Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Read online

  “I’m going to take a shower, okay?”

  “Riley, you never cease to amaze me,” he said in a low, husky voice and sat up. “I won’t be long. Don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you about next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “Charleston. I’m going down first thing Monday with my team. I want you to go with me.”

  Startled, Riley stopped fumbling with the sheet. “To Charleston? Why?”

  “I want to make sure you’re safe. Does it surprise you?”

  “You took my gun, remember,” she teased.

  He leaned across the bed and pulled out the top drawer. “I kept it…and I do know how to use it.”

  She smiled and headed to the bathroom. She glanced back at Kincaid. He had already grabbed his phone. She did the same when she saw hers blinking on the chair by the window.

  She leaned in to turn on the shower. Stepping out to allow the water to heat up, she looked at her texts. The first was from Walter’s personal assistant, Lawrence. Freddy was still in a coma, but stable. The gala would start on time tonight.

  Relieved that Freddy had stabilized, she looked at the next one. Her heart fluttered. Need to see you ASAP. Dennis

  She stepped beneath the spray. As she soaped up, her mind raced. What was going through Dennis’s head? He wanted to meet up? Was he crazy? They had nothing to say to each other.

  Getting out of the shower, she towel-dried her hair and wrapped another one around her body.

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  Riley turned to see Kincaid in the doorway in his boxers, smiling with an “I like what I see” smile.

  “Answer?”

  He moved closer and took her in his arms. “Silly girl. Charleston.”

  “I don’t know. It’s so quick. I need more time to think.”

  He kissed her lips and moved down her neck. “What else are you going to do? Schoolteachers are off for the summer. So nothing should be holding you back. Besides, I want you to come.”

  His hand undid the towel and it fell to the floor. He lifted her up in his arms and carried her back to bed.

  He wasted no time. His lips devoured her. One hand teased her breast with his thumb and forefinger; the other cupped her ass. She was coming fast and hard.

  “Come with me.”

  Oh, she had no resistance. At that moment, she would promise him anything. She agreed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Riley watched Bailey bounce off playing ball with the doggie assistant at Ruff Play. She had already talked with Amanda and set Bailey’s care for the next few days…at least.

  Amanda had been a friend since Riley moved into her grandmother’s house. The two bonded over the love of their dogs. Amanda had expanded her love to a thriving business, to which Riley became a silent partner. The arrangement had worked for years and allowed Riley to travel at will without worry about her dog.

  Waiting in the back of the building, Riley nervously glanced at her watch. He was late. Then the dogs started barking madly. Dennis had arrived.

  She saw him. Tall and lean, he had a chiseled contour beard that accented his handsome face and dark eyes. His untamed dark hair gave him a rugged look, especially with his smug smile.

  “Riley, I didn’t think you would come.”

  “I shouldn’t have,” she said staunchly. “What in the world possessed you to want this meeting?”

  “Dad.”

  Immediately, Riley went on guard. “What about your dad?”

  “He wanted me to give you a message. He said that things are moving in the right direction. You need to come back to Charleston.” He gazed hard at her. “What the hell is going on? What have you got yourself into?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Don’t, Riley. I’m worried about you. People are getting murdered. Is this about the will?”

  She forced a laugh. “Don’t go there, Dennis. I’m not your concern.”

  “You know I care.” He reached over and caressed her face. “I’ve never stopped.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She slapped him back. “Don’t ever touch me again. What are you thinking?”

  He smiled faintly. “That I want you back. What a mistake I made. You are all I think about.”

  “You are an idoit, Dennis, if you ever believe I would take you back. You’re married to my cousin…you jilted me when we were engaged…to marry Olivia…”

  “I knew immediately what a mistake it was with Olivia. I would have divorced her years ago if not for you. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve told Olivia everything. I’m leaving her when we return home. She asked if I would stay through the gala, but Dad’s already contacted a friend of his who’s a divorce lawyer. Olivia knows it’s over.” He moved closer and whispered, “I’m free.”

