Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Page 10

  She had been taught at a young age to respect a gun, how to clean it and most importantly, how to use it. Daddy had always said unless she was certain she could pull the trigger, don’t have one.

  For years, she had never seen the need. Today was a different story. On her last trip to Charleston, she had been given the pistol for protection. She was prepared and more than able to pull the trigger if the need arose.

  Detective Brophy assumed she was afraid. He had not been far from the truth. She had been overcome with the emotional toil of Helen’s death. Frozen in panic that her scheme wouldn’t work and then scared it would.

  Now, though, she was mad as hell.

  Fear had slowed her down. Helen’s death. Freddy’s hospitalization. The police. A murderer on the loose, who, according to Freddy, had her in line as his next intended victim.

  Her anger gave her something else to focus on, something besides the picture of her cousin lying unconscious on her kitchen floor, something besides the vision of the man shot between the eyes…the memory of her father…

  Let him come.

  Turning off the water, she reached for her robe and put it on. Tying the belt, she stepped out of the shower. Immediately, she caught sight of a figure in the doorway, with Bailey happily wagging her tail beside him…readily recognizing her uninvited guest.

  She frowned. “Josh Kincaid, what the hell do you think you are doing in my bathroom?”

  “What the hell are you doing with a gun?” he countered, holding it to his side. She saw he wasn’t the least bit repentant.

  “I know how to handle one… Do you?” she retorted, tightening the belt securely. “Now give it back and get the hell out of here.”

  He ignored her. “You know, I could have been anyone walking in here. You didn’t even hear me. Whether or not you know how to use a gun, what good will it do if someone uses it against you?”

  Not willing to acknowledge she let her guard down, she murmured under her breath. “I have Bailey.”

  “Yep! She did a fine job of welcoming me inside,” he said sarcastically. He turned the gun, checked to see that the safety was on and stuck it in the back of his jeans. “The kitchen door was wide open, swinging in the wind. I latched it up as well as I could and called a guy I know who will be able to fix it up for you. It won’t be until tomorrow.

  “Considering what happened, I think it will be for the best if you pack a bag and come with me.”

  “Best for whom?” she asked warily.

  He gave no answer. He didn’t have to. His eyes skimmed over her, as if drinking in the sight of her half naked. She flushed with a sudden feeling of vulnerability. She took a step back, tripping over the lip of the shower.

  Before she knew what was happening, Kincaid caught her and pulled her up into his arms. She stared at him for a long moment, hit hard with the realization of just how attracted she was to him.

  Her whole body surged with heat and emotions so intense she found it hard to breathe. What was wrong with her? She reprimanded herself. She didn’t have time for this distraction.

  Wiggling away from him, she pushed back against his chest. She wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Do you always barge in on a defenseless woman in a shower?”

  “I don’t think you’re that defenseless—with or without your gun,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”

  * * * *

  Kincaid waited impatiently in the kitchen. Common sense told him that he shouldn’t become involved with this woman. Hell, she had even warned him.

  He had told himself it was because she had agreed to help him with the story. If the investigation panned out, it would be a major scoop. That should have been enough. But, for some strange reason, he wanted more from her.

  Heaven help him, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He knew he shouldn’t have gone into the bathroom, but he had to make sure for himself she was okay. Then he saw the gun.

  She was scared. The stupid girl was too stubborn to ask for help. Brophy was right. She knew more than she admitted. He should take a step back.

  But even now, his mind wandered back to holding her in his arms only moments before. He still could smell her, fresh like the scent of a spring day. Her body cradled against his. He could have lost himself with just one kiss.

  He had refrained…for the moment.

  Not that he was stunned by the awareness of how badly he wanted Riley Ashcroft, but he had never let a woman interfere with his ability to do his job. She had the potential to do so. He barely knew the woman, yet here he was.

  She had ignored his calls and texts. He wasn’t a fool, but it only served to fuel his interest. She was up to something.

  “Still here?”

  He looked back to find Riley in the doorway. Holy hell. She was dressed in a simple black and white sundress with a plunging V neckline. Her short, curly hair had been tousled dry, framing her face and accenting her large eyes, which seemed to have darkened to a deep brown.

  But it was the dress clinging to her curves that warmed his blood.

  He had it bad.

  She had her cell phone in one hand and keys in the other.

  “I’m going to the hospital,” Riley said, an obvious statement. “I called. He’s at Boston Medical.”

  “Give me a moment and I’ll drive you myself.”

  “I can—”

  “It’s not a request,” Kincaid informed her. “Don’t even try to tell me that something hasn’t frightened you…not with a gun in the shower. What’s going on?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know…exactly.”

  He grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Detective Brophy believes there is some connection between you and Helen Barlow. A connection that got her killed. That will get you killed.”

  She stared at him for an eternity, as if a war raged inside her. At last, she said, “My grandfather’s will. The one that Walter and Donald swore didn’t exist. The will that went through probate was an old one that Grandfather made before Daddy’s death, when they were estranged.

  “A year after I moved up here to Boston, Grandfather showed me his will. He wanted me to know that he was leaving me what would have been Daddy’s. A third of his estate.”

