Shawn pulls out my chair, but when I move to take a seat, my legs give out from shaking so badly. He grabs my arm and steadies me as he lowers me into the chair. All while my heart is hammering with the force of a thousand drumlines.
God, please be with us. Please don’t let anything happen to us. Especially not to Shawn. He was only trying to help me.
As Shawn takes his seat, Lucian’s cold smile spreads, and he clicks his tongue. “You know, I have to admire your courage. Walking into a place like this. Especially with no backup,” he adds, his attention focused entirely on Shawn.
“I’m on vacation,” Shawn replies just as coldly. “Seemed as good a time as any to play house.”
Lucian’s grin spreads further, showing teeth so white and straight they look fake. “Yes, so I’ve heard.” Then, he shifts that gaze to me, and his dark eyes shimmer with delight as he looks me over. “And you, Mrs. Jameson? While I never had the delight of meeting you in person, yours is a face a man doesn’t forget.”
My stomach churns, bile burning the back of my throat. “It’s Wallace now,” I say, trying my best to keep my voice level. “I went back to my maiden name.”
He nods, a smirk still on his face. “Makes sense.” He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “So, to what do I owe this delightful—albeit deceitful—visit?”
“Someone sent me a photograph of my husband here, with you, the week before he died.” I don’t technically know it’s him, but it’s as good a guess as any.
If this man knows anything else, he’ll correct me. And if not—well—who knows what’s coming in the next five minutes? Could be answers. Could be a bullet.
Only time will tell.
“Interesting.” He leans forward and rests both forearms on the table. “Well, I’m not trying to hide the fact that your husband was in my employ for quite a few years.”
“What did he do for you?”
Lucian studies me closely, like a man looking at an ant under a microscope. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“He’s dead.”
“I’m well aware of that, Ms. Wallace.”
“Are you aware that he was murdered?” I snap, hating how absolutely out of control I feel right now. Shawn’s hand finds mine beneath the table, and he squeezes gently, the contact both reassuring as well as a reminder that I need to play it cool.
Lucian continues studying me, his gaze likely searching for any sign that I’m lying. “I thought it was ruled an accident.”
“It was,” I reply. “But Paul was a great pilot, and he wouldn’t have made a mistake.”
Lucian leans back in his chair. “If you’re wondering whether or not I had a hand in your husband’s untimely death, then I am happy to report that I did not. I liked Paul. His death was an inconvenience for me on many levels.”
Inconvenience.My stomach rolls. “And just what levels were those?” I press.
Lucian smiles again, a cold, chilling grin that would have stolen the warmth from me if I weren’t already freezing. “Paul talked about you a lot. I recognized you from the photograph he carried with him. His take-no-prisoners wife. At one point, I actually asked him to put us in contact as I was looking for new legal counsel. You were still green at the time but already making a name for yourself.” He crosses his arms. “Would you like to know what he told me?”
“What was that?”
“That you wouldn’t be caught dead in a room with a man like me.”
I swallow hard, grief tightening my chest all over again. “He’s not wrong.”
“Except, here we are.” Lucian extends both hands out.
He’s got me there.
“Why was he killed?” Shawn questions. It’s the first time he’s spoken since we’ve been in this room, and that cool demeanor I saw from him that first time we met is back. Slipped into place like a protective mask.
Lucian’s gaze shifts to Shawn. “What makes you think I believe anything more than what the reports say?”
“I’m good at reading people, Mr. Creed. It’s why I’m a good cop. Aside from the fact that you didn’t kill us as soon as you knew who we were, I can see all over your face that you don’t believe he died in an accident. So, let me ask again: Why was he killed?” Shawn asks again.
“I looked into you, Detective,” Lucian replies. “A nose for the truth and a desire to see justice tied around the neck of the guilty like a noose.”
