Capture Me (Royals Saga: Smith and Belle Book 3) Page 16

  Of course that’s what he would think. People didn’t run off and get married without a damn good reason, especially to people they barely knew. I hadn’t married Smith because I was pregnant. No, that had come later. It took all the strength I’d gathered in the last twenty-four restorative hours to keep my smile from slipping. “No baby.”

  Not yet.

  It was the second time that little voice had piped up. I wanted to listen to it, believe that it had an insight into my future that I didn’t, but the placing trust in my body after its betrayal was going to take a while.

  “If we don’t get back in there, they’re going to start thinking we’re having an affair,” he pointed out. He’d gotten the hint and dropped the baby talk. Hopefully the next time the topic came up, we’d be having a very different conversation. “I can’t believe you thought I was shagging Brex!”

  “He’s hot, sue me.” I shrugged away as he playfully pushed me.

  “I don’t think it’s appropriate for a married woman to talk that way.”

  I shook my head as we returned to the living room, whispering, “I’m married, not dead.”

  Brex had moved from the window to the sofa where he was casually texting. He might not be the threat I’d worried he was, but he was still very connected to my two best friends in the world. Edward caught sight of my face and shook his head.

  “She’s on the case,” he warned Brexton.

  “Am I being investigated?” he asked, flashing me a gorgeous smile.

  Sorry, that’s not going to work on me. “Yep. Rumor has it that you’ve taken a job at the palace. Now you’re hanging around Edward. I just want to make sure you’re legit.”

  He nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable, although I spotted a small smirk on his lips.

  “Where’s your family?” I asked. “Not spending Christmas with them?”

  “I visited them this morning,” he said without missing a beat, “at the cemetery.”

  My eyes darted to Edward, whose eyes were closed. He’d known I was going to make a fool of myself, and he’d done nothing to stop me. Lesson learned.

  “I’m s-s-sorry,” I stammered.

  “I was a kid.” He waved away my apology with the experience of a man who’d done it his whole life. “Whenever I’m in town, Poor Boy and his brother take pity on the orphan. Now that I’m living in London, they’ve decided I need a family for Christmas.”

  How was it possible for me to feel even smaller? First I’d accused Edward of cheating, then I’d interrogated an orphan—was I going to start kicking puppies next?

  “My dad’s gone, too.” And my mother might as well be. I kept the last part to myself.

  “I hardly remember them,” he admitted, pocketing his mobile. “I miss them, but it’s more like I miss the memory of them, especially this time of year with all the families around.”

  “David wants to adopt,” Edward informed us, “if you don’t mind having two daddies.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “Smith’s parents are gone as well. We’re a rather sad bunch actually.” I turned to look for my husband, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Speaking of, where did he disappear to?”

  If I hadn’t glanced to Brex in that moment I would have missed the look he shared with Edward. It was over in a split-second, but I’d caught it.

  “What’s going on?” I said in a low voice. My stomach clenched, flipping over as the tension grew between the three of us.

  “Belle,” Edward began, but I held up a hand.

  “Think very carefully about what you’re going to say,” I warned him. I knew him too well. There was no way he could lie to me.

  “I think he ran out to get you a present.”

  I pivoted around and stared at Brex. His composure held, which was how I knew he was lying. A guest would crack under that stare. They would stammer or laugh. There wasn’t a single trace of guilt on his face.

  “What exactly do you do at the palace?”

  He held my gaze, and I saw the gears turning in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to spin this question.

  “I will find out eventually, so if you’re really a good friend of the royal family, then you should know that I’m not going anywhere and I’m going to guess you aren’t either. I’ll find out now or I’ll find out later.”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Edward interjected.

  I ignored him entirely. I was far too smart to believe that.

  “Where is he?”

  “I didn’t ask him where he was going.” This time I believed Brexton, but that didn’t mean I trusted him.

  “There’s been a development.” Edward mouthed an apology to Brexton, who groaned as he sank back.

  “I told him I shouldn’t have taken you,” he said. Brexton’s friendly facade morphed into annoyance.

  “Who?” I was running out of patience now.

  “Alexander sent us over to check on things. He wanted to ensure your safety.”

  “And why would he want to do that now?” It didn’t make any sense. The entire time we’d been in Somerset, I hadn’t existed to the lot of them. Now they were sending over men to check up on me.

  Edward glanced at Brexton. He was making a decision between us. After a few seconds, he turned to me. “Hammond was released on home arrest today. The House of Commons plans to overturn his indictment.”

  He could have punched me in the stomach and it would have shocked me less. “He’s free?”

  I’d frozen in place, afraid that I would turn around and discover him standing on the street outside my house.

  “Not free. He's under guard at his house. And you are safe,” Edward said. He moved toward me but I backed away.

  “Explain to me how that is possible,” I pleaded, looking from Edward to Brexton. “How does a man accused of assassinating a king walk away?”

  I couldn’t think of a technicality large enough to account for such a misjudgment on the part of the courts and Parliament.

  “Hammond was hounded by the media his entire way home,” Brexton responded. “Believe me, he’s far from free.”