  Kincaid looked at her skeptically. “Why would Helen Barlow have a copy of your grandfather’s will?”

  Riley shrugged. “I don’t know, unless Nana gave it to her for safekeeping.”

  “Wouldn’t your grandfather’s lawyer have a copy if he had it drawn up?”

  “Ellis.” The name lingered in the air before Riley continued. “Ellis was Grandfather’s lawyer and now is Walter’s. When Grandfather died, the updated will suddenly vanished…as if it never existed. I ardently argued of its existence, but was told I was crazy.”

  “Surely your grandmother would have supported your claim.”

  “By that time, she had already had a stroke and was undergoing cancer treatments. I had long given up that it would ever be found when Helen called me. She told me that she had mailed me the will and to do with it what I needed to do. She attached a certified statement that she had been one of the witnesses to the will.”

  Riley paused, as if quelling her rising emotions. “You think she was killed over it? You think I’m in danger?”

  Kincaid simply said, “Yes.”

  Chapter Nine

  “This is a bad idea.” Kincaid walked beside her into the hospital.

  Riley ignored him. She had other things on her mind. The last thing in the world she was going to do was explain her actions to him.

  She may have told him about the will, but she hadn’t told him she was worried about Freddy. He was a drug addict. She knew better than to believe a word he said, but he was so insistent.

  What if someone had doped him up?

  Texting back and forth with her cousin, Noah, she knew that Freddy wasn’t in good shape. He said that the whole family had gathered in the waiting room. That wasn’t a goo
d sign.

  Hospitals reminded Riley of nightmares she had as a child. Sadness overwhelmed her the moment she entered. Today was no different.

  She walked past the information desk and took the elevator up to the third floor. ICU was through the closed electronic doors down the hall on the left; the waiting area was to her right.

  From her vantage point, she saw her family. A small group. Strangers whose eyes fixed on her the moment she stepped into the room. There was little love in their expressions, especially with Kincaid by her side.

  The room smelled of Chanel No. 5 and cigarettes. Seemed Donald had gone back to his chain-smoking. As he stood in the doorway, the introvert reeked of the reeds. Reluctantly, he stepped back and allowed her entrance.

  Sitting over by the window, Olivia looked over at her and frowned. The reaction did not surprise Riley. She hadn’t spoken to her cousin in years—five, to be exact. Not since that awful day Olivia had discovered Riley in the arms of her husband, Dennis.

  Olivia had only seen a kiss, but a kiss was enough for her to jump to the conclusion that the two were lovers. She had exploded, telling Riley to stay away from her husband…Riley’s ex-fiancé.

  Her cousin had assumed correctly, but it had only happened once. The kiss Olivia had seen had been a good-bye. Since that time, Olivia had not exchanged a civil word to Riley.

  Olivia was undoubtedly a beautiful woman: shoulder-length, honey-blonde hair, and bright-blue eyes with a lightly tanned complexion accented by her naturally applied makeup. She wore a simple white pantsuit, which only added to her elegance.

  Reaching over to the older woman next to her, Olivia touched her arm. The woman glanced up and shot Riley a long, hard glare.

  Dressed in a black, long-sleeved dress, Vivian Elliot Ashcroft was tall and thin. Her face was smooth and without a wrinkle, more than likely due to her addiction to Botox and cosmetic procedures including a breast augmentation. Her dark hair was pulled back harshly from her face and pinned into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.

  She stood and moved toward Riley with a severe expression. In a cold, aloof voice, she said, “Riley, dear, you are not welcome here.”

  Noah, Riley’s younger cousin, stepped forward. The tall, good-looking young man stopped his mother and shook his head.

  “Mother, don’t. The doctor said that if Freddy hadn’t gotten to the hospital when he did, he wouldn’t have made it. That was due to Riley.”

  “Noah’s right. Come in and have a seat, Riley. You can wait with us.”

  Surprised, Riley turned to see Walter gestured with his hand to a chair. He looked uncharacteristically drained. Lines of strain under his eyes betrayed his concern.

  Behind him, Donald moved over to his wife’s side. Riley watched Vivian take a step back from her husband with an unmistakable look of disdain in her eyes at him. No doubt for not supporting her insistence of having Riley removed.

  “How is Freddy doing?” Riley sat.

  “Not good.” Sadness filled Walter’s voice…an emotion Riley rarely saw from her uncle. “He seized uncontrollably when he first arrived. Overdosed…I thought we had this behind us. He promised…”

  “It’s okay, Uncle Walter. Freddy’s a fighter. He’s going to be fine,” Noah interjected, wrapping his arm about Walter. He continued on for Riley. “Freddy has stopped seizing, but seems to have fallen into a coma. Aunt Cora is with him now. The doctors say it’s wait and see. They have done all they can.”

  “Interesting case. Most times I wouldn’t be investigating a drug addict’s overdose.”

  Immediately, all eyes turned to the man who uttered those words. Detective John Brophy strode through the doorway. His face was drawn together in a severe grimace.

  “I would question why you would be so now?” Walter stood. “This isn’t the time. I believe you have been instructed to go through my lawyer.”

