Sin Never Sleeps Page 14

  She doesn’t answer my question. “You make the most sense.”

  “Enough theorizing,” Jameson intercedes. “Ask your questions and get out.”

  “According to your statement, you were present at the West Casino on the night Nathaniel West was murdered.” She takes a notepad from her purse and flips it open.

  “Yes, and that’s still true,” I promise her. “The darn time machine I’ve been constructing isn’t finished yet, so I haven’t been able to change history.”

  She continues, ignoring my sarcasm. I guess my mom is right that my dark sense of humor isn’t my friend.

  “Furthermore, you claimed that that the two of you were together the entire evening.”

  “None of these are questions,” Jameson points out.

  “No,” I respond, eager to get this over with so that I can separate the two of them. “I told you that we went skinning dipping, we spent some time together, and we fell asleep.”

  Her eyes narrow. So much for trying to call my bluff. What would be the point of trying to change my story now?

  “Are you certain that’s what happened?”

  What do they say? The truth will set you free. Or you’ll just get asked the same question over and over until you lie simply to break the cycle. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

  Jameson asked me not to lie on his behalf, which is why I don’t bother to claim he was actually next to me the entire evening.

  “So, either of you could have gotten up in your sleep, and the other one wouldn’t have known.” She’s having a hard time asking actual questions. I guess it’s a good thing that she’s sticking to the law and not the order side. Leading the witness, anyone?

  “I suppose.” I grant her this one tiny admission, mostly because it’s pretty fucking obvious.

  “Who exactly do you think did it now, Detective Mackey?” Jameson cuts straight to the point. “Because without evidence, this is becoming harassment.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful that the Federal Bureau of Investigation is above such petty concerns?” She smiles serenely at him before turning her attention back to me. “Emma, are you virgin?”

  I snort in surprise. Of all the things Detective Mackey could be here to ask me, that’s pretty far down on the list of possibilities.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Jameson says, but she holds up a hand to silence him once more.

  “Miss Southerly wants to be cooperative.”

  Challenge accepted. “No, I am not.”

  “How long have you been sexually active?” she continues.

  “I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with the murder?” I bypass her question because my answer is pretty embarrassing, especially when you consider I’ve been practically begging my boyfriend to screw me all week.

  “I’d prefer if you would just answer the question.”

  “Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest as if that can shield me from the oncoming humiliation. “I lost my virginity a couple of years ago in a rash moment of stupidity, and I haven’t done it since then.”

  “So you aren’t sexually active?”

  It’s strange to see Mackey unnerved. It isn’t the response she expected, but I’m still not certain what this has to do with Nathaniel West or what happened that night.

  “No, I’m not having sex if that answers your question.”

  “You’ll pardon me if I find that surprising.” She scribbles a note on her pad of paper.

  “You mean: how did I land a billionaire without the aid of my vagina?” I retort. If I have to be uncomfortable, so does everybody. “Look, have me go to a doctor or something. It’s probably been so long that it’s closed back up.”

  “Vaginas don’t close back up.”

  “Gee, thanks for the biology lesson,” I tell her, “but these are the facts. I haven’t had sex in over three years.”

  “So now that she’s answered your question, would you care to elaborate on exactly what you were hoping to find out today?” Jameson asks.

  She closes the notepad and shoves it inside her bag. “She’s given me an answer, whether or not it proves to be true is another matter entirely.”

  Oh my god. Where is a wall to hit when you need one?

  “If had information to share with you, I would.” I’m tired of the games and double speak, so I opt for being direct. “But I don’t lie, and I don’t appreciate people who show up and accuse me of doing so.”

  “Noted.” Mackey stands up and smooths down her pants. “We’ll be in touch if we have further questions.”

  “I’ll be holding my breath,” I promise her.

  “Exactly what did any of this have to do with my father’s murder?” Jameson asks as he shows her to the front door

  “Well, since you two are so innocent, you can find out when everyone else does. Press conference is at noon.”

  I hate to admit it, but we both know we’ll be watching.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jameson takes me by the hand and leads me towards the stairs as soon as she’s gone. We should talk or come up with a plan, but I can’t find the energy to do either.

  “I can’t go back to sleep,” I warn him.

  “Can I have a moment with Emma?” Evelyn asks, stepping out of the shadows before we reach the stairwell. Jameson considers for a moment, but his mom must be on the pre-approved list because he excuses himself.

  “I’ll be waiting in your room,” he says, before he leaves me with her.

  Dark circles rim Evelyn’s eyes. Is anyone in this house getting sleep?

  “What did they want?” she asks when we’re alone.

  “To accuse me of murdering your husband,” I blurt out. “I might as well tell you now because there’s going to be a press conference.”

  I don’t know how I expect her to react, but she surprises me by wrapping me in a tight hug.

  “How can you know that I…” I let the thought trail away.

  She steps back, her hands gripping my shoulders. “The same way I know Jamie is innocent.”

  “He’s your son.” It seems like an obvious fact to point out.

