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  To say I'm a little on edge since the meeting with the detectives yesterday is an understatement. I came out of the police station with Doug on my heels feeling relatively okay about matters. Sure, they asked tough questions but nothing that would be beyond circumstantial evidence that I'd killed JT.

  Of course, my bubble was deflated a bit as we walked to the coffeehouse and I pointed that out to Doug. He said, "Mr. North, most murders are proven based only on circumstantial evidence. There's hardly ever anything in the way of direct evidence unless there's a witness who observed what happened."

  That put me in a pissy mood, but when we walked into the coffeehouse and I saw the look on Sela's face, my mood got darker without even knowing what was causing it.

  I went berserk when she informed Doug and me about the surprise interview from Detective DeLatemer, but Doug managed to calm us down and told us not to worry. He seemed confident that neither one of us said anything that was incriminating and that we just needed to remain calm.

  Easy for him to say, especially after Sela and I got back to the condo and compared notes on the questions we were asked. And the immediate and most noticeable fuckup was that I lied and said Sela had been at JT's house for dinner and Sela didn't mention that to DeLatemer when he asked all the times they'd been together.

  Sela started crying when she realized, not because she was afraid for herself, but because she was beyond wigged out that I was in the crosshairs now. It took me forever to calm her down, and when no amount of talking, sweet words, or stroking of her back would work, I ended up stripping her down and making her come with my mouth. That stopped the tears, but it didn't stop her worries. She tossed and turned all night, and neither one of us slept a wink.

  The day after was no better, with both of us having too much time on our hands and nothing to do but wait for something bad to happen. Luckily, nothing did happen yesterday, and I feel marginally better that once we can get through this funeral, we can start leaving some worries behind.

  Caroline, Sela, and I sit several rows back from the front and JT's casket, which is closed, and a large portrait of his smiling face beside it. I have no clue why it's closed. Not sure if that was his preference, his parents', or perhaps the gaping holes in the side of his neck couldn't be hidden. Regardless, I'm thankful, because I sure as fuck don't want to see him. Not that I'd mind taking some sort of satisfaction in said gaping holes, but I want to hurry up and forget the son of a bitch. The last time I saw him he was beaten to a pulp, and that's not a bad way to remember him.

  Candace Townsend cries during the entire service. Her husband sits stoically to her left. My father sits to the right of Candace and I notice their shoulders touch the entire time. My mother sits to my father's right and quietly dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  My eulogy goes as expected. I keep it short and sweet. So fucking sweet. I talk about my childhood friend with genuine emotion. I tell a few funny stories about JT. I commend his amazing business sense and his confidence in me, for which I would not have had the opportunity to help create The Sugar Bowl. I talk about a life snuffed out far too early, and that the world is a little darker without him in it. I get through all of this without a single hitch in my well-rehearsed speech, because I want people to believe I'm devastated over the loss of my friend.

  "I know we're all grieving," I tell the crowd as I look out over the sad faces. I didn't prepare any type of formal speech but just had some index cards with jotted notes. "But we should all take some measure of happiness in knowing that JT is in a better place. Rest well, buddy."

  And by that, I truly mean "burn in hell," but the mourners don't need to know that.

  --

  The graveside service is short, with only a few words spoken by the pastor before JT's casket is lowered into the ground accompanied by Candace's wailing. I expect Colin will medicate her with Xanax and whiskey later.

  Sela, Caroline, and I stood at the perimeter of the crowd, quietly watching this last ode to JT's life. I expected it to feel bittersweet to me, that my friend had fallen so low. But there's no bitterness at all. Only sweet relief he's dead and out of our lives. I expect that makes me one cold bastard, but knowing what he did to my sister...to my Sela...I can't seem to find any shame in my thoughts.

  As the mourners start to disperse, I watch as my father touches his hand to my mother's elbow and nods my way. She spares me the briefest of glances, says something back to him with flattened lips, and he leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

  To calm her down maybe?

