Sin and the Millionaire (2 page)

“Good.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “That's smart.”

“You think Victoria was telling the truth?”

“I think she ended up dead. Maybe there was another motive… or not.”

“I can't believe Harris had anything to do with killing my wife,” he said. “We're friends.”

“Haven't you heard? Money does strange things to people. I saw them together last night. He didn't look happy with her. At the time, I assumed that, like you, he was being a good friend. Now…” She shrugged.

“I don't know what's worse. Thinking he's betrayed the company, or that he was sleeping with Victoria. And I hate that you were dragged into this. The police have no proof of this supposed affair. But maybe it's better if we keep communication between us to the phone or e-mail. Let's not give them more ammunition. I don't want you to be involved in all this bullshit.”

The sentiment was nice, but he was forgetting one thing. They were business partners and his getting arrested could bankrupt her. All her funds were tied up under his name. And no way was she living through that twice in her life. Like it or not, she was involved. “That's sweet, but
we
have to make sure the police find her killer. I've sunk everything I had into this online catering deal. Frozen party food delivered to your door was supposed to enhance my bank account, not empty it.”

“And it will. It's a great idea.”

“We're peddling great meals for the average hostess who doesn't have time to prepare for her parties. Martha Stewart in your house. This was your idea. How's it going to look if one half of this company is in jail for killing his wife? Martha lost more than her freedom when she went to jail. I don't have the money she had. Us being hauled in for questioning is bad enough. Imagine if the police tell the press they believe your motive for killing Victoria is wanting to hide an affair with me?”

“They won't. Not without proof and not if they don't want a lawsuit on their hands. Look, you must be exhausted. I'd invite you to use one of the rooms upstairs but…”

“Yeah, not a good idea.” On so many levels. “I'm going home to nap. You do the same, then maybe with a fresh mind you can figure out where she hid whatever evidence she claimed to have. Call me when you wake up. Maybe we can go to your office, see what we can find? It's Saturday, no one will be there, right?”

“It should be empty of staff. The police, that's a different story. Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“I'm already involved.” Thanks to Duncan, she was embarking on a new business adventure. Everything she worked her butt off for was sunk into this deal. She was tough. She knew she could start over, but why the hell should she have to?

Chapter Two

Duncan saw Lizzy out and watched as she got into her car. He truly was a dumbass, the reason she was mixed up in this huge mess. The police would never have questioned their relationship if he hadn't filed the flight plans with her name on the manifest. What the hell had he been thinking? He attracted women like Victoria, who wanted something from him, or who wanted to be seen at the right parties, publicized social events. They had no substance. Women like Lizzy—particularly Lizzy herself—never looked at him twice.

As a kid he'd been a nerd. Now he was just a nerd with money. His first windfall happened at twelve when he'd discovered his grandmother's hoard of newspapers from the day Elvis had died. He used the sixty thousand he'd made selling them to start his first online business, where he learned advertisers would fight for space. He'd bought and sold companies until his last idea was now worth too much for anyone to ever spend. He'd had fun, and while men respected his business sense, women still mostly saw him as the gangly, tongue-tied kid that he was. Which is why he fell for the first beautiful woman to show any real interest in him. But he'd grown a pair and cut her loose. Made a friend who had shown him what he was really looking for in a relationship. Respect, honesty, and the simple things in life.

Last night he was finally getting the nerve to invite Lizzy to his house in Lake Tahoe. The charity function had been held on Friday to accommodate the schedules of the invited wealthy guests. Valentine's Day was on Monday and he'd been hoping this year's would be special. He'd wanted them to spend time alone, swapping personal and intimate moments. His, of course, would be embarrassing, but maybe she'd finally open up about her past and how she'd ended up dancing for Maggie.

The house had plenty of rooms. She'd have had her own. But away from Vegas, away from a life where he was her client and now her partner, he could tell her that he'd fallen in love with her. And maybe, just maybe, she'd consider loving him back. He could tell her that until he'd fallen in love with her, he'd never known what real love was. Corny but true. He hadn't expected her to accept a marriage proposal. Even he wasn't that much of a dreamer. He simply wanted her to see him in a different light. Had it been too much to ask for?

When her car was out of sight, he shut the front door. Climbing the stairs to his bedroom, he wondered if he was doing right by Lizzy. Should they call the police and tell them what Victoria had said? Would he be giving them another motive for murder? He was the wronged party. Then again, he hadn't ended up dead in the pool. Mind too fuzzy to negotiate the right moral path, he opened his bedroom door and stared at his empty king size bed.

