them. Perhaps Sebastian?
“Headaches?”
Sebastian gives me a piercing look, and though it physically hurts me to do so, I force my feet to move closer to Yvette and Sebastian. “May I?”
I hold out my hand to Yvette, and though she looks to Sebastian for permission first, she slips her hand into mine. I press on her fingers, feeling the coolness there. “Do you have any numbness or tingling?”
“I guess.” She shrugs. “But I’m no spring chicken either. That’s what happens when you get older—your joints are always sore, your back argues when you try to hop out of bed, and your belly is a little sensitive.”
Headaches? Sore joints? Upset stomach? Numbness and tingling? All signs of heavy metal poisoning.
“Yvette, you’re not old by any means. And even if you were, those are not normal signs of aging.” I’m baby stepping here, because I think I’m in worse danger than I thought. But so is Yvette, and she has no idea. I need to try a different angle to get more information and to get Yvette to see reason. “I’m sure Sebastian doesn’t think you’re old. Look at the way he looks at you,” I tease like we’re girlfriends who’ve escaped to the bathroom to discuss our cute dates.
Yvette looks up at Sebastian, and he cups her cheek gently, love and affection filling his eyes in an instant. “You don’t think I’m old, do you?”
“Of course not, Vettie. I can barely keep up with you, but I’m looking forward to trying my hardest.”
It sounds right—sweet and complimentary, reassuring Yvette that their age gap isn’t a problem. But when she looks back to me with a crushing school girl’s smile, Sebastian’s face goes blank, all adoration simply turning off like a switch.
My gut roils, a stone in the pit of my stomach threatening to come up. But I stay steady and force a smile to my lips, though I can feel it’s twitchy and wavering.
“You two are cute together. I’m sorry about Richard, but at least you have someone.”
Without meaning to, I twist the knife in my own heart, remembering Blake and what I thought we had, only to be proven wrong. Just like Yvette, who thinks she’s found a sweet guy to comfort her after her husband’s death, but the reality is . . . Sebastian killed Richard.
I’m sure of it.
I can feel it instinctually, even if I can’t prove it.
“I do. I’m very lucky to have found Sebastian to help with Rusty. I don’t know what I would’ve done without Sebastian to train my baby boy and help since Dickie passed. I wasn’t looking for anyone, but fate put Sebastian in front of me and wouldn’t let me ignore our connection.”
Yvette snuggles into what she thinks is her soft and cozy safety net when the truth is, Sebastian is the razor-lined threat in Yvette’s life.
“Even though I tried,” she confides.
That is new information, and I latch on to it with fervor.
“You didn’t . . .” I trail off, not sure how to say ‘cheat on your husband’ without sounding judgmental.
Yvette catches my meaning and shakes her head. “No, Sebastian pursued me, but I told him I would never hurt my Dickie. But when Dickie was gone, Sebastian was right there to comfort me.”
“That’s convenient,” I say, giving an inch when what I really want to do is shake Yvette so she sees the miles of scheming Sebastian has been up to.
Sebastian has been quiet, hugging and comforting Yvette but truly keeping her at his side, under his control. Them against me, especially as I pick and prod for details. Now, he tests back, though he’s wearing the façade of a sweet and caring boyfriend and not his true self.
“See? I knew you’d understand why Vettie needs Richard’s death to be from natural causes. A quick and simple change and one signature, and you’ll make her . . . us . . . so happy. The way we were meant to be.”
Is he stupid? Or willfully ignoring the obvious? “I can’t. Or well, I can,” I correct myself, “but no one will believe it.”
“You’ll have to make them.” His mask is slipping again, exposing his ugly side, promising an unspoken punishment if I don’t get everyone to believe something so obviously untrue.
Unaware of the change in Sebastian, Yvette coos, “It’ll be fine. At least we can be together.”
He snarls. “The money fucking matters, Yvette.”
She looks like he slapped her, though I don’t think it was his words but rather that he called her by her given name, not the cutesy nickname he’s been using.
“Sebastian?” she questions, sounding small and unsure. For the first time, I see Yvette Horne differently, as a victim herself. Sebastian recommended the smoothies, he added the supplements to poison both Richard and Yvette, and when Richard died, Sebastian slickly stepped right into Yvette’s heart to take advantage of her.
For what? Is it really about the money? I guess people have done worse for less, but Richard’s insurance policy was only for $100,000.
“Yvette, do you have a life insurance policy too?” I ask quickly.
She answers mindlessly, her eyes never leaving Sebastian, who looks murderous. “Yeah, same as Richard.”
“Who gets the money if you die?”
That’s Sebastian’s proverbial line in the sand. He shoves Yvette back, charging toward me with his finger pointing threateningly, “You shut your fucking mouth.”
I try to back up, but I’m caught against the hood of the car with nowhere to go. I see it coming and flinch, but Sebastian’s backhand across my cheek still surprises me with its force and I see flashing stars again.
From the ground where she fell when he pushed her, Yvette squeaks, “Rusty does. It goes in a trust for my baby.”
The maniac dog that nearly took an officer to the ground? That Irish Retriever stands to inherit $200,000?
That’s ridiculous and exactly what someone like Yvette Horne would do for the dog she calls her baby.
“And who gets the dog, Yvette? Who inherits Rusty?” I spit through a jaw that’s
vibrating with my heartbeat and already swelling.
“Sebastian,” she says in confusion but with slowly dawning realization. “He’s the only one Rusty behaves for, and he takes good care of my baby. Oh!”
Sebastian whirls at Yvette’s exclamation, his face desperate to keep his plan together a bit longer. “Vettie?”
But he’s not fast enough to stop her from finally seeing reality. Yvette, thankfully spryer than she gives herself credit for, leaps onto Sebastian’s back, scratching and clawing. “You killed my Dickie Boo! You monster! How could you?”
Chapter 26
Blake
Barnes and I crowd around his desk, Alver bringing up the rear. I whirl on Alver, unable to hold back any longer. “You let this happen. You’re supposed to watch the front, patrol the building. Yvette wouldn’t have gotten to Zoey if you’d done your damn job!”
Alver blusters, trying to fight back, but he’s a frail old man. One who not too long ago, I had pressed against the wall. I try not to feel guilty about that, but Zoey missing is an extenuating circumstance to the most extreme degree. “I’m sorry! I had to take a shit!”
Barnes snorts in shock, fighting a school boy chuckle. “You were taking a shit and left the front door unmanned?”
“Not like we’ve got coverage for bathroom breaks or even need it. I know my role is basically a glorified greeter. Might as well go work at the Wal-Mart in town,” he grumbles before adding bitterly, “Welcome in . . . have a good day.”
Barnes sighs and plops into his chair. “You’re right. Sorry, Alver.”
“What?” I shout.
“Blake, if you want to keep yelling at the man for taking care of nature’s call, be my guest,” Barnes says. “But you know inside that we’ve all had to drop a deuce while at work. If you want to help me find Zoey, then let’s do that while we still have a chance at finding her alive.”
He knows exactly how to chill the blood in my veins. Dismissing Alver, I growl, “What do you need me to do?”
“Good. Let’s think . . . Yvette is mad about this morning, blames Zoey, so she kidnaps her. Why not you? You’re the money man,” he theorizes.
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