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He had to be careful here. Obviously she knew more than he thought. “I heard they found a body, one assumed to be Riley because of some ring he wore, but that there wouldn’t be a positive ID until dental records were examined and reviewed.”
“Just a matter of time.” She cocked her head to one side and eyed him in a way that made him want to squirm. “You did it, Weston,” she said. “We all know it, because you lied about having him on the payroll in Canada.” She clucked her tongue. “You know, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“So you came here to what—? Accuse me of being a murderer?” He laughed. “Come on, Tessa. Lighten up. The way I remember it, we had some good times together. Isn’t that really why you’re here, why you came over?”
“In your dreams. I just wanted to play with you.”
“Tessa, baby—”
“The way I remember it, we had some bad times,” she said, her blue eyes widening a bit. “Like the time you beat me and forced me to go down on you.”
“Now, I don’t—”
“And then there was the time that you raped Miranda. Remember that? She miscarried. Did you know?” Tessa rose to her feet and strode close enough to Weston that she could poke him in the chest with the two fingers holding her Virginia Slim. She seemed empowered and hell-bent for vengeance, no longer a scared little girl. “You were so brutal with her that she lost the baby. And I was so weak, so damned worthless, that I couldn’t even get up and help her. I should have killed you then, Weston, and saved the state the trouble when they find you guilty of Hunter Riley’s death.”
“I didn’t—”
“Then you know who did.” She let ash drop onto his carpet. “You’d better get yourself a damned good lawyer, Taggert, because you’re going to need it.”
“You have no proof of anything you’re saying,” he replied, cool on the outside while his guts turned to water. “And who would believe you? How many shrinks have you seen in the last fifteen years? Five? Ten? And wasn’t there some rumor about you having sex with one of your therapists? Christ, Tessa, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just another deluded psycho.”
She didn’t back down an inch. “And what about Jack Songbird? You know they found his knife by Hunter’s body.” She smiled strangely, her lush lips stretching under a sheen of red lipstick. Tapping her head as if she just came upon a thought, she asked, “Didn’t I see you with that knife—you remember, right after your car was vandalized?”
Weston was starting to sweat, but he was too used to this game to break down. “You are deluded, aren’t you?”
“You’re going down, Taggert, and it’s about time. I just wanted you to know that I can’t wait to testify, not only about the knife, but about everything else as well. I’ve got nothing to lose and you know what, it feels good.”
Weston laughed even though he felt like strangling her. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide. Why would I want to kill Riley or Songbird?”
“Good question, but you know,” she said, grinding out her cigarette in a brass tray on the table near the couch. “The cops are good at finding motives. Oh,” she stopped as if she’d just had another thought, though her timing was so impeccable he was certain this was all a show. “I suppose you know that your business is being investigated as well.”
His stomach knotted. “Investigated?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure which branch of the government is checking you out—the IRS or the state department of revenue or whatever, but you’d better hope your records are all in order.” Clutching her purse in one hand, she walked to the door. “I came by with the good news because I figured I owed you one for everything you’ve done to me and my family.” She blew him a kiss and reached for the doorknob. “See you in court.”
Then she was gone, breezing out of the room and leaving the scents of smoke and expensive perfume. She was bluffing; she had to be. Or did she hate him so much that she’d humiliate herself by testifying? Wasn’t there a statute of limitations on rape and assault or . . . had that changed? As for murder . . . Think, Taggert. Think. You’ve been in tighter spots than this; there’s got to be a way out of this!
He rounded the desk and sat in his chair. His heart was hammering and sweat stood out all over his body. He thought he might lose control of his bowels for a second, but the feeling passed as he realized he had an ace up his sleeve. All he needed to do was get rid of Tessa. And Sean as well. The kid was Harley’s son, a threat to the inheritance, and so he’d have to be taken care of. Weston had worked too long and hard and taken more than one life in his pursuit of more and more of the Taggert fortune. Only Paige was left to rival him for her share of the wealth, but he’d never been able to get rid of her. He needed her to take care of the old man, and there was something about Paige, an edge to her that he saw in the superior lift of her chin or the glint in her eye, that warned him she could be very dangerous. Though she’d never said as much, he was certain she knew everything vile he’d ever done, cataloged the act, and waited to use it against him.
He reached for the desk phone, thought better of it and found his cell in his briefcase. He snapped the phone open. With practiced fingers he dialed Denver Styles, reached an answering machine, and left a message for Styles to meet him later that evening.
Never in her life had Claire been to the little cabin across the lake. She’d known Kane had lived there, even roared by the place while boating, but she’d never stopped, and her relationship with Kane had been so short and fierce before he’d joined the army that there hadn’t been time. Besides, in those days, Kane was always looking for excuses to leave the house and his drunk of a father rather than stay in.
Now, as she drove to the parking area next to the house, she felt her heart pound. Kane’s Jeep was in the drive and she’d have to face him and tell him he was a father. No more lies. Her fingers were wet with sweat, and she found a thousand excuses to put the inevitable off, but she couldn’t. It was time.
She walked up the front steps as Kane opened the screen door. “Looking for me?” he asked, and he seemed more distant than he ever had. He didn’t hold her or kiss her or even offer her much of a smile, but he was still as handsome as ever, as virile, and a part of her wanted to throw her arms around his neck, kiss him and never let go.
“We need to talk.”
A gold eyebrow lifted in interest. “About?” he asked casually, but she noticed an undertone of something . . . condemnation? . . . in his voice.
“A lot of things.”
His mouth was a hard line, his eyes guarded as he held the door open for her and she ventured inside. The place was clean, aside from his work area that was strewn with papers, pens, files, and paper clips, as well as his computer. She felt him standing behind her, waiting, and she tried to find the words to make h
im understand. “There’s . . . something you need to know.” She was shaking inside. How long had she waited for this moment? Dreamed of it? Feared it? And now the words stuck in her throat. Sixteen years of lies. Sixteen. Until she sometimes doubted the truth.
“Turn around, Claire,” he said, touching her on the shoulders, gently rotating her so that she was forced to look into his eyes.
