Sin and the Millionaire (7 page)

That surprised him. “Am I that good thing?” And didn't Lizzy realize she had it too, if only she'd take it?

“Nope.” She resumed her search, unaware she'd just crushed his heart. “Not falling for that one,” she muttered under her breath, reigniting his hope.

“Lizzy,” he said, his tone sharp. He waited for her to acknowledge him, which took a few seconds.

“Yes?”

“Am I that good thing?” he repeated, needing her to admit it, even if she wouldn't meet his gaze.

“I hated how she treated you,” she finally said. “Like she was some kind of princess and you were her bloody pink poodle.” She glanced up then, staring him straight in the eyes. “And I hated how you didn't see it.”

Was that what she thought? “Because I let her get away with stuff doesn't mean I didn't see it.”

“Then why would you let her treat you like a lapdog?”

He shrugged, encouraged by the flare of temper. She wouldn't be getting so mad if she didn't care for him. “I learned early in life to avoid confrontation. It made living easier, first at home then at school. And it wasn't like she didn't treat everyone with condescension. Plus, I assumed she loved me. And that I loved her.”

“Are you saying you didn't? You were married five years.”

“I didn't understand what loving someone meant. At least not the right way.” He set the bottles of water on the desk. “My father was an academic. He married very late in life, and my mother was one of his students.”

“High school?” she asked, making a face. “That's gross.”

“No, college. He wasn't that amoral. But there was a thirty-five-year age difference. I'm fairly certain I was… unplanned. She left when I was five. Her own father, my grandfather, had died when she was a little girl, and she told me later that one father had been enough. She was killed in car crash when I was nine.” He hadn't seen much of her, but he missed the times he had. She was the fun his father wouldn't allow him to have.

“I'm sorry. So it was just you and your dad?”

He nodded. “Until I was ten. Then he retired and remarried.”

“Another student?” she asked warily.

“No. My grandmother.”

Lizzy's jaw dropped. As would anyone's.

“My mother's mother,” he explained. “She had the Elvis newspapers I told you about. They got together after my mom died. Nanna, slash stepmom, loved to take care of people. It was very claustrophobic.”

“So he goes from being the father, to being mothered? That's…”

“Very Jerry Springer, I know.” He pulled up a chair beside Lizzy and held her hands in his. They were strong, confident. He loved her hands.

“I married Victoria because I thought she checked all the boxes. She was beautiful. She needed me and made me feel like a man. At least, so I thought. I learned the hard way that without respect, you have nothing.”

Lizzy looked down at their joined hands but made no attempt to move hers. “You married a bitch.”

He gave self-deprecating laugh. “I know. But she didn't deserve to die that way.”

“No,” Lizzy agreed. “But, if it turns out she was in on the embezzling, I think jail time would have killed her.”

“You're probably right.” His wife might very well have gone insane doing time.

“Let's finish this.” She pulled away, leaving his hands empty and cold.

Sooner or later, they would end this conversation and one way or another he'd have Lizzy. His IQ had garnered him billions; surely it'd get him the woman he knew in his heart of hearts he was meant to be with. Lizzy wasn't Victoria. Her ego didn't require stroking and she could stand on her own two feet.
He
was the needy one. He hadn't known what love was until the day he realized he'd fallen in love with her. And now that he did, she'd become as vital to his life as breathing itself.

She popped in another flash drive.

“You know each one of those is dated for last access. I think, like her e-mail, we should check the latest ones first.”

“Good idea,” she said. “This one is from three years ago.” She pulled it out and slid in another, going through five more before get lucky with one dated the morning of the Valentine's Day party. “Yes,” she hissed, her excitement contagious. She turned her grin on him.

For a split second, he forgot what they'd been doing, hit by a need so strong it must have shown on in his face. Her smile fell, the pupils of her eyes dilating. He wanted to kiss her, was going to kiss her. He leaned in….

The damn phone rang.

He drew away. Lizzy sat back in his chair. She
sat
back in her chair? Having leaned in to kiss him?
Hell yeah
, he thought, giving himself a mental high-five. He was going to kill whomever was at the end of the phone line.

“Hello,” he ground out.

“Mr. Moore, sorry for the late call. But I have a question for you.”

“Yes, lieutenant. What is it?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze off Lizzy's mouth.

“We talked to Beth Ferguson earlier tonight. She admitted to catching your wife going through her desk last week. Mrs. Moore claimed she was looking for a tissue and as they'd once been friends, she didn't think Mrs. Ferguson would mind. Their confrontation wasn't pleasant and she was embarrassed to tell you. She thinks it may have been just after you'd given her a new passcode and she'd written it down. I suggest you call her. She's very upset with herself.”

“I'll do that, thank you. But what caused you to call her?”

