“Maxime, please.” She grabs my arm when I pull on my coat. “What are you going to do?”
“Stay put, Zoe. Don’t touch anything and don’t eat or drink. Call me if someone other than Hector shows up. Our code word is bouillabaisse.”
I pull gently from her hold. If I stay a moment longer, I won’t be able to leave her at all. Losing her does things to my head, crazy things that boil with a rage in my blood. Still wearing the gloves, I can’t even touch her. I only allow myself the luxury of pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Lock the door behind me.”
I exit and shut the door. I don’t go until I hear the turn of the key.
Chapter 19
Maxime
It takes twenty minutes to drive to the small house on the beach. Fran inherited the place from her parents. I fucked her in that house. Although I’ve never fucked a woman other than Zoe in my bed, I’ve let Fran into my house. I trusted her.
“Fuck.” I slam the wheel.
If I hadn’t been tempted to go after Zoe this morning, I could’ve come home tonight to find her dead. The image is a terrifying visual that tears up my chest.
I shouldn’t come to premature conclusions. The ants could’ve died from something else. Maybe it’s coincidence. My gut says otherwise as I park behind Fran’s car in the driveway.
The lounge curtains are drawn. It’s broad daylight. After three days of rain, she would’ve left them open to let the sun warm the house.
I get out of the car with the bag of sugar and bang on the door. Fran opens a moment later.
Her face is composed. “Max? What a surprise. Is something wrong?”
Pushing past her, I ask, “Why would something be wrong?”
“Well.” She shrugs. “You’re here. I thought you didn’t want to see me.”
I didn’t pay enough attention to Fran. If I had, I would’ve known what a good actress she is.
Glancing at my hands, she asks, “What’s with the gloves?”
I close the door and lock it. “I was cleaning.”
She smiles, the perfect portrait of serenity. “You? Cleaning? You want me to come back to work? Is that it?”
“We’re going to have a drink,” I say, going over to the armoire where she keeps her booze.
The bedroom door is open. A suitcase lies on the bed and clothes are scattered over the floor.
“It’s not even lunchtime,” she says.
I take out the bottle of gin. “That’s never stopped you.” Pouring a shot in a glass, I place it on the table. “Come here.”
She walks to me with confident strides. “What are you celebrating?”
I pour a bit of the sugar from the bag into the glass and give it a stir with my gloved finger. “Drink.”
All color vanishes from her face. “What?”
I pick up the glass and hold it out to her. “Drink it.”
She steps back. “I told you, it’s too early.”
“Humor me.”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“You haven’t seen crazy yet.” In one step, I’m in front of her, gripping her hair while tilting the glass to her lips. “Drink it, Fran.”
“No!” Pushing on my chest, she turns her face away.
“Why?” I shake her by her hair. “Because you may die?”
“Max, please!”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?” I turn her face roughly toward the bedroom. “Where were you running to, huh?”
Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “You fired me. I needed a break to think and sort out my life.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!”
She cowers in my hold. “It’s not a lie.”
“Did you go to the apartment this morning when Zoe was out?”
“No.” She licks her lips. “I was packing.”
“Fine.” I relax my tight grip on her hair. “Maybe I’m over-reacting. Maybe it’s nothing. So, prove it.” Pulling her head back again, I push the glass back to her mouth.
“No!” Slamming her lips together, she turns her head the other way.
“So help me God, I’ll make you drink every last drop if you don’t talk.”
Silence.
“Fine.” I dip a gloved finger into the drink. “Let’s start with a little teaser.”
When I drag that finger just under the outline of her bottom lip, she sinks to her knees.
“Please, stop,” she says through her tears.
“What poison did you choose, Fran?”
She stares up at me through her blond lashes. “Botulinum.”
“Where did you get it?”
She blinks. Her lips tremble.
I dip my finger back in the poison. “Where the fuck did you get it?”
More silence.
“You will tell me, Fran, or I will make you suck this finger clean.”
Gripping her face, I apply pressure to the joints of her jaw.
She says something that sounds like, “Wait,” from her wide-open mouth.
I drop my hand. “Speak.”
She drags in a breath as if I’ve strangled her. “Your mother. I got it from your mother.”
My mother? She’s a lying bitch. I grab her jaw, hovering my wet finger over her lips. “Do not lie to me, Fran. Not about this.”
“It was her idea.” She folds her fingers around my wrist, not that she’d be able to hold me back if I decide to plunge my finger down her throat. “I swear to God, Max.”
I’m shaking with rage. “Why? Why the fuck?”
“Your mother and I,” she says in a tremulous voice, “we want the same thing.”
They both want Zoe gone.
I take her scrawny shoulders and shake her so hard her teeth clatter. “Where did you put it?”
“Just in the sugar,” she shouts. “I swear.”
“Like a big fucking metaphor for winning your war?” I spit out in disgust.
She sinks down onto her heels. “It wasn’t supposed to be some symbolic victory.” She meets my gaze. “I chose the sugar because Zoe is the only one who uses it. You use cubes. I’d never risk you, Max.” She grips my leg. “I love you.”
“You don’t love me.” I look at her with contempt. “If you did, you wouldn’t destroy the only thing that matters to me.”
Her face crumples. “You don’t mean that.”
Fury burns through my body. “Have you thought it
