Sugar Free (12 page)

He doesn't answer me because there's nothing to justify such a cowardly act.

“Well thanks a lot, Dad,” I say with derision. “Your failing to clue me in on these little tidbits is making me look every bit a murderer right now.”

“What?” my dad gasps.

“I was called in for questioning by the police. They seemed to take a lot of pleasure in beating me up about your illegitimate son and the fact he's entitled to half your estate. Seemed to think that gave me plenty of motive for murder.”

“But you wouldn't,” my father says in outrage on my behalf.

“Yeah, why don't you call the detectives and tell them that,” I say snidely. “I'm sure that will ease their minds. Make them forget all about me and trying to pin this shit on me.”

“I'll call the district attorney right now,” my father says. “He's a member of our club and I know him well.”

“For fuck's sake, Dad,” I curse at him. “I don't want or need your help. And besides…it's only about twenty-eight years too late for you to start acting like a dad.”

“Beck, please,” he begs me for understanding.

“Why didn't you at least call me and tell me the cops came to talk to you about JT and your will? You could have given me a heads-up.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “They didn't talk to me. I swear it. If they knew about the will, it was from Candace. She knows I left half to JT.”

“So your mistress was in on your grand estate plans, but I'm betting Mother knows nothing of it, right?” The condescension is thick on my tongue.

My dad deflates. “I'm going to tell her…at some point. I'm just not sure how.”

“Here's a clue, Dad,” I mock him. “She already knows. Trust me on that.”

My dad's jaw drops open and I can't help but wonder how he could be that ignorant after all these years.

“One more question,” I say, ignoring his eyes swimming with pain and a need for mercy from me. “How long has JT known?”

I need to know this. It's so fucking important I know this.

“Candace told him when he was eighteen,” my dad says, his voice sounding lost. Utterly defeated.

Rage spikes within me.

I thought I was past JT and his evil ways. I thought I was starting to find some peace with it now that he was dead.

But knowing that fucking evil son of a bitch knew Caroline was his half sister and still raped her anyway…I want to jump on the casket as it's lowering into the ground, rip that son of a bitch out of there, and repeatedly stab him again and again. I want to dismember him.

Mutilate him.

Obliterate him.

I'm so overwhelmed with hatred for that man that I can't even spare my father another thought. I turn away and start stalking toward my car, trying to find some measure of peace that I've cut the remaining poison from my life with that conversation with my dad.

“I'm so glad that's over,” Caroline says as she navigates her way through the city. I'm grateful she didn't mind bringing me back to the condo, as I really had no desire to listen to Beck have it out with his dad. By him not having revealed the full truth to his son, he made him look at the least a fool—at the worst a murderer—by letting him be blindsided by the cops. The fucker should have told Beck the cops were asking about it. That would have given Beck a better opportunity to be able to address those motive concerns by the police.

“So what do you think your brother and dad are talking about?” I ask curiously from the passenger seat. Caroline drives a late-model four-door sedan. It's clean and in good condition, but certainly not the car of a daughter of millionaires. And yet she doesn't seem to give two fucks about losing out on all that money. One of the reasons I like her so much.

“Well, I suppose the conversation will be short and to the point. Beck won't entertain discussion about our mother. Once he draws the line in the sand, he stays on his side.”

I nod, because I also suspect this is true, and it makes this line of conversation dead. Caroline has no clue about JT's relation to her dad or that she's been cut out of the will to make room for the bastard son. She has no clue that Beck intends to squeeze the truth out of his dad once and for all about who knows what.

But again, Caroline doesn't know that. She will one day when Beck is ready to give her the full truth, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. At least not until we can figure out the issue with the DNA.

Last night Beck and I talked more about it, and given the fact Detective Denning showed interest in Beck's relationship with Dennis after he became a partial alibi for Beck, we decided resoundingly that we wouldn't call Dennis about the DNA issue. He will happily stay ignorant drinking beer in Ireland and fishing off the coast of Panama none the wiser. Hopefully this will all have died down by the time he comes back.