“Because her passcode accessed your computer on Friday. Is that normal?”

“No, she can do that from her own. We share a profile for things I need her to deal with. But lieutenant, she wasn't in on Friday. She'd asked for the day off to get ready for the party.”

“That's what she told us. Your HR hadn't logged hours for her so we found it odd that her codes were on your computer. Do you mind if I send someone over there to dust for prints? Or do I need a search warrant?”

“You have my full cooperation. Security will let you in. I'll call ahead. Also, there are cameras outside the building. Ask him to show you those too.”

“Thank you. That would be appreciated.”

“Anything I can do to help. Like I said, I didn't kill my wife. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, your wife didn't have an offshore account. We searched her bank records here and didn't find anything. If she was in on it with Harris, he hadn't yet paid her. We have him in for questioning as we speak. I'll let you know what we find. Once again, sorry for the late night intrusion.”

“Not all. Call anytime you need me.” What a difference from the night before when they'd hauled him and Lizzy in for questioning. Could it be they believed someone else had killed his wife? For Lizzy's sake, he hoped so.

He hung up and relayed to Lizzy what had been said. “Well,” she said, sticking her hand inside her pocket and pulling out the diamond stud she'd sat on under his desk. “Do you think this was hers?”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

Lizzy set the diamond onto the desk. “We should give it to the police.”

“What's on that flash drive?” She'd trolled through the data while he'd been on the phone with Cooper.

Lizzy yawned. “Nada. Same bullshit. More pictures. Looks like Fiji this time. From New Year's no less.”

“New Year's? Are you sure?”

“Pictures are dated. Why?”

“As a bonus I sent several of the office staff to Fiji for New Year's, including Harris.”

“Guess they went together. She loaded these pics the day of the party. Given what the police said, I think this
is
what she wanted to show you, their affair. Maybe she didn't know what Harris was doing? What do you think she wanted on your computer? And why not try and access it from here?”

“If she had Beth's password, she'd have to use the computer at the office.”

“We didn't think to check your computer.”

He hadn't thought they'd had to. “Let's do it.” Using his laptop he accessed his office computer, then the profile he shared with Beth while Lizzy went through the photos from Fiji. He opened his document folder but nothing new had been added or looked out of place.

“Anything with those pictures?”

“Not really. Looks like vacation shots and many, many selfies. Oh wait. Yup and gross.”

“What?” he asked, the screen going black.

“Nope, no need for you to see.”

“Lizzy, we were getting divorced. I don't care who she was screwing.” And he didn't. That part of his life was over.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her question sounding more like she needed to know for herself, than trying to protect him.

“I don't care if she was screwing the whole world.” There was only one woman he cared about.

“I wouldn't put it past her,” she said, turning the screen back on. “We should probably send these to Cooper.”

“True,” he said, after seeing a picture of Victoria in bed with Harris. “If the e-mails weren't proof enough, this is.”

Lizzy took another look. “Yeah, but it begs the question: Who took the shot?”

Chapter Seven

Who
had
taken the shot? Equally curious and revolted, she decided she didn't want to know. She pulled out the card Cooper had given her earlier and emailed him the file, deliberately leaving out the part of how they'd come across the pictures. “Well, this has been a blast.” And considering the gravity of their investigation, it had been fun in a train wreck kind of way. “I think it's time I went home.” She looked at the clock on the computer. “I've had two hours of sleep since yesterday morning. I could sleep standing.” She pushed her chair back and stood.

“Do you think it's safe to drive?”

“I've driven on less,” she said, and she had.

“Still, I wouldn't want to be responsible for you getting into an accident. Stay here.”

Her stunned expression must have given her thoughts away.

“No, seriously. Pick a room and crash,” he said, a little too earnestly for him not to have seen the insanity of her spending the night.

If he was going to play ignorant, so would she. “No, thanks. You know, I'll just go knock on Maggie's door. She has a guest house.” She'd begun to walk away when Duncan grabbed her arm.

“It's late. You'll wake her,” he reasoned.

“It's Vegas. She owns a club and is used to late hours.” Plus, she'd given Lizzy a key.

“Lizzy.”

“Duncan.”

“What? Are you afraid?” he asked, daring her to disagree.

“Of what? Not being able to keep my hands off you?” She laughed, and frigging yes she was, but she sure as hell wasn't going to admit to it. This thing between them might not be good for her, but neither was having a chocolate cake all to herself. And she'd done that—once…twice. Three times at most.

“Look, we're friends, right? Friends don't let friends drive tired.”

“Drunk. It's drunk, not tired. And I haven't had anything to drink in over a week. I'd say I'm sober.” She removed his hand off her arm, curious to hear what he'd come up with next.

“Would you like one?”