He and Victoria had been married for five years, three of them happily. Or so he thought. After her affair had made the tabloids, he'd hired a private investigator. Tacky, but he'd been so angry he'd had to know. Had she ever loved him? Was he that much of a fool? Turns out, he was. Needing a shower, he stripped, unceremoniously dumping his wrinkled evening clothes on the floor then entering his bathroom.

Looking around the ornate marble and glass room all he could see was Victoria's extravagant, over-the-top taste. He bought this damn house for her. And when this was over, he was going to sell it. Yanking on the shower door, he cranked the shower handle to cold, barely noticing the ice water when it hit his skin. He should feel sorry for his wife. No one deserved to die that way, but she'd ripped his heart out and reminded him he was just the dopey geek from Tweedsmuir, New England, he'd always been. He could hit the gym, wear the best clothes, stop stumbling over his words, act charming, look polished, but he was who he was and contact lenses didn't turn him into Superman.

He grabbed the shampoo and lathered, almost thankful when the suds stung his eyes. He deserved it. He'd been a complete idiot with Victoria and now he'd gone and fucked it up with Lizzy. What the hell had he been thinking? What kind of a moron puts a woman's name on a flight plan before actually asking her? Now, instead of being able to explain himself, it would look like he pegged her as easy. Dickhead. He knew Lizzy had been a stripper, knew she didn't like to talk about that part of her life. Of course she would think men would see her only one way. He didn't. But she
didn't
know that.

She'd been his first real, female friend. When Victoria's affairs crushed not only his heart, but the man-pride his pathetic ego had tricked him into believing he had, it had been Lizzy who helped him lick his wounds. He'd been determined to prove to the world he wasn't the chump Victoria had labeled him. He spent the two weeks that followed the separation getting drunk, being photographed with women whose breasts would have prevented the Titanic from sinking, and doing anything and everything that would have the press believe he was celebrating not mourning the end of his marriage. Then he found food packaged in his fridge with notes like
hangover must
and
eat me
. When it was obvious his self-loathing ass wasn't eating, she stayed and cooked. Never intrusive, never asking about the divorce, she had this way of subtly telling him Victoria was too dumb to know what she had before she lost it. In the beginning, he hadn't known what to think, but with every loving meal Lizzy cooked, she'd given him a reason to like himself. So he guessed it was true. The way to a man's heart was through his stomach, just as Victoria had pegged the way to a man's wallet—through his dick.

His skin starting to ice, he turned the spout to hot and allowed the soft jets to ease the knots in his neck. Lizzy had made him believe in himself because she believed in him.

She'd ask about his next charity function or another retreat for his office staff, making it look like she'd pencil them in on her calendar but really reminding him of the things he did for others. Whenever she delivered a cake for one of his household staff's birthday, she'd smile at him in a way that made him feel proud. But it wasn't her pointing out his generosity that did it. It was seeing the expression on her face, her judging him a human being worthy of respect. A man deserving to be loved for who he was inside. Maybe she felt that way because she'd been a stripper, because people had seen her in a less-than-flattering light. Whatever the reasons, they became friends at a time when he desperately needed a friend. And he was glad. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel off the rack to dry off.

He didn't know exactly when he'd fallen in love with her, simply that he'd started to notice the odd way she chose to wash and dry the dishes instead of putting them in the dishwasher. He'd find himself humming the Broadway show tunes she softly sang to herself when she thought no one was listening. He'd close his eyes and remember the way she smiled at his guests, her staff, him. And then came the dreams. At first he'd thought he just needed to get laid, but the idea of sleeping with anyone else didn't do it for him. He wanted Lizzy, wanted her red hair fanned over his pillow, her creamy white legs around his waist, his name on her perfect lips. Damn, he needed another cold shower.

Returning to his bedroom, he looked at the crumbled tuxedo. His housekeeper, Elsa, never said much, but he'd learned enough Dutch to know when she was cursing him out. He gathered it up off the floor, then hung it in the area she insisted was for outgoing dry cleaning. Maggie, an old friend from elementary school, had recommended Elsa, and as she hadn't been wrong about Lizzy, he'd hired the new immigrant on the spot, even though he had to admit the statuesque beauty belonged more on the cover of a fashion magazine than sweeping his house and washing his windows.

He set his alarm and climbed into bed. He'd tossed out every sheet, every bedcover, and bought new ones, but not until Lizzy's sweet face filled his nights had he been able to sleep soundly in the bed he'd once shared with a women who clearly never loved him. Tonight he prayed he hadn't screwed himself over. He didn't kill Victoria. Money didn't buy happiness, but it bought the best lawyers in the country. He was confident no charges would be laid. What he wasn't confident about was the damage Victoria's murder would do to Lizzy. He hadn't admitted it to her, didn't want to upset her any more than she had been, but she was right. If it got out that the police had him on their suspect list, it could ruin their new business venture, one he'd convinced Lizzy was a great idea. Yes, he wanted her by his side, but more than that, he'd wanted her to have more from life.