  I watch as he clasps Colin on the shoulder, murmurs a few words, and then bends to give Candace a hug. It's so clear to me, their familiarity with each other. It's almost embarrassing the way Candace's fingers clutch desperately to my father's shoulders, and I nearly smile when I see my mother watching every bit of it like a hawk. Sela told me at Christmas she thought my mother knew about my father and Candace, and I've often wondered.

  Didn't really care, but I wondered.

  Now I'm pretty sure Sela was right.

  My father turns and starts making his way through the crowd to us. I turn to Sela and Caroline. "Okay, ladies...that's your cue. Better get gone while the gettin's good."

  Caroline smirks and goes on tiptoes to give me a kiss on my cheek. After the funeral, we decided that Caroline would take Sela back to the condo so I could talk to my father alone. I bend down and give Sela a swift kiss, and then watch them walk out to the roadway that curves through the cemetery where our cars are parallel parked.

  When I feel my dad's presence behind me, I turn around to face him.

  "That was a good eulogy," he says, but there's no genuine praise in his voice. It's filler...an icebreaker...nothing more.

  "I wanted to talk to you about your mother's visit the other night," my dad says uncomfortably. I know he's being made to have this "talk" with me at my mother's behest.

  "Save your breath," I tell him as I hold a hand up. "I told her I was done and I meant it. I'm done."

  "Just like Caroline then," my dad observes bitterly.

  "That's no one's fault but yours and Mother's," I tell him. "And if I'm being honest with myself, I should have cut ties with both of you when you so callously tossed aside your daughter who had been raped."

  I can't gauge the look on my father's face. I can't tell if it's anger or sadness. It's this weird mixture maybe of the two, and he mutters, "Now all my children are gone."

  Still your fault, Dad.

  Well, JT's not your fault. That's strictly on himself, but whatever.

  Now that the unimportant shit is out of the way, turns out this talk was opportune because I've got some shit on my mind too. "You told me at the Christmas party that JT didn't know he was your son."

  My dad jerks in surprise and his jaw drops.

  "He knew," I say confidently.

  "How do you know that?" my dad asks.

  I provide the easiest lie. "Because he told me a few days before he died."

  My dad's gaze cuts over to where Candace stands with Colin, accepting handshakes and air kisses from friends. "Candace felt he had the right to know, and I couldn't argue with that."

  "And you left him half of your estate," I throw out in accusatory fashion, not that I care, because I don't. I do it so my dad thinks I'm emotionally invested in this argument and perhaps he'll be more genuine with me.

  "Of course I did," he says heatedly and with self-righteousness, and it doesn't occur to him to find out how I know this. "He's my son."

  "And cut Caroline out," I growl at him.

  "She was lost to me."

  "Then why all the secrecy?" I say with unfiltered disgust. "Why not have just admitted all of this to me when I asked you about it at Christmas?"

  "I don't know," he says loudly as he throws his hands out to the side in frustration. Then he lowers his voice. "I don't know. It was just awkward and you caught me off guard."

  "And lying comes easy to you," I interject.


  He lets that one go. "I knew it was going to make you angry so I just avoided it. And yes, he's in my will, but I didn't tell you because I didn't want to deal with the messy fallout."

  "No, you were just going to leave that for me and Mom to deal with if you died, right?"

  He doesn't answer me because there's nothing to justify such a cowardly act.

  "Well thanks a lot, Dad," I say with derision. "Your failing to clue me in on these little tidbits is making me look every bit a murderer right now."

  "What?" my dad gasps.

  "I was called in for questioning by the police. They seemed to take a lot of pleasure in beating me up about your illegitimate son and the fact he's entitled to half your estate. Seemed to think that gave me plenty of motive for murder."

  "But you wouldn't," my father says in outrage on my behalf.

  "Yeah, why don't you call the detectives and tell them that," I say snidely. "I'm sure that will ease their minds. Make them forget all about me and trying to pin this shit on me."

  "I'll call the district attorney right now," my father says. "He's a member of our club and I know him well."