“What, a drink?” As tired as she was, it took everything she had not to laugh at the absurdity of their conversation. “I'm driving,” she said, knowing she was walking.

“Then it's settled. I'll get the wine, you pick out a room.”

“Nice try. And now I'm leaving.” She managed to make it to the front door before he stopped her.

“You can't drive tired.”

“I won't,” she assured him. “I'm heading over to Maggie's. My car is there anyways.”

“Lizzy—”

“Duncan. I'm not spending the night. For starters, you're still a suspect and second, it's not good for either of us.” She grabbed her jacket off the settee she'd tossed it on.

“Everything that happened between us aside—”

“Please don't. I'm too tired to argue. I can't spend the night. It's not a good idea. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

He opened his mouth and she knew it was to argue. “Duncan, say goodnight,” she said, leaving no room for discussion.

She heard a disgruntled
goodnight
just as she closed the door. She'd made the right decision, and the walk to Maggie's in the cool spring air would do her good. Staying with Duncan would do her bad. They needed time apart. With planning for the party, the party itself, and then Victoria's unfortunate demise and aftermath, she'd seen Duncan nearly every day for the last month. He'd grown increasing anal when it came to his functions that she'd had to start carrying her cell phone, something she didn't like doing. Cell phones were not a good idea in a busy kitchen.

In the last year, she'd catered so many of his dinners, lunches, and staff parties that she'd had to hire more staff. When she'd suggest using the crew she'd trained to handle smaller contracts, he'd insisted she do it herself. Then instead of mingling with his guests, he'd be glued to her hip. She'd begun to think Victoria had screwed him over so badly that he didn't trust anyone, including her, of all people. Complaining about the money he'd thrown her way was stupid, but she'd had to turn down other clients to keep up with Duncan's contracts. If he ever decided to become a hermit, she'd have some serious ass-kissing to do. Their new company didn't launch until July. As busy as it was going to keep her, she still had to earn a living from now until then.

Picking up her pace, she crossed her arms for warmth. Damn, Vegas nights could be cold. She'd reached Maggie's gates and was about to punch in the code to get inside when a small prickling in the back of her mind made her stop. A sick feeling in her stomach, either from exhaustion or the realization that she perhaps was one big fat dummy, made her turn around. The prickling grew and grew until she found herself banging on Duncan's front door, and she kept banging until he answered.

“Lizzy? Are you all right?”

She shoved her way past him.

“Did you change your mind?” he asked, the hope in his question only adding fuel to her fire.

“You prick,” she shouted. Thank goodness the staff had the weekend off. Hearing about another dead body might seriously traumatize them.

Duncan took a step back. Good thing too, because she was ready to smack him.

“What did I do?” As if he didn't know.

“You screwed me over, that's what you did.”

“Wait, what? Is this about this afternoon?”

“No.” Then she thought about it. “Yes. And no,” she repeated. “This last year. All these parties. I thought you were trying to get over Victoria. Poor Duncan, too
stupid
to see his wife was a colossal bitch.”

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” She wasn't going to feel sorry for him. “All the dumbass lunch meetings in your office, staff mingles, I figured you were being a great boss.”

“I—I was. I mean, I was trying to be.”

“Liar,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Were you deliberately sabotaging my business? Shrinking my client list to one—you?”

“No,” he said, attempting to sound incredulous. The jerk. “Why would I do that?”

“Who the hell knows what's in that rocket science of a brain of yours?” She jabbed him again. “Maybe you wanted me in your back pocket for this catering idea of yours. How could I not see it?” she asked herself, circling the grand foyer or risk punching him.

“Lizzy,” he pleaded.

“Don't Lizzy me, with that”—she flicked her wrist—“pathetic, cute puppy dog thing you've got going on. If something happened to you, I'd be screwed.”

“I know, but the police aren't going to charge me—”

“Police? That's the least of it. Do you have any idea how many contracts I've had to turn down to become your
personal
caterer?” She did another circle of the foyer, grateful she'd worn sneakers. Heels clicking on the marble would have driven her insane. She yanked her ponytail out. “You had me deliver you lunch,” she screeched. “And I did it. I am
not
a delivery service.” She poked him again, then watched as he rubbed his chest, making her poke him again.

She took a deep breath. She was not a violent person. And yet she wanted to strangle him… and herself. She'd become his lackey. She'd felt so bad about Victoria, she'd gone out of her way—out of her business common sense mind—to make him feel better. And all the while he'd been giving her bogus catering jobs. Why? Had he needed an experienced caterer for his new business idea? Had he wanted her name? People knew her in Vegas but nowhere else. It was time she found the truth. And he was going to tell her if it was the last thing
he
did.

“Explain to me the one thousand, and one”—she raised an index finger—“catering jobs you asked of me this last year. And if you”—she forced her jaw to unclench—“think to bullshit me I'll…I'll…I'll show you Zanadoo.”

