He zoomed in on it, noting the reflection from the monitor. “You were in Lydia’s office?”
“Yeah. How else would I have gotten this?”
Beckett’s stomach dropped and he had to fight not to raise his voice. “That was dangerous, Samara. No one knew you were there. Anything could have happened to you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve worked in that building for ten years, Beckett. Lydia would have been furious if she caught me, and she might have fired me on the spot, but it’s not like she’d shove me out a window.”
He wasn’t so sure. He’d had certain beliefs about his aunt since as long as he could remember, and it never would have occurred to him that she was capable of murder until his father died and so many strings connected her back to what might have happened that night. “There were no drugs found in my father’s system, but that doesn’t mean he chose to drink that much.”
“Wait a minute—you think she actually orchestrated that entire night?”
“My father’s driver was paid off. He’s currently somewhere in Brazil as best I can tell. Even with the guy gone, Nathaniel had three others who worked as backup to accommodate his schedule at any given time. My father drank often enough that his being shit-housed wouldn’t raise red flags, but his not having a driver does. She was at the restaurant that night—I have pictures proving it. How hard would it be to ensure he got behind the wheel? If it’s not murder, strictly speaking, it’s still criminal.”
Samara poked at her food. “Okay, I’m not saying she’s not capable of doing something like that. She wasn’t where her schedule said she should be that night.”
“Wasn’t she?” He zoomed in on the night of his father’s death and flipped the phone around to show Samara.
She frowned. “The spa appointments are there, but so is one with…N.G.”
“Nathaniel George King—my father’s full name.”
“She lied.” She didn’t sound surprised, exactly, but definitely perturbed. “Okay, let’s say this played out exactly like you described. I still can’t picture Lydia sneaking into your building to set a fire, or breaking into your condo with a bucket of pigs’ blood.”
He couldn’t, either, but that didn’t mean a damn thing. “Then she hired someone else to do it.”
Samara took several bites and he followed suit. They ate, both lost in their own thoughts, until she set down her fork and turned to face him. “What happens now?”
“Now I find Walter Trissel and see what he knows.” At her questioning look, he explained. “This all goes back to the changing of the will. The only two people who definitely know what happened with it are my father and Walter. If Lydia managed to manipulate my father into giving her Thistledown Villa, then she used Walter Trissel to do it.”
“That makes sense. There’s a thread that runs through all this, so if you find it, you can trace it back to her.”
He forced a smile. “You almost sound like you believe me.”
“Well, it’s getting impossible to ignore. I don’t know that Lydia’s personally responsible for every bit of this, but she’s definitely the one gaining the most from it.” She pressed her lips together. “What’s her endgame?”
“I imagine she’s got alibis for every single attack against me.”
She motioned for him to continue. Beckett leaned back against her couch and sighed. “She tried to buy Morningstar from me.”
“She had to know you wouldn’t take that offer.”
“I’m sure she did. She’s not stupid.” He stared at her bookshelves, not liking the direction of his thoughts. “I don’t know what happens to Morningstar if I die.”
“Beckett.”
He shifted closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m just musing. I have a will set up, but it mostly concerns my trust fund and Thistledown, the latter of which is a nonissue at the moment. The company is set up differently. Normally, it would be up to the board to determine a new CEO and distribute shares from there, but Morningstar is ultimately a King operation. It has its own procedures when it comes to how the family works.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’d have to consult our friend Walter Trissel, but it’s entirely possible that if I die without an heir, the company reverts back to the nearest King—either to Lydia or Anderson, her oldest child.”
She blanched. “If that’s not motive for murder, I don’t know what is.”
Chapter Nineteen
Beckett wanted to soothe away Samara’s worry for him. All he had to do was kiss her, and the magnetic pull between them would take care of the rest. He’d tow her into the bedroom and neither one of them would think too hard about the threats they were facing down for the rest of the night. With his body dragging against hers, her taste on his tongue, her cries in his ears…the rest of the danger would cease to matter.
But the danger would still be there in the morning.
It would still be there no matter what they did, but he wanted her to choose to let him stay without his steamrolling her. He wanted her to choose him.
Samara shifted a little and laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re staying here tonight.”
He should just let it go, but he wanted her to want him there—not to be offering because she thought he didn’t have anywhere else to go. “If you’re sure. You’re probably safer if I leave.”
“That’s a joke, right? You’re not doing this alone. I’ll have to deal with Lydia eventually, but for the time being I’m on vacation because she commanded it. There’s no reason I can’t go with you to talk to Walter Trissel tomorrow.” She nestled closer. “And you shouldn’t be alone tonight. Before you get your back up about it, that’s not pity talking. Don’t let