  “Well, I feel a lot safer knowing a bunch of reporters are keeping tabs on him,” I said flatly. “I’m sure they’ll get some good photos of him murdering me.”

  “No one is going to touch you,” Edward said in a firm voice.

  “And what about Smith?” They knew more about my husband’s whereabouts than they were letting on.

  “I was asked to monitor your safety,” Brexton explained.

  But Smith had gotten a free pass to leave. The fact didn't sit well with me.

  “Just tell me where Smith is,” I begged him, but I already knew where he was going. Hammond had been the barrier to our freedom before. I knew my husband well enough to know that he wouldn’t allow him to become one again. Smith knew where to find Hammond, and I suspected Brexton did as well.

  “It’s better if you stay here and…”

  But I’d already tuned out their well-meaning advice. Stay here and wait? Stay here and do nothing? That wasn’t in my nature. Smith had gone to take care of the problem. I couldn’t let him do it alone. We were too much alike.

  Birds of a feather.

  “Give me your keys.” I stretched my hand out to Edward. He had them out of his pocket before Brexton pushed onto his feet. I snatched the car keys before things escalated.

  “I can’t let you leave,” Brexton said.

  I looked him up and down. “Do you have a gun?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t need one.”

  He was wrong about that. Smith had gone to Hammond because he believed he had no other choice. It was up to me to remind him that wasn’t the case. No gun meant one thing to me. “Then you aren’t stopping me.”

  Chapter 25

  I took the Bugatti for sentimentality’s sake. If I was going to murder someone, I figured I might as well do it in style. It would be one less joyride without the joy. The press would be
camped out at his private residence, likely buying that Hammond was actually on house arrest. That wasn’t a delusion I suffered from. He’d managed to be released before his treason indictment had been officially dropped. The press had bought the story the special council had concocted regarding a conspiracy. I hadn’t. Mostly because I knew Hammond was guilty of every crime that had been listed against him and then some.

  He had friends in powerful positions. I wouldn’t find him at his home. That's where he'd want everyone to think he was. Instead, he’d go to a place he felt comfortable—the nondescript office he kept above his jewelry shop.

  My key still worked in the lock. I didn’t even bother removing it. I would leave it in the door. Tonight I would dispose of every remnant of my ties to Hammond.

  I found him sitting in a chair looking out his office window at the street below. Christmas lights began to turn on as I stood there silently, watching him. The days were as short as the rest of his life.

  “I was wondering when you would join me,” he said, not bothering to turn to face me. “I thought perhaps you’d miss this Christmas given your marriage.”

  “I didn’t bring any presents,” I said dryly as he swiveled around. I took the chair opposite his. Right now the desk between us was his only protection.

  “I know what you brought,” he said in a thoughtful tone.

  “You must have known this was coming after you tried to kill Georgia and me. How could you have expected us to overlook that?”

  Hammond’s fist smashed onto the table. “You honestly believe I would order either of you killed?”

  “Perhaps it was the hitman you sent to my hotel that gave me that impression.” I slid on a glove. There would be no mercy. Not for a man like him. “I’m afraid your argument is unconvincing. You might have considered your plea-bargaining skills before you pissed off your lead counsel.”

  “I don’t care if you kill me.”

  That gave me pause, but I slipped on the second glove anyway.

  He gestured to the other chair. “Care for a drink?”

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” I took the seat, tapping my leather-shod fingers.

  “I’ve already told you I don’t wish you dead, but if you need further proof, I’m drinking the Glenfiddich.”

  My mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. “Pour me a glass.”

  Hammond had bought the bottle when his doctor suggested he was showing early signs of Parkinson’s. No diagnosis had materialized, but he kept the bottle anyway. He’d had it on a shelf for nearly seven years, thumbing his nose at death. But he’d taken it down tonight.

  “There’s something you don’t understand about your situation,” he explained. “I’m already a dead man.”

  “You will be soon,” I promised as I took the rocks glass he offered me. I no longer had sympathy for him. The strings that once attached him to me no longer existed, which meant he could no longer pull them. I’d made my decision the moment I’d received word of his release.

  “I know, but not at your hands, son. Don’t burden yourself with my blood.”

  “I don’t consider it a burden,” I snarled. The Scotch splashed over the edge of my glass as I leaned toward him. “I consider it a privilege.”

  “You may not see it, but I’ve always protected you,” he continued, “and I won’t be able to any longer. Someone must always be ready to take the fall. My turn has come.”

  “I’m not interested in riddles.” My patience with his games had evaporated long before I’d stopped playing. “You went after her. That is unforgivable.”

  “Loose ends must be tied. You know that better than anyone.” He swigged from his glass, draining it to the very last drop. “You can find religion but you can’t erase your sins.”

  “I’m no expert, but I think that’s actually the whole point of faith.” I had found something to believe in. I believed in her. It was through her love that I’d found absolution. I could never take back the crimes I had committed, but I could forgive myself for them. I had learned to worship her and I would fight for her, even give my life if necessary. It was such a simple decision when it came down to it. I’d chosen her in life and in death. I’d placed her life above my own because she had a light I couldn’t bear to see extinguished from the world.