  "For fuck's sake, Dad," I curse at him. "I don't want or need your help. And besides...it's only about twenty-eight years too late for you to start acting like a dad."

  "Beck, please," he begs me for understanding.

  "Why didn't you at least call me and tell me the cops came to talk to you about JT and your will? You could have given me a heads-up."

  He shakes his head vigorously. "They didn't talk to me. I swear it. If they knew about the will, it was from Candace. She knows I left half to JT."

  "So your mistress was in on your grand estate plans, but I'm betting Mother knows nothing of it, right?" The condescension is thick on my tongue.

  My dad deflates. "I'm going to tell her...at some point. I'm just not sure how."

  "Here's a clue, Dad," I mock him. "She already knows. Trust me on that."

  My dad's jaw drops open and I can't help but wonder how he could be that ignorant after all these years.

  "One more question," I say, ignoring his eyes swimming with pain and a need for mercy from me. "How long has JT known?"

  I need to know this. It's so fucking important I know this.

  "Candace told him when he was eighteen," my dad says, his voice sounding lost. Utterly defeated.

  Rage spikes within me.

  I thought I was past JT and his evil ways. I thought I was starting to find some peace with it now that he was dead.

  But knowing that fucking evil son of a bitch knew Caroline was his half sister and still raped her anyway...I want to jump on the casket as it's lowering into the ground, rip that son of a bitch out of there, and repeatedly stab him again and again. I want to dismember him.

  Mutilate him.

  Obliterate him.

  I'm so overwhelmed with hatred for that man that I can't even spare my father another thought. I turn away and start stalking toward my car, trying to find some measure of peace that I've cut the remaining poison from my life with that conversation with my dad.

  "I'm so glad that's over," Caroline says as she navigates her way through the city. I'm grateful she didn't mind bringing me back to the condo, as I really had no desire to listen to Beck have it out with his dad. By him not having revealed the full truth to his son, he made him look at the least a fool--at the worst a murderer--by letting him be blindsided by the cops. The fucker should have told Beck the cops were asking about it. That would have given Beck a better opportunity to be able to address those motive concerns by the police.

  "So what do you think your brother and dad are talking about?" I ask curiously from the passenger seat. Caroline drives a late-model four-door sedan. It's clean and in good condition, but certainly not the car of a daughter of millionaires. And yet she doesn't seem to give two fucks about losing out on all that money. One of the reasons I like her so much.

  "Well, I suppose the conversation will be short and to the point. Beck won't entertain discussion about our mother. Once he draws the line in the sand, he stays on his side."

  I nod, because I also suspect this is true, and it makes this line of conversation dead. Caroline has no clue about JT's relation to her dad or that she's been cut out of the will to make room for the bastard son. She has no clue that Beck intends to squeeze the truth out of his dad once and for all about who knows what.

  But again, Caroline doesn't know that. She will one day when Beck is ready to give her the full truth, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. At least not until we can figure out the issue with the DNA.

  Last night Beck and I talked more about it, and given the fact Detective Denning showed interest in Beck's relationship with Dennis after he became a partial alibi for Beck, we decided resoundingly that we wouldn't call Dennis about the DNA issue. He will happily stay ignorant drinking beer in Ireland and fishing off the coast of Panama none the wiser. Hopefully this will all have died down by the time he comes back.

  However, we're not going to wait to start on the DNA. It's eating at both of us with the need to know, and it's also delaying us in telling Caroline the truth. So I'm going to call the detective who investigated my rape and ask about the DNA, as I shouldn't trigger any suspicions for asking.

  At least we hope that doesn't occur.

  "Did you read the paper today?" Caroline asks me.

  I nod glumly. News of JT's death has been all over, even hitting national news, given the controversial nature of The Sugar Bowl. So not only were the entertainment media all over this, but mainstream news was watching it carefully. With the murder of a high-profile businessman, reporters everywhere were waiting to pounce once a break in the investigation occurred.

