Beneath Her Skin Page 16

  But the truth was written all over Chantal’s face. He had kept the truth so tightly guarded.

  Why? Reliving his marriage to Olivia with her?

  The sick idea made Brooke’s head swim.

  Even in the dimness of the limousine, Chantal grinned. “Oh? You didn’t know? Yes,” she said, running a fingertip over her pearls. “Damon’s dead wife was also my daughter—your twin sister.” She studied Brooke, tilting her head to the side. “I have to say, you are an exact copy of her, right down to your lovely eyes. It is no wonder Damon was captivated by you. He must really have missed his wife. I’m sure he took care of you—in all ways.”

  Nausea burned. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Brooke whispered, lurching forward, holding her stomach.

  Chantal lost her smile. “Grab the trash bin.”

  Kirk barely held it up before Brooke lost her last meal. She heaved until there was nothing left, her heart bursting with pain. Resuming her seat, she rested her head against the seat. She closed her eyes a moment, taking several deep breaths to calm her nerves. She drowned in heart pain, the kind not easily shooed away with easy words or forgiveness. Damon had lied. There was no gentle recovery from that.

  A quick glance had Harry and she saw the trail of tears tracking his face. He was worried. Scared. She hated to see him bound and powerless. No matter what she had endured—he didn’t deserve this.

  “Let Harry go,” she grated, clearing her throat. “He has nothing to do with this.”

  Chantal tsked. “Oh, but he does,” she said, patting his knee, and then rubbed her fingers together as if she’d touched something foul. “You see, the story goes deeper, darling. It’s not just a simple case of mother and daughters.” She shook her head. “I’ve known about you since you were born. The clinic informed me about their screw up. I told them I wouldn’t sue, if they kept quiet. After you were hospitalized and the Stones found out you weren’t their biological daughter, they found me. They threatened to file a lawsuit, but I couldn’t have them causing a scandal.”

  Brooke frowned. “What did you do?” A tight ache pinched in her chest. She almost knew without words, what the other woman would say.

  Chantal raised her chin, sniffing rudely. “I did what any respectable member of society would do—I buried them.”

  “You killed them?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, but she could not.

  All this time she assumed the Stones had left her to rot, but no. This woman murdered them. What chance did she and Harry stand to survive this? The odds were lessening each passing moment.

  “I couldn’t let them drag my family name through the mud with their discovery,” Chantal said in a haughty tone. “With the Stones out of the picture, I assumed you’d go directly into the foster care system and get lost there, but…” she trailed off, shaking her head with a grimace. “Donald Stone had to step in as a man of honor. Harry was there the day I visited Mr. Stone before he passed away and I couldn’t take the chance that he’d remember me. There can be no loose ends, my darling.”

  “Donald Stone was a good man,” Brooke defended hotly. “Don’t you dare breathe his name.”

  “In any case,” Chantal said, waving off Brooke’s comment. “Everything was fine. I allowed Olivia to find out about the clinic screw up, thinking we would both benefit from the lawsuit. She paid me a monthly sum as a dutiful daughter, insisting that somehow I’d suffered too. Her monetary offering lasted until she threatened to tell Damon everything.” Her face contorted with a measure of rage. “I couldn’t have that. None of this could be made public.”

  Brooke huffed. “What? Did you kill her too?”

  Chantal made no immediate reply, her silence settling in like a comfortable pair of shoes. A soft smile curved her lips. “I had to do damage control. She would have ruined everything.” She tapped her pearl necklace with her manicured fingertip. “Her death was unfortunate, and running her off the road was the least I could do. She signed you as her beneficiary.” She drew a deep breath. “And now… you must die.”

  There was nothing left to do but wait. Wait to die. Or wait to live through this nightmare. One glance at Harry, Chantal, and then Kirk revealed how death would be welcomed. After the lies that filled her entire life, the thought of facing Damon left her heart in pieces.

  ****

  As Donavan drove the Hummer toward Bel-Air, Damon squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a stabbing sensation bleed over his chest, as if his whole life crashed and burned.

  Somehow, he felt Brooke knew the truth. The white-hot burn seared him deeper than losing Olivia. He had loved her, but their time had ended. Their life chapter was a beautiful memory, and never to be forgotten. Yet meeting Brooke had changed him. She had filled him with hope, love and desire, as he never felt in his life.

  He’d miss her incredible eyes and her sweet reactions. He’d miss her haunting scent and the way she walked. He’d miss her smiles and how she spoke, or the way she twirled the hair at her ear when she was nervous. He would lose her due to his weakness—for his fears. She was too strong to forgive his lies, and honestly, he admired her for that.

  She believed in honesty, in truth, and the breath of love. Her beautiful soul was the freedom he craved—touched briefly—and would lose. He deserved her exit in his life, but his heart drummed at a frantic pace, wishing desperately he had done things differently. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  “Sir, we’re coming up to the Kindell cabin,” Donavan said, slowing down, turning.

  The dark forest shrouded the path and there was a five-minute drive to the house. Damon nodded, shifting in his seat as they traveled down the bumpy, dirt road. “What’s the game plan?”