  “It has nothing to do with me. I’ve barely talked to you in the last five years. Five years!”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said. “We loved each other once and it was good. We belong together.”

  “Good?” she questioned. “What we had is dead. You…you left me alone. Do you think I could forget? You broke my heart. One minute professing your love, the next you were married to my cousin…my cousin!”

  “I told you it was temporary insanity.” He pulled her into an embrace. “You forgave me once…remember?”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “I told Olivia,” he said in a low, deep voice. “I told her that it was you who sent me back to her when you discovered she was pregnant with Chloe. It was you who left me.”

  She pressed her hands against his chest. “You don’t know me at all if you thought for a minute that I would have broken up your marriage with a child involved, but…it was never going to work…not after you married Olivia. When we…” She swallowed hard. “I was young and hurting… I wanted to be loved…but it is not meant to be… It’s over, Dennis. It’s been over for a long time.”

  “I don’t believe that. I can’t believe it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “When Dad came to me before I left, he made me promise to bring you home. We’ve heard rumors and have been worried sick.”

  “I will get in touch with Clayton. But understand, it’s not your concern. I can take care of myself.”

  She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by her arm. “Can you? Or do you think your new boyfriend will take care of you? A TV reporter! Riley, you realize you can’t trust him. He’s just using you.”

  She jerked her arm back. “And you didn’t? I trusted you.”

  “Riley, my family took you in after your grandmother died. I made a momentary lapse in judgment. I stupidly believed Olivia that what I felt for you wasn’t love—”

  “But pity,” Riley interrupted him. “I can well imagine what she said to take you from me. And you fell for it. I was naïve. So naïve.

  “That night at the cabin on the anniversary of Daddy’s death, I fell for your sweet talk and lies without one thought of the consequences to others. For a time after I left for Boston, I blamed you. Telling myself you tricked me. I was angry until I realized I had no one to blame except myself.

  “I learned I was responsible for my actions and could stand on my own. More importantly, I stopped feeling sorry for myself.”

  She took a step back. “You do what you want, Dennis. Get your divorce, but don’t think I’ll be there for you. Now or ever.”

  Pivoting on her heel, she walked away.

  * * * *

  A hidden figure watched the whole scene.

  His fingers clutched the camera with the telephoto zoom lens and then set it down on the leather passenger seat. The darkened windows of the black sedan slid upward and closed. From the well-chosen hiding spot in the back parking lot, he smiled.

  His patience had paid off.

  Blood raced through his every vein, every muscle tense, and every nerve wound tight. How easy Riley had made it. The annoying girl had helped plan her own demise.

  All the years of planning was coming to a c
limax. It was time. Tonight.

  * * * *

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Brophy read over the file FBI Special Agent Jackson Dunn had sent. He had worked with Dunn on a couple of cases in the last couple of years, including Brophy’s hardest case to date, the serial murderer, Greg Mobley.

  Dunn was a good guy. It had taken a few days, but Dunn had come through. He had found the files on the FBI’s investigation on Walter Ashcroft from fourteen years ago when Walter was president of People’s Bank of Boston.

  Brophy was shocked to see the magnitude of the investigation. It spanned over three years. Money laundering. Embezzling. Fraud.

  The FBI seemed to have the goods on Walter Ashcroft. The Feds had even connected Walter to the Delfino crime family out of Chicago.

  Notes left in the file explained that Walter had made several bad real estate investments. Witt Ashcroft had begun to suspect that someone was embezzling money. He had hired investigators to find out where it was.

  Walter Ashcroft had to have felt the heat. Probably at the end of his rope. That was, until his brother’s name began to be mentioned in this mess.

  Then came Jack Ashcroft’s suicide and the letter he left…the letter that had killed the case against Walter Ashcroft. Jack Ashcroft had confessed to the embezzling.

