Crash Into Me (40 page)

Seeing
it, Carly’s pretty face crumpled.

Nathan
put his arm around her protectively, meeting Ben’s gaze over the top of her
head and letting him know he could handle a few tears. With obvious reluctance,
Ben did his duty by showing Sonny around the room, his face pensive and his
mouth hard.

Like
most men, overt displays of emotion were not his style, but intuition told her
how difficult the situation was for him. His concern for Carly was marked, and
he must have felt guilty about what had passed between him and Lisette. The
girl had fled the safety of his house—and the warmth of his bed, to put a finer
point on it—right into the hands of a killer. Having Lisette’s mother pant
after him at her own daughter’s wake was incredibly awkward.

Underneath
all that, at a time like this, he must be missing Olivia desperately.

“Let’s
go outside,” he said, so Sonny knew the ambience was getting to him. When she
nodded, he took her by the hand and they strolled like lovers through the
gardens flanking the side of the house, pausing on the west-facing lawn to take
in the ocean air.

On a
clear day, you could see all the way to Catalina Island from Mount Soledad. It
was a crystal clear day.

He
rubbed his thumb over her knuckles before he released her hand, making her
tingle with unexpected pleasure. “You know who you look like, with your hair
that color?”

She
touched the black velvet band on the top of her head, feeling self-conscious.
“Winona Ryder?” she asked hopefully.

He
laughed. “No. James.”

Sonny
felt the blood drain from her face.

“You’re
much prettier than he is, of course,” he said, backpedaling. “Not that he isn’t
handsome. Carly seems to think so anyway.”

She
found his discomfort oddly amusing. It must have felt weird for him to compare
a woman he’d been intimate with to a skinny teenaged boy. “I guess we
should
look alike. He’s my brother.”

Now
she’d shocked him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,”
she said, fumbling around in her handbag. “You remember how I told you I didn’t
know who my real father was?”

He
nodded.

“Now
I know.” Finding her sunglasses, she covered her eyes. “Surprise.”

“Are
you sure?”

“Unfortunately,
yes. I showed a picture of him to my mother.”

He
studied her carefully, his face showing a hint of distrust.

She
deserved it, but that didn’t make his suspicion any easier to bear. “Not
everything I told you was a lie,” she whispered.

He
cupped her chin in the palm of his hand, forcing her to look at him. “What did
you tell the truth about?”

She
bit down on her lower lip, feeling the hot press of tears behind her eyes. “All
the important stuff.”

As
if she hadn’t just bared her soul to him, he stared back at her in silence, his
gaze cool, assessing, unresponsive. She disentangled herself from his grasp and
turned to leave, clutching her handbag beneath one arm like a lifeline, needing
to put some distance between them before she broke down completely.

“Don’t,”
he said softly, reaching out to grasp her wrist. “It doesn’t have to be this
way.”

“What
way?”

He
lifted her sunglasses, exposing her emotionally. She knew love was brimming in
her eyes, and coursing down her cheeks, but she couldn’t look away. “Apart,” he
said, brushing his thumb over the tears on her face.

Held
captive by his touch, paralyzed by the intensity of her longing, she stayed
motionless while he pressed his lips to hers. In contrast to their sincere
conversation, his kiss felt contrived, technically proficient but devoid of all
feeling.

She
blinked up at him in confusion when he lifted his head. He wasn’t drowning in
her sweetness, lost in her eyes. He wasn’t even looking at her.

Following
Ben’s gaze, she saw Tom Bruebaker standing at a polite distance, staring out at
the sea. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with having interrupted their private
moment, because he turned and left without saying a word.

Sonny
backed up a step, feeling betrayed. Ben hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to.
He’d done it for Tom’s benefit. “What was that all about?” she asked, glancing
at Tom’s retreating form.

Ben
shoved his hands into his pockets. “You want everyone to think we’re dating.”

“That
was more proprietary than affectionate,” she pointed out.

“I
guess I’m not as clever with deception as you are.”

She wiped
the tears from her cheeks, embarrassed that she’d been so caught up in him,
while he was just playing a part. “Does he hate you because you slept with
Sheila?”

His
eyes cut back to her. “You must be joking,” he said flatly.

“I
never joke.”

His
gaze cruised over her face, as if he could solve the mystery of her existence
by analyzing its components. “I don’t know why he hates me. Maybe because his
wife makes a fool of herself, trying to get his attention.”

“I
could have sworn she was trying to get
your
attention.”

He
shrugged, as if the difference were negligible.

Sonny
examined his insouciant expression. He was hiding something from her, and she
was going to find out what. “That lame kiss you just gave me was like an
ownership stamp. Why do want Tom to know I’m yours?”

His
mouth tensed, causing the tiny, crescent-shaped scar above it to stand out in
harsh relief. “He slept with Olivia.”

Her
jaw dropped open. “No,” she breathed. “Why?”

“I
told you why. I was a selfish bastard. She did it to hurt me.”

Sonny
felt a pang inside her own chest, aching for him, and for herself. It was so
painful to hear him talk about his wife. “Why did she pick him?”

“Probably
because of Sheila,” he admitted. “Tom and I went in together on several
business ventures, so we’d all known one another a long time. Olivia didn’t
like her.”

She
nodded. Tom Bruebaker owned a hugely successful corporation that manufactured
everything from sunglasses to sportswear. Ben had been part of a very lucrative
marketing campaign in the early stages of his career.

“Why
didn’t you tell the police about her affair?” she asked, her mind reeling.

“It
wasn’t an affair, it was one isolated incident,” he said through clenched
teeth. “And it was none of their goddamned business.”