  “He is, and he’s in love with you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you my daughter and I know what my children are capable of.”

  I swallow hard, wishing I deserved her faith in me. If she knew the secrets I’m hiding, she wouldn’t think so highly of me.

  “Get some rest.”

  When I step into my room, Jameson closes the door behind us then he takes me in his arms.

  “Mackey won’t touch you,” he vows.

  “I don’t understand why she was asking all those questions,” I admit. “Jameson, you have to know that I had nothing to do—”

  “I already know that, Duchess. I’m going to draw you a bath and then I’m going to go downstairs and get on the phone with my lawyer.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” He stops me with a kiss.

  “Yes I do.”

  I blink against the prickly heat of tears. “She’s going to try to turn us against one another.”

  “She’s going to fail,” he promises me.

  “There’s going to be interrogations, maybe even a trial.” I’m too panicked to let him reassure me, but he grabs my chin in his hands and directs my gaze to his.

  “I’m not going to let that happen, Emma”

  “I don’t have the resources you have unless I ask Hans for help,” I rattle on.

  “You have every resource at my disposal,” he corrects me.

  “They’re going to make you go in there and talk about our sex life.” Or lack thereof, I add silently.

  He pauses and I see the wheels turning behind his blue eyes. “There’s a way around that.”

  “How?” I plead. I need to know how he can fix this. I want to believe he can because for the first time since this started, I’m truly scared.

  “You’ll be eighteen soon.” He doesn’t have to remind me, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. �
��Emma, they can’t force you to testify against your spouse.”

  I jerk away as if he’d suddenly announced he has a contagious disease. “What?”

  “Spousal privilege. If it comes to it, we can get married.” His words are detached. He’s suggesting a preemptive strike.

  Call me old-fashioned, I’m not walking down the aisle as a strategic move. “We are not getting married.” Disbelief mixes with fear. “We haven’t even had sex yet, how are we having this conversation? I still have a year of high school and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to spend it labelled as the gold-digger murderess.”

  “You’re neither of those things,” he reprimands me.

  “Tell that to the rest of my graduating class,” I grumble.

  “Who cares what they think?”

  Apparently I do. I’m too shocked over this moment of self-discovery to share it.

  “Look, I’m not going to make you marry me,” Jameson begins.

  “Good because I’m not.”

  “I have to admit that I’m offended that you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not that...” I search for the right words to explain the crazy jumble of thoughts in my head. How on earth did things get this screwed up? I spent the better part of the last week begging him to take me to bed. Now he’s offering to put a ring on it. Everything about this scenario is backwards. “You don’t have to do something this extreme.”

  In the end, I opt to spare his feelings.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal.” I don’t bother to hide to hide my incredulousness. “Marriage is a very big deal. At least it is to me.”

  “You have to remember I was raised by a billionaire. Jesus, I can afford to have a few wives.”

  “A few wives, huh?” My eyes narrow at the thought of someone else catching Jameson’s attention.

  “You look jealous, Duchess.” I can hear how pleased he sounds.

  “Don’t worry about me. Continue to visualize your trophy wife collection. Might I suggest mahogany for the cabinet you keep them in?”

  “You are jealous.” He grabs the sash of my robe and tugs me closer. “I like jealous on you.”

  “I don’t.” How he’s managed to distract me from the drama at hand is beyond me.

  Jameson goes into the ensuite bathroom and begins to run water in the bathtub.

  “I’m only going to be downstairs,” he says as I slip off my clothes and grab a towel, waiting for the tub to finish filling up.

  When he reaches the bathroom door, I call after him, “By the way, that was the worst marriage proposal of all time.”

  He pokes his head back in the door. “I’ll do better next time.”

  What have I gotten myself into?

  When the tub is nearly full, I turn off the tap. I’m about to get in when there’s a knock on the bathroom door. I wrap my towel around me. Jameson wouldn’t bother to knock, especially if there was a possibility of catching a glimpse of the goods. I expect to see Evelyn on the other side of the door, but it’s Monroe. “I brought you this.”

  She offers me a glass of water before she opens her palm to reveal a small blue pill.

  “Umm.” I hesitate. I’m not exactly in the habit of taking drugs from strangers, not that Monroe is a stranger exactly. She’s something worse: an enemy. Although, in the last few days, she seems to be heading into neutral territory.

  “Xanax,” she assures me. “I overheard what Mackey had to say.”

  “You can’t tell anyone...” I say in a rush.

  There’s a struggle in her crystal blue eyes, but after a moment she says, “I’m not going to, Emma. I know you didn’t do it.”

  I want to ask her how she know and where her sudden suspicious faith has come from. Instead, I take the pill from her and pop it in my mouth.

  “Try to relax,” she advises me. “Jameson is already on the phone with the lawyers.”

  I swallow a gulp of water and hand her the glass. “Thank you.”

  It’s hard for me to get it out, and, judging by the way she flinches, it’s hard for her to accept my gratitude. Which is why I can’t let this go.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “You’re a guest, and well...I get the impression you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m not,” I warn her.

