Pinning a smile to her face, Mia allowed Lucas to lead her up the stairs and across the porch where the short, well-rounded housekeeper was already pulling open the door. Mia instantly recognized her. Louisa Sharp. Her hair had gone gray and her face was lined with age, but she was the same servant who’d been with Vicky’s parents when Mia had gone to the estate to help her father.
“Mia?” the older woman murmured in surprise, her gaze flicking toward Lucas. “Mr. St. Clair.”
“We’re here to see Ms. Fontaine, Louisa,” Mia said.
The housekeeper nervously glanced over her shoulder before returning her attention to Mia. “She’s not here.”
Mia’s smile remained in place as she brushed past the housekeeper and into the wide foyer with a black-and-white tiled floor and large chandelier.
“That’s okay, Louisa, this will only take a minute,” she murmured, her pace never slowing as she headed toward the arched opening that led into a long library.
The room was beautiful. There was a line of mullioned windows that overlooked the side garden, with towering shelves stuffed with leather-bound books and an open-beamed ceiling. At the far end was a large stone fireplace with a wooden mantel that was decorated with holly and the traditional red stockings.
There was also a large Christmas tree in the corner, with matching silver bulbs and a twinkling angel on the top. And an antique nativity scene that was placed next to a heavy walnut desk.
All very festive.
At her entrance a tall, slender woman rose from a leather wing chair. Her thin features hardened with annoyance as she lifted her hand to touch the blond hair that was smoothed into a tidy knot at the base of her neck.
“Hello, Vicky,” Mia murmured.
“Mia.” Silvery-gray eyes, as hard as granite, swept over her before moving toward the man who’d halted just behind Mia’s right shoulder. “Lucas. I’m not sure how you managed to get in here, but I was just leaving.”
Mia deliberately glanced toward the magazine that Vicky had just tossed aside and then the cheery fire. They both indicated a woman who intended to spend the afternoon at home. “This will only take a minute.”
Vicky shook her head, her diamonds flashing as she straightened the cuffs of her black designer dress. “You’ll have to make an appointment. My schedule is filled for today.”
Vicky stepped forward, clearly intending to leave the room. They had only a few seconds to keep her from disappearing.
“I know that you and Tony were lovers,” she bluntly announced.
Vicky froze, her face wiped of all expression. “Excuse me?”
Mia tilted her chin. “I said—”
“I heard what you said,” Vicky snapped. “I just don’t understand why you would say it.”
“Because it’s true.”
The older woman flattened her lips, her icy composure once again intact. “If Tony told you that absurd story, then you’re a fool to believe it.”
Mia gave a slow shake of her head. The woman was a remarkable liar. Cool. Collected. Absolutely convincing.
“I saw the videos.”
“Videos.” A flicker of alarm deep in the gray eyes. “What videos?”
“Of you and Tony,” Mia pressed.
“That’s . . .” Vicky licked her dry lips. “That’s a lie and if you insist on repeating it I’ll have you sued for defamation of my character.”
Lucas placed a protective arm around Mia’s shoulder. “It’s no lie,” he said, his voice filled with an authority that made Vicky pale to a strange shade of ash. “We have the videos.”
With jerky steps Vicky paced toward the fireplace, her hands clenched. There was a long silence as she stared down at the flames, no doubt considering the implications of having her secret affair revealed.
Or maybe she was considering how she could turn the situation to her advantage.
Vicky was nothing if not clever.
At last she spun back around, her expression one of icy disdain. “I will not admit nor deny my private relationship with Tony. Quite simply, it’s none of your business,” she informed them.
Mia’s fear was abruptly forgotten beneath a surge of anger. Whether the woman was innocent or guilty, she’d been Tony’s lover for years.
Hadn’t she felt anything for him?
“It is if your personal relationship has something to do with Tony’s death,” Mia accused, her voice harsh.
“How dare you?” The woman sucked in an outraged breath, pointing toward the door. “Get out.”
Without warning Lucas pulled out his phone, pulling up the image Teagan had sent to them. He turned the screen toward Vicky.
“You gave Tony this picture of Mia,” he said. “The words at the bottom say ‘Kill her or else.’”
The gray eyes flickered, an indefinable emotion rippling over her face before she was sending Mia a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t do this.”
Mia frowned. Was that a threat? “I’m not stopping until I find out who killed my friend,” she told the woman.
Vicky made a sound of impatience. “He’s dead. Let him rest in peace.”
Mia shuddered, once again reminded that she might be in the presence of a killer.
It was a chilling thought.
“Why?” she demanded. “Because you might end up in jail?”
A humorless smile curved her lips. “Because you’re not going to like the answers.”
Lucas gave Mia’s shoulder a small squeeze, almost as if he was trying to warn her of something. Mia, however, refused to glance in his direction. She’d spent her childhood being bullied and intimidated by women like Vicky Fontaine.
Never again.
“You know what I don’t like?” she demanded between clenched teeth. “The fact that my friend is dead. And that someone is now trying to kill me.”
“You can’t think that I . . .” Vicky allowed her words to trail away, her eyes widening with a faux disbelief as she released a shrill laugh. “You really are out of your mind.”