  “There are circumstances out of my control,” he admitted, pouring himself another drink. He held out the bottle, but I shook my head.

  I’d allow him to get drunk. One small concession on my part. I didn’t care if he suffered. It wasn’t done out of mercy. His death was a means to an end. The safety of my wife. Nothing more. I didn’t care about his role in King Albert’s death or his attacks on Alexander and his family. I cared that a man as twisted and morally corrupt as him continued to breathe, continued to threaten Belle. It was an oversight I meant to rectify. He needed to die, but I could let him finish his Scotch.

  “I’m sorry about Margot.” Apparently with each drink he took, Hammond planned to confess all his sins. I’d suspected she’d been unfaithful to me, even that she’d been a manipulation, but somehow having it confirmed brought an anger I thought I’d left behind.

  “Did she ever love me?” I asked. It didn’t matter. Not since I had found love with Belle, but I’d cared for Margot. The idea that it had all been a scheme weighed heavily on me.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” he admitted.

  I dropped my head, taking a deep breath. My whole life had been an unnatural progression of events orchestrated by this man. Even meeting Belle.

  “You have to understand,” he continued, his speech beginning to slur, “not all decisions are up to me. I can’t control everything.”

  “That’s not what you led me to believe my whole life,” I snarled. My hand lashed out, knocking my glass over in the process. Good Scotch wasn’t the only thing that would be spilled here tonight.

  “Do you want the truth?” he asked. “I’ll tell you as much as I can. Even now my loyalties lie with powers above me.”

  “Why cling to that when you know you’ll draw your last breath tonight?”

  “Call me old-fashioned.” He poured more into his glass with a shaky hand. “Your father came to me looking for work. He knew what I did. He wanted the money, and like most good men, he believed himself above corruption. Like you, he assumed that he would be the mediator between the law and my crimes. At first that was all he was, but your father liked money, Smith.”

  I picked my glass up off the rug and poured a new drink for myself. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  My father had always cared more about money than me or my mother. He’d spent every moment at his employer’s side. He’d left birthday parties and Christmas mornings to attend to Hammond's needs before mine. I'd always known where I stood in my father’s priority list.

  “Unfortunately, like all good men, he began to grow a conscience.”

  “And that isn’t a problem that you’ve ever experienced personally?”

  Hammond tilted his head. The barb stuck. “I’ve never been burdened with a conscience and having watched other men suffer from it, I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”

  And yet he sat here apologizing to me for the injuries he’d inflicted upon my life. His morality was complicated but not altogether absent.

  Stop it, I ordered myself. I refused to see things from his perspective.

  “At first, more money soothed his anxieties,” Hammond continued, “but I knew that wouldn’t last long. In the end, I gave him a choice. Remove himself from the situation without a fight or lose everything he held dear.”

  “He can’t possibly have chosen death,” I scoffed. “He didn’t care about anything but his house and his cars.”

  “He cared about you,” Hammond corrected me, “and your mother. It was as simple as that. He could choose his death or yours. It was a relatively simple decision.”

  “And you want me to believe you didn’t order Georgia and me killed?” The simmering anger I’d
felt since my arrival erupted into a full boil. “Try again.”

  “I had no emotional attachment to your father,” Hammond said flatly. “I respected him. I may have even liked him.”

  “I thought you were his best friend.” Confusion was beginning to muddle my rage. My world had been turned upside down, and I didn’t know if I wanted it righted. Was it better to believe my father had died a good man? A martyr? That in the end I had meant more to him than the life he’d always chosen over me? It wouldn’t bring him back if I chose to believe Hammond’s version of events, and there was a danger to trusting anything the man claimed. I’d learned that the hard way.

  “He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend. I can understand how that might be confusing. Men like me have many allies and many enemies. We don’t have friends.” Hammond’s eyes turned glassy, lost in memories.

  “Why Margot?” I demanded.

  “I never wanted to murder another friend,” Hammond said. “Somehow over the years, I’d grown to look at you as a son.”

  I laughed. “That I knew. What a fucked up father figure you were.”

  “Most young men would love to get a free pass to fuck and drink,” he said.

  “That’s exactly why you’ve never been my father.” When I was younger, I’d thought that was normal, but as I’d grown older, I began to see the situation for what it was: a perversion. Hammond had twisted me, just as he twisted Georgia, in an attempt to make puppets of us. “You made a mistake bringing us into the scene.”

  “Why is that, son?”

  My hands clenched. I wasn’t his son. I never had been. But after all these years, he still didn’t see that. “BDSM is about power. The control of it. The gift of it. It taught me to use my power carefully. It taught Georgia the same. It taught us to distrust men like you.”

  “Since I discovered your betrayal, I’ve wondered where I went wrong. Thank you for telling me, even if it’s too late to rectify.”

  “Thank you for fucking up,” I said coldly. “You allowed me to see through you. It’s the only reason I’m here tonight.”

  “To protect your wife?” he guessed. “There’s no need. No one will touch you now.”