  “Then I guess we have to get used to each other.” It’s a mediocre truce at best. One we’ve been forced into, rather than chosen on our own, but it’s a start.

  “Need anything else?” she asks. I shake my head no, still too dumbfounded by her sudden generous spirit.

  The Wests certainly know how to surprise you, I think as I sink into the bathtub.

  “It’s a good thing,” I say to myself even as I wonder what curve ball they’ll throw at me next.

  “I don’t understand why her parents don’t take care of this.”

  I freeze outside the kitchen, waiting for Monroe to say more. I expect Jameson to defend me, but it’s his mother who comes to my rescue.

  “Not every family has the resources to cope with a scandal of this magnitude.”

  Scandal. I’m a scandal. And they’re sitting around trying to figure out how to handle me.

  “Her stepfather has money,” Monroe points out.

  “I won’t allow it,” Jameson informs them. There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for questioning.

  This impromptu family meeting is none of my business—except that it’s obvious they’re talking about me.

  Jameson continues, finally shifting the topic away from his ill-begotten girlfriend. “I spoke with Richard yesterday. A number of new suits have been filed against the corporation.”

  “Fucking vultures.” Monroe doesn’t mince words.

  “Watch your language,” her mother chastises her.

  “It’s true,” Monroe defends herself. “A man is dead, so why not try to bleed his assets dry.”

  “What can we do about it?” Evelyn asks. “Or do we do anything?”

  “It could destroy most of our holdings,” Jameson advises her.

  “But we’d be fine?”

  “Yes.” He clears his throat, and I wish I could see his face. “But the people we employ won’t be.”

  “Sometimes I forget how different you are from your father,” she says softly.

  “That’s why I’ve decided to step in as interim CEO,” he announces.

  I gasp loudly enough that everyone in the other room falls silent. Next time I’ll wear bells so they can hear me coming. Steeling myself, I wander into the kitchen.

  Jameson shakes his head, not buying my casual entrance for a second. “Care to join in our family meeting, Duchess?”

  “I’m not family,” I say dismissively. “I thought I’d see about some coffee.”

  “Nonsense,” Evelyn pipes up. “Sit down. These topics concern you. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  I head towards the bar stool at the far end, but Monroe moves to it, allowing me to sit next to Jameson. I try to hide my surprise at the thoughtful gesture, but it’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone.

  “Catch Emma up.” Evelyn hands me a mug. I cup it with both hands, savoring the warm ceramic against my palms. Jameson gives me a rundown of what they discussed. I can’t bring myself to tell him that I overheard most of it already.

  “That brings us back to the fact that I’m stepping in as CEO.” His gaze locks with mine, and he waits for me to speak.

  “Okay,” I say, wondering if he wants more input or if he’s torturing me for acting like I haven’t already overheard all of this. But I’m less concerned with the fact that I’ve been caught eavesdropping. “Is that what you want?”

  “That’s a really good question,” his mother backs me up. “You left business school.”

  “I don’t know,” he admits after a long pause, “but it is my responsibility.”

  I want to tell him to screw responsibility. He owes his father, and th
e legacy he left behind him, nothing. But sitting in this small circle, I realize that he’s not doing it for himself. Risking the company’s assets undermines his family’s financial stability.

  Isn’t that the reason I’d stuck around the pawn shop for so long? The burdens we carry for those we love are the heaviest and hardest to release.

  “Emma?” He wants my opinion and for a split second it’s as if we’re the only two people in the room.

  “I’m with you,” I reassure him. “Do what you have to.”

  “Then for the time being I’ll take over.”

  Evelyn’s eyes flick to mine and I catch a flash approval that she quickly masks. That’s when it hits me that she wants Jameson to step in. So why did she remind him that he’d abandoned business school?

  I clear my throat awkwardly. Despite my initial reservations—and a lifetime of being spoon-fed a hatred of the West family—I can’t take advantage of their kindness, even Monroe’s begrudging civility. When I have their attention, I begin, “I overheard. I don’t need help with lawyers.”

  “Like hell you don’t,” Jameson growls and all three of our heads swivel in his direction.

  “Down, boy,” Monroe orders him.

  Jameson glowers at her, his face a stony mask that conceals a raging storm of emotions I can only sense. “You don’t know everything. The situation…”

  “Sucks,” Monroe finishes for him. “But don’t let Jamie fool you. We won’t know much until the press conference.”

  “Except that scoop from the DA’s office,” he reminds her.

  “What scoop?” I do my best to ignore the fifties slang term.

  “They’re leaving some information out during the press release today,” Monroe says.

  “I bet it won’t be anything important,” I grumble.

  That’s why Mackey came by—to watch me squirm. If she only knew that she’d left too soon.

  “We should know what it is in a few days,” Jameson tells me.

  Pressing my lips together, I allow this to sink in. “How are we going to find out?”

  “Do you want the truth or plausible deniability?”

  “On second thought, I don’t need to know.” The West’s money could buy any information he wants, and there’s no way to talk him into leaving this case alone.