Mia felt a strong urge to slap the mocking smile off Vicky’s face. No, that wasn’t right. She actually wanted to punch her so hard she broke that perfect nose.
It wasn’t that Mia was a violent person, but the woman’s mocking pretense that she didn’t know anything about Tony’s death was truly pissing her off.
“Why did you give Tony that picture?” she demanded.
The faux amusement was wiped from Vicky’s thin face as she abruptly moved toward the desk in the corner. “I’m done talking,” she warned. “Get out before I call my security and have you thrown out.”
Mia parted her lips, but before she could speak Lucas was stepping forward, his expression sending a tiny chill down Mia’s spine.
She’d never seen him look so dangerous.
“Perhaps you’d prefer if we call the sheriff’s office?” he drawled, pressing his thumb against the screen of his cell phone. “I’m sure they’d be interested in what we discovered.”
Vicky jerked toward Lucas, her hand held out. “Wait.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucas studied the older woman as she took a cautious step forward.
Her resemblance to a praying mantis was only intensified in the shadowed room with the flickering flames behind her, but that wasn’t what made Lucas shudder.
Mia was right when she’d said he could read people. It’d been a necessary talent, being raised in a house where displeasure was expressed by the lift of a brow, or a turned back when he entered a room.
And he knew without a doubt that Vicky Fontaine was cunningly leading them into a trap.
It wasn’t anything overt that she’d done. In fact, she’d reacted just as he’d expected when Mia had accused her of sleeping with Tony. She’d been outraged, even a little shocked that anyone would think she would sleep with the younger man.
She’d expected it to work. After all, she’d gone to great lengths to ensure the affair was kept secret.
But after discover
ing they not only had proof that the older woman had been sleeping with Tony, but that they had video evidence she’d given him the picture of Mia with a demand for her death, she’d only briefly shown a flicker of panic. Then, with a skill he could only admire, she’d smoothed her expression and squared her shoulders.
Almost as if she had prepared for this precise moment.
With seeming nonchalance, he took a step back, making sure he could keep an eye on the door as well as the bank of windows. He wasn’t going to let anyone sneak up on them.
Unaware of his growing unease, Mia glared at the older woman, her face flushed with anger. “Wait for what?” she demanded.
Vicky pretended to hesitate, her expression regretful even as her eyes remained as hard as granite.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” the older woman murmured, turning to head across the room.
Immediately Lucas was moving to block her path, his hand on his gun, which was holstered on his belt. “Hold on,” he growled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Vicky came to a reluctant halt, peering down her nose as if Lucas was a piece of fungus that had suddenly appeared in front of her.
“You said you wanted the truth.” She waved a jeweled hand toward the nearby desk. “I need to open my safe.”
Lucas took a slow step backward. “Do it.”
“Thank you,” she drawled, sweeping past him with her chin tilted in the air.
Lucas followed behind her, his hand remaining on his gun. He didn’t trust this woman as far as he could throw her.
She halted in front of a glass case filled with rare books that was placed behind the desk. Her slender fingers ran over the top edge, as if searching for something. For a second nothing happened, then there was the faint sound of a click and the entire case slid to the side to reveal an opening cut into the floor.
Vicky gracefully bent down, her hand reaching into the dark space.
Lucas stepped forward, his gaze narrowed. “Be careful,” he warned. “No one wants any unfortunate accidents.”
“There’s no need for threats,” she chided, pulling her hand out of the hidden safe to reveal two large manila envelopes.
Straightening, she crossed directly toward Mia, shoving one of the envelopes in her hand.
Mia frowned, staring down at the envelope as if it might bite her. “What is it?”
A hint of mocking resignation touched the older woman’s face. “The answers you claim to want.”
Lucas was swiftly moving to Mia’s side, a sudden fear sizzling down his spine. Vicky might try to pretend she’d been forced into handing over the information, but Lucas sensed that beneath her submissive facade she was buzzing with anticipation.
This was exactly what she wanted.
“Mia, wait,” he murmured in warning.
Mia shook her head, stubborn to the end, as she opened the flap and reached her hand inside.
“No. I want to know,” she said.
She pulled out what looked to be a half dozen black-and-white photos. Instantly her face drained of color and she swayed as she shuffled through the stack. “Oh my God,” she breathed.
Leaning forward, Lucas yanked the pictures out of her hand, his brows drawing together.
The first image was fuzzy, making Lucas suspect a cheapy disposable camera had been used. But it’d at least been taken during the day, giving plenty of light. Which meant there was no mistaking what he was seeing. It was an open trunk of a silver car, and inside the trunk was a body stuffed at an awkward angle.
Swiftly he moved to the second photo. This one was just as fuzzy, but it had been zoomed in to capture the image of a middle-aged man with a square face and salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, almost as if he was asleep. Lucas, however, wasn’t fooled. He’d seen death too many times during his tours in Afghanistan.
He was looking at a corpse.
Shuffling to the next picture, he released his breath on a hiss. He recognized the blunt features and heavy jowls.
Paul Fontaine.
The man who everyone assumed was sitting on some exotic beach with a few million dollars he’d stolen from the state pension funds.