  There had been red flags. The letter was typed, not handwritten. It had been mailed to Walter asking for his forgiveness, but there wasn’t a letter for his own daughter or his parents. Nothing.

  Odd.

  But it had killed the case. There was no way to prosecute Walter Ashcroft and get a conviction, not with the league of top-notch attorneys Ashcroft had at his disposal, who would use the confession as reasonable doubt.

  After looking over the evidence, Brophy didn’t believe for a minute that Jack Ashcroft had committed the offenses. He didn’t have opportunity. People’s Bank had been embezzled. How would he have been able to do so from Charleston?

  What it looked like was the power of attorney to stocks of Witt Ashcroft that were sold was used as the evidence that it was Jack Ashcroft. He had signed off on the sale for over seven hundred thousand dollars.

  Something wasn’t right. Brophy sensed it. But if he was right, why would Jack Ashcroft have committed suicide? And if it wasn’t suicide, why were the Ashcrofts willing to accept the finding?

  “Brophy, I thought you would be working late. Where is the rest of your team?”

  Setting his papers down, he looked up at Cruz, dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and blue jeans. Casual, but he sensed she was on the job. “It’s almost nine on a Saturday.”

  Cruz nodded absently and pulled up a chair. “Couldn’t get close to the gala, not even to park.”

  “You thought you would pass time with me?” Brophy pushed back from his desk. For the first time in quite a while, he smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you wanted me to drive down there.”

  “Are you doing anything else?” she asked innocently enough. “Probably reading over one file or another. We can shoot the shit. You can bounce your thoughts off me.”

  “We’re not partners, Cruz.”

  “Technically, you’re right, but maybe on this case we should be.”

  “I’m not crossing that line,” Brophy said, dead serious.

  “I’m not asking you to break any rules. Just bounce around ideas. Tell you some things I heard through the grapevine. You can tell me if you’ve heard the same. You must be reaching out if you went to the FBI.” Before Brophy could object, she raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t you think I know what a FBI file looks like? It wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Be straight up, Cruz. Don’t play games. What do you want? Don’t tell me it’s my company,” Brophy said sharply.

  “Up-and-up.” Cruz’s voice dropped. “I’m worried that something is going to happen tonight. You have this volatile family pushed together for an event. A murderer is connected to them somehow. A murderer, I might remind you, who you rankled.”

  Brophy could only shrug. He would never admit that he had concerns or the fact that it was the reason he was here at the station instead of home. He had missed another softball game of Sara’s.

  He slid the files into his desk and stood. “If you want to spend your Saturday with an old rundown detective, who am I to question? Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  The Museum of Fine Arts had outdone themselves for the Summer Gala. The building was lit up like a luminaria on Huntington Avenue. No expense had been spared on wooing the essential benefactors, hoping to entice those to bid on the artwork available at tonight’s silent auction.

  Kincaid tugged on the lapel of his tuxedo when he exited the limousine in front of the Museum of Fine Arts. Extending his hand, he helped Riley out onto the sidewalk.

  Any lingering doubts that Riley was a true Ashcroft dissipated the moment she walked up the steps beside him. Undoubtedly at ease, she looked stunning, dressed in an elegant black gown, a silky faille with spaghetti straps that fitted her figure to perfection. The miniskirt was overlaid with a cascading hi-lo hem with contrasting trim. The cut of the dress emphasized her shapely legs, along with a pair of black leather Manolo sandals.

  Her hair was styled in a fashionable, long, wavy bob, which accented her large, expressive eyes. Tear-drop diamond earrings glittered from her earlobes and a shimmering decadent array of crystal halos hung around her neck.

  Entering the museum, she linked her arm through his. Her hazel eyes danced.

  An unfamiliar warmth surged through him he couldn’t explain. He told himself that what was between them was nothing more than a mutual need between the two of them. But he had discovered a primal urge within him evoked around this woman. An urge to protect her.