However, we're not going to wait to start on the DNA. It's eating at both of us with the need to know, and it's also delaying us in telling Caroline the truth. So I'm going to call the detective who investigated my rape and ask about the DNA, as I shouldn't trigger any suspicions for asking.

At least we hope that doesn't occur.

“Did you read the paper today?” Caroline asks me.

I nod glumly. News of JT's death has been all over, even hitting national news, given the controversial nature of The Sugar Bowl. So not only were the entertainment media all over this, but mainstream news was watching it carefully. With the murder of a high-profile businessman, reporters everywhere were waiting to pounce once a break in the investigation occurred.

“I can't stand to see the speculation about Beck,” I tell her. While it hasn't been prolific, attention has been called to the fact that Beck was asked to give a formal statement to the police. In the news world, they practically translate that into a conviction, and I'm seeing more and more stuff about Beck popping up. While we tried really hard to ignore it yesterday, I couldn't help but surf the Net, devouring any news I could find to see what the public opinion was, but equally hating myself for doing it.

Beck kept a lackadaisical attitude about it, but still…I know it has to be weighing on him a bit.

“Listen,” Caroline says in a tone that indicates she's getting ready to lay some serious wisdom on me. “Beck's been in the public eye his entire professional life. He's got the backbone for it. A little mention or speculation isn't going to hurt him, and if anything, it's probably good for The Sugar Bowl. Sort of like free marketing.”

I snort. “Way to make lemonade out of lemons.”

“I'm just saying, you've got to stop worrying about him so much.”

“I can't help it,” I say softly, my fingers idly playing with the hem of my black skirt. I paired it with a gray sweater and finished off my funeral attire with a black scarf around my neck to hide the bruises. “I love him too much not to.”

Caroline sighs and her hand reaches over to take mine. “I'm so glad Beck found you.”

“Even after the shit I brought into his life?”

“Shit and all,” she affirms.

Caroline circles the block the Millennium sits on, intent to drop me off at the front door. But as we arrive, we see several reporters camped outside, as well as two marked police cars and an unmarked one.

“Fuck,” she hisses.

“You don't think they're here for—”

“Let's go park in the garage,” she says. “I'm going up with you.”

Moments later, Caroline pulls into one of Beck's reserved spaces and we're riding the elevator up to the condo. The minute we step out, my heart drops with a resounding thud. The door to the condo is wide open and I can hear sounds from inside. Voices…a camera snapping…the sound of drawers being opened.

Not once do I believe we've been broken into.

I hurry to the door, Caroline hot on my heels, and as soon as I enter, I rear backward at the amount of people inside my home. Uniformed cops, plainclothes cops, and technicians wearing blue windbreakers with the words Bureau of Forensic Sciences on the back. They're everywhere…taking pictures, searching cupboards, flipping couch cushions, placing labeled bags of evidence into large plastic tubs with lids.

“Jesus Christ,” Caroline whispers fearfully.

“Ahhhh…Miss Halstead I presume,” I hear from my left, and see a tall, blond woman in her early forties walking down my hallway toward me. I peg her as an attorney right away, given the charcoal-gray skirt with matching jacket, sedate white silk blouse, and sensibly heeled shoes. She has a badge clipped to her jacket pocket.

She strides up to me, those long legs eating the distance quickly, and I want to walk backward away from her because she has
bearer of bad news
written all over her smug face.

“I'm Assistant District Attorney Suzette Hammond,” she says briskly, and doesn't offer a handshake, but nor do I expect one. We are not friends or even business acquaintances. We're hunter and hunted. “We're here executing a search warrant. Detective Denning is in your room and she has a copy for you.”

“You can just come in here without invitation?” Caroline asks with irritation.

“That is the purpose of a search warrant,” the ADA answers dryly. “You see, criminals don't just go around inviting the police into their homes to search for evidence.”

“We're not criminals,” I tell her. “You won't find anything.”

“Disposed of all the evidence, have you?” she asks, leaning toward me with a smile.

I have no idea if she's joking with me or not, but I'm saved from the expectation of answering that question when she adds, “Doesn't matter if you did or didn't. I've got enough regardless of what we find here.”

“Enough what?” I ask.