“Maybe we need to sit down,” he suggested, looking rightfully scared.

She crossed her arms and scowled. She might only be five two, but a dumpy strip club had taught her how to defend herself.

“I don't see what you're so mad about. I paid you.”

True, he paid her well. In fact, too well. “Duncan, what the hell is going on here? You're filthy rich. You don't need me to make more money. So all this work, all this extra cash I made, it couldn't have been so I'd have the capital to invest with you.”

He was rich and he didn't need her. So why? He'd admitted to having her bring him dinner because he was lonely. Was it as simple as that? He wanted a friend? Her temper deflated a little as confusion seeped in.

He inhaled deeply as if resigned to the inevitable. What was he afraid to tell her?

“I, uh, I had you cater for me so I…I could spend time with you.”

And just like that, her anger disappeared and her heart broke. She wanted to cry for him. He only wanted a friend. Her arms fell to her sides as she brushed off the realization that deep down inside, she'd been hoping for more. “You could have just invited me to a baseball game.” It would have been cheaper.

“You like baseball?”

“No, but isn't that what friends do? They go to baseball games together.”

“Lizzy, I don't want to go to baseball games with you.” He took a tentative step toward her.

“No?” He was regarding her with such intensity, her stomach fluttered.

“No,” he said and drew closer.

“Football?” Even this late in their long day, his cologne made her think of cool breezes and sunset escapes to a beach.

“I'm not a fan of football.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand behind her neck.

“Basketball?” she suggested, her voice squeaking.

“Lizzy.” He said her name softly, reverently. “I don't want to be—just—your—friend.” He flattened his mouth over hers and everything around them disappeared.

The floor beneath them suddenly vanished as they were carried into a world only they knew existed. This was a place for them and them alone, a place so void of external baggage it heightened her senses to him. She tasted only his lips, inhaled only his scent. That was his breath on her neck. Those were his hands on her body, hers on his. She didn't have to open her eyes to know it would be him she'd see, his beautiful face.

Duncan was the one to break the kiss, to rupture the spell and bring her back to reality. She should not be reveling in his kisses. She forced herself to look at him. Hoping to see the man she was in business with, instead she simply saw the man. Her treacherous heart saw only the man. This was not good. Had she seen Kyle for what he'd been, the slimy two-faced bastard that he was, she'd never have been made to pay for his mistakes. She pushed away from Duncan, crossed her arms again and forced space between them.

“You're mad again. Why are you mad again?” That was Duncan. A little confused, and always patient.

She was mad at herself. Had she always known he had a crush on her? “I keep letting this happen. It's not fair to you.”

He smiled softly and taking her by the hand, led them out of the foyer and into the kitchen. She kept silent. What was he up to?

“This is my favorite room in the house,” he said. “Want to know why?”

“Because Victoria never stepped foot in here.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “True, but she never did laundry and the laundry room doesn't do it for me. This is my favorite room because I fell in love with you in this kitchen. I love you, Lizzy.”

She should be surprised by his proclamation, shocked even, not to mention totally freaked out. She wasn't. Instead, her heart began to pound and not in a bad way.

“Lizzy?”

“Yes.” Why wasn't she freaked out?

“I just told you I love you.”

“I heard.”
Thump, thump, thump
.

He released her hands and leaned back on the granite countertop. “Aren't you going to tell me we're business partners and we can't have anything more?”

She could… should tell him that. Why wasn't she
freaked out
? “You want me to?”

“No, but it's what I was expecting.”

That made sense. So why wasn't she? She looked around the kitchen she'd spent so much of her time in. She'd cooked for him, remembered how happy it made her to see him eat her food, to know he enjoyed it. At functions, from the corner of her eye, she'd watched him pop one of her canapés, revel in his satisfied grin, then have to look away when he licked his lips and wished it was her he was tasting. Was that it then? Was she responding like a horny schoolgirl?

Duncan was a good-looking guy. Smart too. Rich. He was nice, honest, trustworthy… loyal, everything a woman could ask for, and then some. Kyle was a punk masquerading as a man. Two very different people. She herself was different now. She'd grown, could stand on her on two feet.

A slow smile began at the corner of Duncan's mouth. When it reached his eyes, she resisted the urge to curl herself around him. “You,” he said, like the proverbial cat who'd swallowed the canary, “love me too.”

Again, she said nothing. She should be arguing with the man. Instead, she stood back and took a hard look at him. They had become more than friends over the last year. She'd simply refused to see it. Better to keep distance between them, better for her because their worlds weren't meant to collide. They were opposites on so many levels. “Do I love you?” she said, then slapped a hand over her mouth, not having meant to ask that out loud.