  He had to keep Riley safe. He wasn’t going to let her stray too far from his side, not with her family within inches of her. He didn’t trust a one of them.

  Seeing her like this, with the look of excitement in her eyes, she exposed herself in a manner she had hidden from him. The tough exterior wavered, allowing him a glimpse of the woman she once was.

  Making their way to the Koch Gallery for the pre-party, Riley stopped more than once at one painting or another.

  “Enjoying yourself?” A smile played on his lips.

  She looked up at him and nodded. “When I visited Nana as a child, we used to spend hours here. She had an innate love for the arts and was a major benefactor to the museum. I thought it the coolest thing to be able to get private tours. I was so fascinated by the history and beauty.”

  “It seems she passed her passion on to you.”

  “But of course.” She smiled, as if remembering. “Nana inspired my love for Impressionists. Monet, Renoir, and van Gogh. But it was the women artists who were her favorites. Georgia O’Keeffe. Joan Mitchell. Which brings us to tonight’s auction.

  “Nana had donated a Renoir and her Tamara de Lempicka to the museum. I believe it was debatable whether to sell or display the de Lempicka. I was so happy the director decided to display the de Lempicka. At least, I can come and enjoy it when I want.”

  He was taken by a sudden sadness in her voice. “Hold to your memories. You seemed to have been close to your nana.”

  “I was.” She nodded. “I am grateful for being able to reconnect with her and having that time.”

  “Reconnect?” Having lost her father in the manner Riley had, Kincaid was surprised that Florence Ashcroft wouldn’t have stayed in close contact with her granddaughter. He would have imagined that the two would have shared their grief. “You mean after your father’s passing?”

  Riley didn’t speak for a long moment. At last, she said, “I lived with my Grandmother Carver after Daddy died. We didn’t have much. Everything that Daddy left me was confiscated by Grandfather.”

  Witt Ashcroft had a reputation as a cold-hearted bastard, but to cut off an innocent? “Why the hell would he have done that?”

  She hesitated and then admitted, “Daddy
and Grandfather were estranged when Daddy left Boston. Grandfather didn’t want Daddy to marry Momma. He threatened to cut Daddy off if he did. Daddy didn’t care and moved to Charleston.

  “Grandfather didn’t, but their relationship was strained. Then the rumors exploded about the power of attorney, Daddy’s death…” She sighed. “I thought…I thought after the funeral that I would be going back with Nana. It was then when Walter informed me that I wasn’t a true Ashcroft…that I would be staying.”

  Even though he knew he shouldn’t press, Kincaid’s instincts took over. He pounced on the momentary display of weakness. “Why would he be so cruel?”

  “Walter told me that Grandfather believed I wasn’t Daddy’s child.”

  The words hung in the air as he met Riley’s gaze. Kincaid shook his head. He didn’t believe it for a minute. Riley looked too much like the Ashcrofts.

  She waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Grandfather was hurting and lashed out. For a long time, I wanted nothing to do with any of my New England relatives. When Grandmother died, I didn’t reach out to them. I lived with Daddy’s partner in Charleston for two years before I transferred to UMass.”

  “But you did eventually forgive your grandparents.”

  There was a tense moment. Then her lips twisted upward. “Forgave? I suppose. It was a whim that I reached back out. Nana immediately insisted I come see her. She offered me a job while I was in school. Eventually, Grandfather accepted me.”

  “Big of him.”

  She gave a small laugh. “After a DNA test.”

  “No?”

  For the look on her face, he could tell it wasn’t a joke. And he thought he had had an unconventional upbringing. A wave of sympathy swept through him, something he realized he could never show her.

  She wasn’t one for self-pity.

  Strange. A tumult of emotions gripped him. He wished he could redo the past for her and take the pain out of her eyes. An impossibility.

  He reached over and caressed her face. He drew in a breath, filling his senses with her invigorating scent. Never had he imagined his emotions would have tied so quickly, so intensely to this woman.