The bitch holds her index finger up and wags it at me with a stern look. “Uh-uh, Miss Halstead. Not about to give away all my secrets.”

The room spins a bit on me at the implication of that statement and Caroline's hand comes to my elbow for support.

“And you are?” Hammond asks Caroline.

“Caroline North,” she answers with her chin up. “Beck's sister.”

“Pleasure,” the attorney responds, and then turns back to me. “Now, since this is your home, you can be in here while we conduct our investigation, but I'll need you to stay out of our way. Park yourself at the dining room table and we should be done in a few hours.”

“A few hours?” I whisper with stunned disbelief. It already looks like they've been here for hours with a wrecking ball.

“We want to be thorough,” she says with a playful grin, and it pisses me off this woman is enjoying tearing people's lives up this much. I believe I might actually hate her.

“What the fuck is going on?” I hear from behind me and spin around to see Beck standing in the doorway. His gaze sweeps the open interior of the condo, finally landing on me with carefully veiled agitation.

The assistant district attorney says, “Ahhh…Beck North. I recognize you from the news coverage.”

“And you are?” he asks.

She doesn't respond but instead says, “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

We watch as she spins on her sensible shoe and heads back down the hallway to our bedroom. Beck steps in immediately and whispers, “What's going on?”

I lean into him, hands on his chest, where I can feel his heartbeat racing away. “She said they had a search warrant. Denning has it back in the bedroom with her.”

His eyes cut to the hallway quickly and then back to me. His hands come to my shoulders and he squeezes. “It's fine. It's going to be fine. There's nothing here for them to find.”

I nod quickly in agreement, not because I actually agree but because I'm terrified to doubt his word and jinx the fuck out of us.

The clicking of heels alerts us to Hammond returning and we look over to see Detective Denning following behind her. She doesn't look smug the way the attorney does, but she does look motivated. Hammond stops in front of Beck and me and folds her arms over her chest to watch as Denning walks up to Beck.

“Mr. North…this is a search warrant signed by Judge Reyes this morning authorizing the Sausalito Police Department and District Attorney's office to enter your home to search for evidence. The summary of probable cause presented is there if you wish to read it as well as a list of the items we're looking for.”

Beck takes the document and opens it up as it's folded into thirds, but before he can read it, Denning hands him another document. “And this is another search warrant for your Townsend-North office. We already have a team there conducting the search.”

Irritation flashes on Beck's face as he takes the warrant. He's not worried though. There's nothing at the office at all that will aid them.

“And finally,” ADA Hammond says as she uncrosses her arms and reaches into the inside of her gray jacket. She pulls out another document, folded into thirds as well, and my stomach cramps in fear. She hands it to Beck. “This is a warrant for your arrest, Mr. North, for the murder of Jonathon Townsend. I'll give you a moment to read it, but then I'm going to ask Detective Denning to place you in custody.”

“What?” I practically screech at the top of my lungs. “No…you can't do that.”

Before I even know what's happening, Beck is pushing the warrants at Caroline, who takes them without question, and his hands are on my shoulders, his fingers digging in with painful pressure so he gets my attention. He's very aware we have an audience but he pins me with an intent look.

“Sela,” he says calmly. “It's going to be fine. I've done nothing wrong, so you've got nothing to worry about. Now I want you to take these warrants and call Doug Shriver. Have him meet me at the police station. He'll handle everything, and you're going to sit here with Caroline and relax while we get this figured out. I'll handle this, okay?”

Translation:
You are absolutely not going to say a fucking word about your involvement in JT's death. You're going to sit back like I'm telling you to do, and we're going to let this play out.

“Okay?” he asks again.

I'm forced to nod my acquiescence because he's asking me to do so.

To trust him.

Beck pulls me in, moves his hands from my shoulders to my face, where he cradles it gently. His eyes look at me with such tenderness and fierce love that I immediately start to cry. He leans in and gives me a kiss, and when I mean a kiss, I mean a kiss. It's openmouthed, deep, and possessive. He doesn't give a fuck we're being watched and he's making sure I understand that I am his and he's going to protect me no matter what.

“That's very touching,” I hear Hammond's bitchy voice penetrate through the kiss. “But it's time to go.”