Sophia appeared absolutely miserable, almost near tears, her throat catching. She shrugged off Julia’s hand. “Is it—is it really worth it?”
Hell, yeah, it is. What was wrong with her? They had a deal. A pact. Made between two women of the same blood! And stupid Sophia intended to blow it? After all the years of planning to get back at the Cahills for turning their backs on them, now . . . now Sophia was going to throw in the towel?
“We’re talking millions,” Julia reminded her, trying to remain calm. “Tens of millions, maybe hundreds of millions. Who knows? But more money than we would ever see in our lifetimes.” Julia softened her voice a little, tried to be placating. “Listen. We’re just getting back what’s rightfully ours. Remember? We were cut out when that whack job of a mother gave us up for adoption. Didn’t even let our father know we existed.”
“And now he’s dead,” Sophia supplied, as if she were sad at the thought.
Well, who knew if their old man had really kicked off, but Julia had spun that story well enough that Sophia had bought it. And really, as far as Julia was concerned, whoever had been the sperm donor who had impregnated Deidre, he didn’t exist, not to her. She never wanted to know who he was, so she planned to just keep him where he should be: dead in the ground.
Sophia set her near-empty glass in the sink, where a couple of other dirtied plastic dollar-store plates sat. What the fuck? Couldn’t she find the dishwasher? That was the difference between them. Sophia had grown up somewhat pampered, if ignored by her parents, and Julia had been forced to work hard, to take care of her younger siblings. It was like she’d been an unpaid maid—a slave! So still, after all these years, after finally finding her sister, she was the damned workhorse, had made the plans, secured this apartment, bought the car with money she’d saved working as a barista in a mom-and-pop coffee joint, scrabbling for every damned dime she’d saved.
“What about Megan Travers?” Sophia asked, finally getting to what, Julia suspected, was really bothering her. “Is she dead too?”
Julia let out a disgusted sigh. “Of course not.”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“You said you kidnapped her. The cops found her car at that cabin, but she wasn’t there. I read where they’re going to take cadaver dogs up there. Are they going to find her? Buried on the property? Stuffed in a basement?”
“This is crazy!” Julia snapped, her anger surfacing. What the hell was wrong with Sophia? “You’ve been watching too many made-for-TV ‘true crime’ shows.”
“Prove it,” her sister said again stubbornly.
“What? You want a picture of her?”
“Not unless it’s date-stamped.” Sophia was thinking now, and that was dangerous. “The plan was to kidnap her, right? Not harm her. So, what happens after we get James to marry me—us—huh? We can’t just let her free after keeping her prisoner. She’ll rat us out!”
“Not if we cut her in. And trust me, Megan Travers wants a share.”
“She’s in love with James!”
“She’s in love with his money. Like us.”
Sophia bit her lip. “It’s more to me,” she admitted, and Julia rolled her eyes.
She couldn’t let her twin mess this up. Not after all the work. “Just pull yourself together, and go through with the plan. You think he’ll marry you—us, right? Now that the competition’s out of the picture.”
“But it isn’t,” Sophia whined. “He’s been with Rebecca Travers.”
“I know!” Julia spat out, then tried to tamp down her rising frustration. Why was her sister being such a pain? “I’m dealing with that. Rebecca’s a lot smarter than Megan was, and James dumped her. For Megan. She won’t be fooled, won’t trust him again.” Julia would make sure of it. Because Sophia was right—Rebecca was a problem, a serious problem. But Julia knew how to deal with problems. “We’ll just keep plying him with sex.” She arched an eyebrow. She and Sophia had both been in James’s bed, and it hadn’t been a problem . . . yet . . . But that might change. She sensed the difference in James. Was he just suspicious because of the recent murders, or was it because of that damned Rebecca Travers attempting to turn his head? The problem was that the more Sophia and Julia took turns sleeping with James, the more he could notice that they were different. Though physically they were nearly identical, their personalities were not perfect mirror images. That’s where the problem might lie, Julia suspected. It would be their mannerisms or their temperament or their sense of humor that were different and might tip him off. She’d reasoned, originally, that if he was with each of them equally, he might just think “Sophia” was moody and ever-changing, but she’d miscalculated. James was sharper than she’d first imagined, and fooling him was getting more difficult as time wore on. And now Sophia was balking.
Not good. Not good at all.
Something had clearly changed. Sophia wasn’t playing along. Instead, she stared at her twin with round, accusing eyes. “You said, ‘was,’” she said, in a voice so low Julia had trouble hearing it.
“What?” What was she talking about? Julia’s muscles tightened.
“You said, “‘Rebecca’s a lot smarter than Megan was.’ Like Megan doesn’t exist anymore,” Sophia said, obviously getting upset. “Like she’s dead.”
“Oh, God, Sophia, get over it. A slip of the tongue. A mistake, damn it!”
“Was it?”
“Yes!” Julia let out a long sigh, but inside she was panicking. Sophia’s new attitude was more than worrisome; it was dangerous! “Of course it was. Oh, for the love of—you said you wanted proof, right? That Megan’s still alive? Well, let’s go.”