The vague fear that had been sending chills down Lucas’s spine now settled like a lead ball in the pit of his stomach.
There was no way in hell Vicky would have shared these pictures unless she could use them to her advantage.
But how?
Lifting his head, he met the icy-gray gaze with a fierce scowl. “What the hell are these?” he demanded, waving the pictures in her direction.
“I think it should be obvious,” Vicky said, a hand lifted to her throat. The perfect pose for a tragic widow. Lucas wondered if she’d practiced it in the mirror. “Pictures of my husband.”
“He’s . . .” Mia’s words faded, her face still pale.
“Dead,” Vicky helpfully supplied.
Coldhearted bitch.
Mia made a sound of distress. “You killed him?”
Vicky widened her eyes with faux shock. “Of course not. Why would I kill my husband?”
Lucas gave a sharp laugh. “I can think of several million reasons why.”
With a lift of her shoulder, Vicky crossed toward a table set beneath one of the windows. Lifting a crystal decanter, she poured herself a glass of wine before turning back to meet his unwavering gaze. “I think I should start from the beginning,” she murmured.
“We’re listening,” Lucas said, assuming she’d deliberately chosen not to offer them refreshments. Sort of a nonverbal way to assure them they were unwelcomed guests.
He was betting that Vicky Fontaine didn’t do anything without a purpose.
“It was no secret that I married Paul because he promised to rescue my parents from bankruptcy.” Her gaze moved toward the framed portrait above the mantel. It was an oil painting of a handsome older couple whom Lucas vaguely remembered as Vicky’s mother and father. They had been exactly like his own family. Pampered. Entitled. Incapable of change. Vicky turned back to Lucas, her lips twisting into a humorless smile. “I was young and gullible enough to view my husband as some sort of knight in shining armor rushing to my rescue.”
Lucas felt Mia move to stand beside him. He desperately wanted to put his arm around her, but he needed to keep his hand free so he could pull his weapon if necessary.
“I assume the fairy tale didn’t last?” he asked.
“No.” Vicky took a drink of the wine, genuine disgust darkening her eyes. “Paul and I were two very different people.” Her revulsion for her dead husband was one thing she didn’t have to fake. “Naturally, we started to drift apart. He had his life, and”—she paused, as if trying to find the proper word—“interests. And I had mine,” she at last finished.
“And a seventeen-year-old boy was one of those interests?” Mia snapped.
Vicky glared at the younger woman, clearly unaccustomed to being treated with anything but deference from those she considered beneath her.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Mia Ramon,” she snapped.
Predictably, Mia refused to back down. Once she might have wilted beneath the woman’s disdain, but she’d matured into a person who refused to be bullied.
“I’m not one of your servants, Vicky Fontaine.” Mia gave a toss of her head, her passionate nature a direct contrast to the older woman’s frigid composure. “I will speak however I want.”
A cruel amusement tightened Vicky’s thin features. “We’ll see.”
Lucas stilled. The mocking words had held a threat that made him instinctively step toward Mia. Shit. He was certain she was playing a game with them, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
“You became Tony’s lover?” he demanded, his gaze locked on the older woman.
Vicky took another sip of wine, slowly turning her attention toward Lucas.
“I was lonely and isolated, and Tony was often at the house,” she said, her voice lacking any hint of a
pology. “We drifted into an affair.”
“He was just a boy—”
Lucas interrupted Mia’s angry accusation. “You paid for Tony’s tuition?”
“Yes,” Vicky admitted. “His family was worthless. He didn’t have anyone else whom he could depend upon.”
“And his rent?” Lucas pressed.
“Yes.”
Mia muttered a curse as she glared at the older woman. “Did he know you killed your husband?”
Drinking the last of her wine, Vicky calmly set aside her empty glass. “I didn’t kill my husband.”
“Right.” Mia gave a sharp laugh of disbelief. “Then who did?”
“Tony did,” Vicky smoothly announced, sending Mia an icy smile. “And your father.”
A shocked silence filled the library.
So that was it. The cunning woman intended to pin the blame on two men who were dead and unable to deny her accusations.
“You lying bitch,” Mia breathed, lunging forward as if she intended to physically force Vicky to take back her ugly allegations.
With a swift movement Lucas turned to block her path, his hands gently grasping her shoulders.
“Mia,” he murmured softly, his gut twisting as he felt her trembling beneath his hands.
No big surprise. Who wouldn’t be upset to have someone claim her father was a murderer? And if it was just some random woman saying it, he’d let Mia beat the hell out of her.
But Vicky Fontaine was a powerful member of local society, with enough money to hire an entire team of lawyers. She was also a cunning enemy who’d clearly spent a lot of time plotting her strategy if anyone discovered her husband was dead.
“Let me handle this,” he commanded in a low voice.
Mia’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes smoldering with fury. “She said—”
“I heard what she said,” he soothed.
She trembled, sucking in a deep breath as she visibly struggled to control her emotions. “My father would never kill anyone,” she protested in soft tones.
His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “I know, Mia.”
Something that might be relief eased her trembling. Damn. Had she actually been worried he might believe Vicky’s accusation against her father?