  “Then call him.” Brophy shrugged, as though he didn’t give a damn. “I have two murders to solve that are associated with you Ashcrofts and no one—and I mean no one—has been cooperative. I’ve got questions and I want answers.

  “There’s not many times that all the Ashcrofts gather together.”

  The detective stared straight at Riley. Her stomach clenched. She suddenly wished she was anywhere but here.

  Brophy walked in front of Walter. “Tell me. How did you know about the package Helen Barlow sent Riley?”

  Shocked, Riley’s heart pounded wildly, so hard she could barely breathe. A warning went off in her head. Where was Brophy going with this? What did he know?

  But she wasn’t the only one stunned.

  Walter froze to his spot and stuttered, “I don’t…understand.”

  “I think you understand exactly what I asked. I want the truth. I found a slip for a certified package in Helen Barlow’s car. Tracing the slip back, I discovered it was sent to Riley Ashcroft, but you already knew that. How?”

  The room hushed as Walter went quiet and shook his head. Brophy didn’t relent.

  “Don’t bother denying it.” Brophy pointed to Kincaid. “Did you forget that he was there when you interrogated your niece about it? What is so important about it?”

  Riley’s heart sank. Brophy knew. She saw it in his eyes.

  He wanted the truth. What was the real truth? she wondered. She had lived her life surrounded by lies. Would she even know the truth?

  Then Brophy uttered the words.

  “You want to know what I believe? I think it was something that nobody in this room, except one of you, would have wanted found—a new Witt Ashcroft will. There is no other explanation.”

  The room fell into silence. The only sounds were the carts filled with medical supplies going up and down the hall and the whisperings of the doctors and nurses who passed the door.

  Riley didn’t dare look up. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

  Walter finally broke the silence. “My father’s will has gone through probate. There is no other will except that one.”

  “Really?” Brophy waved his hand, as if it didn’t matter what Walter said. “I have a signed document from Charlie Barlow’s ex-wife. She states that Charlie was confident that he was going to be a rich man. That he had knowledge that there was indeed a new will and his mother had witnessed it. He told her he had seen it and took a picture of it…”

  He took out his phone and clicked on a picture. Holding it up, he continued, “Looks like a will to me. Blackmail seems like a motive for murder.”

  Riley was pissed. She scowled at Kincaid. He betrayed her. How foolish she had been to trust him!

  She wouldn’t stand for it. She walked out into the hall. A voice called to her.

  “Oh, Miss Ashcroft, there has been a search warrant issued at your house. They are waiting my orders to execute it. If you want to save your house from being ransacked, it might be best to tell us where the real package from Helen Barlow is.”

  “Oh God,” she whispered, turning back to the man. “What have you done?”

  “I’m investigating a murder and am damn tired of being either lied to or avoided.”

  For a moment, she stared at the man who had just placed a target on her back. She glanced over the faces of everyone in the room. Does one of them truly want me dead? Shaking her head, she pivoted on her heels and left.

  Behind her, she heard Kincaid snap at Brophy.

  “Don’t you dare go into that house until Riley is there!”

  She rushed to the elevator and pushed the button once. Then twice.

  Kincaid didn’t let her go so easy. He caught up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She wanted to twist away…she was so angry at him.

  “I didn’t tell him. He must have figured out himself,” he contended, refusing to let her go. “Think. I was with you the entire time after you told me.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not,” he insisted. The door to the elevator opened. “Come on. Let’s get back to your place.”
>
  * * * *

  Brophy put out his cigarette. Darren Kennedy had arrived. He watched Darren weave between the officers on the front lawn. Darren nodded and smiled as he walked through the group, but Brophy knew his former brother-in-law well enough to know that the assistant district attorney’s attention was firmly on the purpose of his trip.

  “Got it?”

  With a slight nod, Brophy pointed to the main house. “The girl is waiting for you as we speak.”

  “Then let’s make this happen. I called in a huge favor and have Mackenzie waiting to take a look at it this afternoon.”

  “How’s Cameron feeling?” Brophy asked, making small talk as they entered through the front door.

  “Good. Morning sickness is over, though Connor’s been attached to her side. Guess that’s what an eighteen-month-old does when he senses changes are coming, but it’s all good. Cameron’s been asking when you’re coming over for dinner. You haven’t seen our new place.”

  “After this case, I’ll drop by. Hingham isn’t on my way home, but Sara’s shown me pictures. Looks like a great place to raise the family.”

  “Yeah. Cameron’s happy with it. Has a large yard. Great for kids and close to her dad.”

  The conversation abruptly halted. As they rounded the corner, the girl sat at the dining room table with a large brown envelope in her hand.

  “Miss Ashcroft, this is Assistant DA Darren Kennedy. He’s here to explain what will happen from here.”

  Brophy said the words with satisfaction. He had worked hard to get to this point. One intense interview after the other over the last couple of days, culminating with his talk with Martha Barlow.

  The woman had been waiting for him at the station after he returned from the break-in at Riley Ashcroft’s house.

  He already had the techies go back over all the emails on Helen Barlow’s computer. They found a suspicious account. Charlie had used his mother’s computer. The money he had owed through gambling. His discovery of the will in his mother’s belongings. His attempt to sell it.