He'd have been taking a chance last night, asking her to fly to Tahoe with him. He hadn't wanted her to think he'd given her the money for anything other than seeing her succeed. But nor could he gone on not having her in his life for another second. He loved her, loved the way she never kissed his ass. Loved her determination, her willingness to work hard. He loved her honesty, the way she told him he looked like shit, then offered to cook him a meal. And he had to have her in his life. He
would
have her.

 

Four hours later, Duncan slapped his alarm off and kicked his feet off the bed. His cellphone flashed, indicating he had a message waiting, a text from Lizzy. “No sign of Jerry yet. Meet you at your office?”

He replied, “Thirty minutes?” then took his phone with him, padding naked across his bedroom floor to his walk-in closest. He was jamming his legs into a pair of jeans when she responded with a “See you there, Clark” and a happy face. He didn't watch much television but assumed “Clark” was some geek from a show she watched. As Terrence, his butler, could attest, she had a strange, if quirky, sense of humor. Yet another thing he loved about her. He snagged a button-down shirt off a hanger and headed to the garage.

He wasn't sure if he'd find something but as much as he hated doing it, he had no choice but to search everyone's office. Stopping dead in his tracks he groaned, slapping himself on the forehead. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it earlier? He changed his text to Lizzy. “Come back here. I have a better idea.” She replied with question marks. “Trust me,” he typed and was pleased with himself when she sent an “On my way.”

She trusted him. He'd known that of course. She'd given him her entire savings. Obviously she'd known he wouldn't run off with her money but having her believe he could—they could—turn her initial investment into major profits really did make him feel like Superman. He shook his head, considering what she'd called him in her text. Had she meant Clark Kent? If she had, he'd take it as a compliment.

Satisfied with himself, he went to his office and took out his black book from inside his desk. Still exactly where he'd written it was the password to Victoria's e-mail. The woman had admitted to having the same password since high school. For some reason she'd thought Jabberwocky was cute and couldn't give it up. If luck was on his side, she hadn't bothered to change it after their split.

He opened his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as his doorbell rang. He considered ignoring it, but if the police had returned, he didn't want them saying he wasn't cooperating. He reached the door when the bell rang a second time.

He saw Lizzy on the other side, wearing jeans and a simple white tank with a short bomber jean jacket, instead of the chef jacket she managed to make look so sexy.

“That was fast.”

“Nah, I was a few blocks over at Maggie's. Too tired to go all the way home. She says hi by the way.” She pushed past him. “So what do you got?”

“Come,” he said, unable to stop from sounding excited.

Her eyebrows shot up as she followed him to his office. “What's got you all giddy?”

“I can be a little slow sometimes, but never let it be said I'm not smart.”

“Says the guy who lives in a multi-million dollar mansion.”

“This house was Victoria's idea.” He grabbed an extra chair and placed it beside his behind the desk so they could both see the computer screen. “It's pretentious and in your face. I prefer the house in Tahoe. It's why she and I never went together. She claimed it made her feel like camping.” Damn, how he not seen what a snot she was?

“I've catered there. If that house is camping, my condo's a bus station.”

“I'm sure your condo is very nice. Victoria was a spoiled brat and I, unfortunately, only added to her sense of superiority.”

“Don't blame yourself,” she said, sitting. “She would have made Barbie jealous. Hard to see past all that perfection.”

Duncan sat too. “She wasn't real. No one is perfect and those who think they are need a reality check.
I
needed a reality check,” he said with a vehemence that shocked even him.

“Wow, and here I thought you were over her.”

“Of course I'm over her.” Why would she think otherwise?

“People tend to let go of their anger when they're over something.” She swiped the touchpad on his computer and an image of a pristine lake with the perfect mountain setting popped up, the view from his Lake Tahoe home.

He sighed, considering how to respond to that. He was still angry, very angry, but not at Victoria. “I'm mad at myself,” he finally said, embarrassed and yes, ashamed to admit it.

“At yourself? Why?”

How the hell did you admit to marrying someone because you were too naïve to see past the bullshit they fed you? That you weren't man enough, didn't have experience, enough to know women like Victoria only cared about what you could give them? Afraid Lizzy would see him as a pathetic loser, he said only, “I married her.”

She seemed to buy his excuse and dropped the subject. “So, what are we doing here?” She indicated the screen with her thumb.