Something like guilt flickered over his face, then it was gone too fast for her to be sure. Beckett shook his head. “It will hold for one night.”
She wanted so badly to say yes. Then say yes. “Yes.”
He gave her another brief kiss. “Breakfast is here. Eat with me. Tell me what made you call yesterday.”
The reminder of the suspicions she had to deliver dampened her good mood. “Okay.”
He took her hand and tugged her toward the kitchen. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. You aren’t alone, Samara.”
Beckett waited to question Samara while they ate breakfast, and then he waited some more. Her conflict was written all over her face, which was all he needed to see to know that Lydia was the reason she was there. He doubted his aunt sent Samara with false information, which meant she’d done something shitty.
He glanced at the manila folder Frank had left. It had pictures of Lydia sitting at a table with his father in what appeared to be a heated conversation. While he’d half hoped to see some evidence of her spiking his father’s drink, there was nothing as damning as that. Judging by the time stamps on the photos, they had been taken two short hours before his father died. There was no evidence of a meal, but they both had drinks at the table. It seemed to give lie to his aunt’s story, but there was nothing that couldn’t be explained away if she was creative enough.
“I think Lydia had something to do with the fire.”
Beckett froze, his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth. “What did you say?”
“Lydia.” Samara poked at her omelet. “Did you tell her about the fire?”
“She already knew.” The time for holding back information was past. He had to decide now—did he trust Samara enough to tell her everything he knew? Or was he going to keep her close while trying to dissemble? Beckett had his answer before he’d finished the thought. “She came by to see me Sunday as the fire inspector was leaving. We didn’t talk specifically about the fire for the most part—it was just more of the manipulative bullshit that the Kings are known for.”
“Beckett…you’re a King.”
He was a King, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be lumped in with all the insanity. Some of it was impossible to avoid, but that didn’t mean he had to sink to Lydia’s level. Kind of like you sank to her level when you went around the bidding process and secured the renewal of the government contract. He could argue that it was different until he was blue in the face, but it didn’t change the fact that he had pulled a shitty-ass move. “Yes, I’m a King.”
Samara seemed to chew on that for a moment. “What did the fire inspector have to say?”
“It was definitely started intentionally. If the lobby wasn’t mostly marble and steel, it would have spread a lot faster and we might not be having this conversation today. The building wasn’t locked up completely—anyone with a key could have gotten in, and that puts the suspect list at over a hundred people.” He saw the question forming and answered it. “No, to the best of my knowledge, Lydia doesn’t have a key.” Unless one of his defecting employees had passed theirs along—or allowed their key to be duplicated.
She seemed to read between the lines of what he wasn’t saying. “But several of the people she poached from you did.”
“All of them did.” There had been only a few short hours between watching Walter walk out and the fire being set, but it was entirely possible that Lydia had started poaching people earlier. Beckett had been gone for six months on his last overseas project, but his father would have informed him of any big changes—and that included changes to the executive staff. There had been none, which meant Lydia had barely waited for his father’s body to cool before she started moving in on his employees.
Samara dropped her fork and pushed to her feet. “She knew the fire was started in an employee break room off the main floor, and she acted like she knew exactly how much was—and wasn’t—destroyed. How could she know that, Beckett?”
She stalked around his couch, the very picture of fury in motion. “And when I had the audacity to question her, she removed me from the bidding project. I’ve been preparing months for the damn presentation and she just…gave it to Journey.”
Relief swamped him, guilt nipping at its heels. He had no business being glad that Samara was currently unattached to the contract he’d taken. She’d been dealt a shitty hand and even if he’d had no part of the crap that morning, he’d still acted against her best interests by making his move.
“Maybe she…” He almost suggested she’d overheard him talking with the fire investigator, but that wasn’t right. Lydia hadn’t arrived until after. “I don’t know. She’s got me so damn paranoid, I’m not sure what she is or isn’t capable of at this point. Why would she set a fire while knowing you were in the building?”
“Because ultimately I’m expendable.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t surprising in the least.
“That’s bullshit. You’re not expendable. You’re a person, and you’ve been nothing but loyal to her for years.”
She shrugged with a sad smile. “Beckett, you think your aunt might have had something to do with your father’s death. Compared to orchestrating your own brother’s death, what’s potentially harming an employee?”
He walked to her and took her hands. “We don’t know anything for sure.” He didn’t know why he was arguing, only that Samara looked brittle for the first time since he’d met her and it scared