“They
would have questioned him in connection with Olivia’s death, Ben,” she said,
struggling to keep her voice low. “You impeded the investigation.”

“He
was out of the country at the time,” he replied, “so he couldn’t have done it.
Besides, he’s hardly the forceful type, despite being a financial heavyweight.
He lets Sheila walk all over him. I still can’t believe he had the balls to
fuck my wife.”

“Did
you argue with him about it?”

“No.
Olivia cried and begged and—” He broke off, shoving a hand through his dark
hair. “Goddamn it! I put this behind me years ago. I don’t want to talk about
it anymore.”

“Okay,”
she said, taking a calming breath. Tom Bruebaker had been thoroughly
investigated by local police and wasn’t considered a suspect in Lisette’s
murder. Sonny couldn’t imagine Sheila putting the cord around her own
daughter’s neck, either. Sheila seemed obsessed with Ben, though, and that
raised red flags.

Sonny
had been looking for a suspect with connections to Lisette and Olivia. Both of
the Bruebakers fit the bill.

“I’m
going to poke around inside the house,” she decided. “You can be my lookout.”

Sheila and Tom Bruebaker shared a bedroom
suite that was at least twice the size of Sonny’s current living space at
Neptune Apartments.

After
observing the estranged couple for several hours, she was surprised they didn’t
keep separate bedrooms. Or live in separate houses, for that matter. The
perfectly coiffed pair had hardly spoken two words to each other the entire
afternoon.

While
Ben stood sentry at the top of the stairs, Sonny thumbed through boxes of
photos and keepsakes, looked into linen closets and peeked behind furniture,
pushed aside hanging fur coats and reached into satin-lined pockets.

She
found a lot of loose pharmaceuticals and stray tubes of lipstick, confirming
what she’d already suspected, that Sheila was fond of pills and flashy colors.
Her closet was overflowing with designer dresses and shopping bags.

Something
was missing, but Sonny couldn’t think what. Sheila appeared to own everything a
material girl could dream of.

Moving
on, because she knew she had only a few moments, she rifled through Tom
Bruebaker’s belongings, which were meager in comparison to his wife’s. He was
neat and orderly, like Ben, and she didn’t expect to find anything of note in
his dresser drawers. Men tended to tuck away their secrets in the study or at
the office, preferring a more personal space than a shared bedroom.

On a
hunch, she continued down the hall, taking a quick glance at Ben’s back before
she ducked into the next room. In this gorgeously decorated guest suite, she
located Sheila Bruebaker’s holy grail: the shoe closet.

Her
eyes widened with appreciation. Sonny wasn’t a fashionista by any means, but
what woman’s heart didn’t beat a little faster when presented with such a
glittering array of footwear? There must be a thousand pairs, all the
outrageously expensive kind, made by designers whose names Sonny probably
couldn’t even pronounce.

Before
she had a chance to process the sheer magnificence of the collection, Ben
rushed into the room and pushed her inside the closet. “They’re coming,” he
said in a low voice, tightening his arm around her waist as he pulled the door
shut behind them.

The
closet went pitch black.

“Why
didn’t you stall them?” she whispered back.

“I
panicked,” he admitted.

Sonny
stifled a groan. Most of the guests had departed, including Carly and Nathan,
so the Bruebakers would be very surprised to find a few stragglers hanging out
in an upstairs closet. Ben was supposed to act as though he’d been looking for
Carly.

From
beyond the closet door, she heard a muffled voice. “What are you doing in
here?” It was Tom Bruebaker.

Behind
hers, Ben’s body stilled. Sonny held her breath.

“I
thought I saw someone…” This from Sheila.

“You
liar,” he growled, his voice dripping with menace and increasing in volume.
Sheila made a small cry of distress. “Who were you meeting?”

The
closet door was the old-fashioned kind with a keyhole. A tiny sliver of
daylight poured in. Ben’s body was taut, like a tiger ready to pounce, so she
clutched his arm in warning and whispered, “Wait.”

Bending
her head, she peered through the keyhole.

Tom
Bruebaker was holding his wife down on the guest bed, his hand partially
covering her mouth. “Are you issuing invitations for sex at your own daughter’s
funeral?” he asked. “Is that how low you’ve sunk?”

Sheila
bit down on the fleshy pad of his thumb.

Wincing,
he jerked back his hand, drawing his arm up as if to slap her. Sheila glared up
at him, her eyes glowing with spite, daring him to follow through.

He
didn’t.

Sonny
let out a slow breath and placed her hand on Ben’s knee, signaling for him to
stay calm. She was aware of his body pressed intimately against hers, his groin
against her bottom. The position was made all the more provocative with her
bent so far forward.

He
tried to back up a step and give her some room, but the closet was so littered
with boxes and loose shoes that he almost stumbled. Tightening his hands on her
hips, he steadied himself instead of sending them both crashing to the floor.

She
had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
Because there was nothing funny about Tom and Sheila’s dysfunctional
relationship, she remained quiet, sinking into a kneeling position in front of
the keyhole.

Ben
was still too close for comfort, and if she turned her head, her mouth would be
level with the fly of his pants, but that couldn’t be helped.

“I
saw his number on your cell phone,” Tom continued, breathing hard. “There were
three missed calls the night Lisette disappeared. Is that why she’s gone,
Sheila? You were out boinking Ben Fortune while our daughter was being
murdered?”

Sheila
stared up at him in bleary-eyed confusion. “I didn’t know he called me.”

Tom
let out a harsh laugh. “Are you so wasted you can’t even remember who you’ve
been screwing?”

She
pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “We haven’t been screwing, you idiot.
Ben hasn’t so much as looked at another woman since Olivia.”