  "I can't stand to see the speculation about Beck," I tell her. While it hasn't been prolific, attention has been called to the fact that Beck was asked to give a formal statement to the police. In the news world, they practically translate that into a conviction, and I'm seeing more and more stuff about Beck popping up. While we tried really hard to ignore it yesterday, I couldn't help but surf the Net, devouring any news I could find to see what the public opinion was, but equally hating myself for doing it.

  Beck kept a lackadaisical attitude about it, but still...I know it has to be weighing on him a bit.

  "Listen," Caroline says in a tone that indicates she's getting ready to lay some serious wisdom on me. "Beck's been in the public eye his entire professional life. He's got the backbone for it. A little mention or speculation isn't going to hurt him, and if anything, it's probably good for The Sugar Bowl. Sort of like free marketing."

  I snort. "Way to make lemonade out of lemons."

  "I'm just saying, you've got to stop worrying about him so much."

  "I can't help it," I say softly, my fingers idly playing with the hem of my black skirt. I paired it with a gray sweater and finished off my funeral attire with a black scarf around my neck to hide the bruises. "I love him too much not to."

  Caroline sighs and her hand reaches over to take mine. "I'm so glad Beck found you."

  "Even after the shit I brought into his life?"

  "Shit and all," she affirms.

  Caroline circles the block the Millennium sits on, intent to drop me off at the front door. But as we arrive, we see several reporters camped outside, as well as two marked police cars and an unmarked one.

  "Fuck," she hisses.

  "You don't think they're here for--"

  "Let's go park in the garage," she says. "I'm going up with you."

  Moments later, Caroline pulls into one of Beck's reserved spaces and we're riding the elevator up to the condo. The minute we step out, my heart drops with a resounding thud. The door to the condo is wide open and I can hear sounds from inside. Voices...a camera snapping...the sound of drawers being opened.

  Not once do I believe we've been broken into.

  I hurry to the door, Caroline hot on my heels, and as soon as I enter, I rear backward at the amo
unt of people inside my home. Uniformed cops, plainclothes cops, and technicians wearing blue windbreakers with the words Bureau of Forensic Sciences on the back. They're everywhere...taking pictures, searching cupboards, flipping couch cushions, placing labeled bags of evidence into large plastic tubs with lids.

  "Jesus Christ," Caroline whispers fearfully.

  "Ahhhh...Miss Halstead I presume," I hear from my left, and see a tall, blond woman in her early forties walking down my hallway toward me. I peg her as an attorney right away, given the charcoal-gray skirt with matching jacket, sedate white silk blouse, and sensibly heeled shoes. She has a badge clipped to her jacket pocket.

  She strides up to me, those long legs eating the distance quickly, and I want to walk backward away from her because she has bearer of bad news written all over her smug face.

  "I'm Assistant District Attorney Suzette Hammond," she says briskly, and doesn't offer a handshake, but nor do I expect one. We are not friends or even business acquaintances. We're hunter and hunted. "We're here executing a search warrant. Detective Denning is in your room and she has a copy for you."

  "You can just come in here without invitation?" Caroline asks with irritation.

  "That is the purpose of a search warrant," the ADA answers dryly. "You see, criminals don't just go around inviting the police into their homes to search for evidence."

  "We're not criminals," I tell her. "You won't find anything."

  "Disposed of all the evidence, have you?" she asks, leaning toward me with a smile.

  I have no idea if she's joking with me or not, but I'm saved from the expectation of answering that question when she adds, "Doesn't matter if you did or didn't. I've got enough regardless of what we find here."

  "Enough what?" I ask.

  The bitch holds her index finger up and wags it at me with a stern look. "Uh-uh, Miss Halstead. Not about to give away all my secrets."

  The room spins a bit on me at the implication of that statement and Caroline's hand comes to my elbow for support.

  "And you are?" Hammond asks Caroline.

  "Caroline North," she answers with her chin up. "Beck's sister."

  "Pleasure," the attorney responds, and then turns back to me. "Now, since this is your home, you can be in here while we conduct our investigation, but I'll need you to stay out of our way. Park yourself at the dining room table and we should be done in a few hours."