  The other man cleared his throat. “I suggest we stop before we arrive at the house and do a sweep of the area—”

  Several patrol cars were parked ahead and Detective Abbott stood off to the side. By his expression, he wasn’t happy. Donavan slowed to a stop and the detective met Damon half way and shook hands.

  “Sorry to be meeting again under these circumstances,” Det. Abbott said in a gruff tone, “but I’m happy your assistant informed me of the situation.”

  Damon inclined his head, anxious to get things started and help Brooke. “Do you know if they’ve arrived?”

  “Yes. I sent a patrol car ahead to radio in,” he said, rubbing his thinning hair, eyeing Donavan and his men. “Technically, I can’t allow you or your guys closer than this.”

  Anger tripped inside Damon. “Most of my men have special ops training, detective. Do you really want to turn down their expertise?” God, he didn’t have time for this roadblock because every minute they wasted, debating the issue, was less time Brooke had.

  Det. Abbott hesitated a fraction of a second, as if he wasn’t quite certain he wanted help. “Go, but if I issue a stand down order, I expect your men to listen. I’d rather not have a bloodbath to clean up.”

  Donavan handed Damon a radio, and he said, “Stay here, sir.” His men gathered around him. “I’ll keep you updated.”

  He grabbed the radio, but he shook his head. “I’m going with you.”

  Donavan’s face hardened. “No, sir. Your safety is my primary—”

  Damon leaned closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “Try and stop me.”

  The other man rolled his eyes, huffing. “Stay behind me.” He drew nose to nose with Damon. “And when I say, you stay behind me, what I mean is… you get friendly with my backside and stay put. Walk where I walk and no deviation.” He turned away, issuing an order to one of his men to get a bulletproof vest for Damon. Moments later, he was doing up the Velcro on his boss. “Let’s go.”

  Damon kept pace with Donavan. They moved through the trees, weaving in and out of the dense brush. The cabin was situated ahead, and a few lights gleamed against the night sky with a limousine parked out front.

  One of Donavan’s men secured the driver who had been strolling along the edge of the woods, smoking a cigar
ette. The man was now face down and handcuffed.

  “Arrow One, this Arrow Two, come in.”

  The sound of Donavan’s radio filled the silence. He grabbed his radio, speaking in a clear tone, “This Arrow One. Report.”

  “Sir,” the man said. “There is an unidentified man at the rear of the house. He is armed with a shovel. Please advise.”

  A hot stab filled Damon. Could the man be Kirk? His hands fisted, ready to kill him. How could he betray his whole life for a few millions? If Kirk lived through this, he’d suffer.

  “Take him down,” Donavan ordered. “By force if necessary. Confirm your status after he’s secure.”

  “Copy that, Arrow One.”

  In the distance, a scuffle could be heard. Before he and Donavan could take another step, a scream echoed, and three gunshots went off. And Detective Abbott’s men closed in. He issued his stand down order, but mayhem unfolded as everyone converged on the cabin.

  Damon’s heart slammed inside his chest.

  ****

  The limo pulled up to a dark cabin, yanking Brooke deeper into fear. It was like watching a thriller movie, only this was real. And happening now.

  Despite all of Damon’s sins against her heart, she wished more than anything that he was here. Not that she blamed him for her current predicament. No matter his reasons for keeping secrets, he always protected her and those she loved. For that, she couldn’t fault him.

  Forced to sit on the sofa, her mind was a jumbled mess. She knew they were back in Bel-Air, remembering the familiar water tower in the distance as they traveled the road.

  As she eyed the woman claiming to be her long lost mother, she died a little bit more inside. Looking back, the days of worrying about paying her bills or the enjoyment of taking her customers up in a hot air balloon seemed but a memory. Her only regret? That poor Harry was caught up in this too

  Her eyes turned toward Kirk.

  He shoved Harry down on a hard chair, tying him up. Then, he looked at her, pointing his knife. “Stay put, princess.” His gaze cut to Chantal. “I’ll go out back and dig some holes.”

  The other woman stroked her pearls and nodded. “Let’s get this over with. I have a funeral to plan,” she purred, smiling at Brooke.

  As he stalked from the house, Brooke swallowed hard. She slid her feet forward, and she examined the bloody, dirty mess of her shredded skin. Her wrists ached from the cable tie. She was in no condition to do much, but she pushed aside her depleting energy. She had to stay focused and her mind raced.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Brooke said, her voice wavering.

  Chantal gave a lyrical laugh. “Oh, darling, lady luck is on my side.” She reached for her clutch, pulling a gun. “You see, I always get what I want.” She strode to the wet bar a few feet away, laying her gun aside as she poured herself a drink.

  The clink of the glass and the decanter was a deafening sound. Brooke scanned her surroundings, noting a fireplace and the poker. Judging the distance, it was about three feet from her. She inched a little to the right, casting a look at Harry. He shook his head, almost pleading with her not to move. But she had to do something before Kirk came back and they both ended up buried in the backyard.

  She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Looking back at Chantal, the woman guzzled down her drink, oblivious.

  She scooted down more, keeping her eyes trained on Chantal’s back. Every movement sent a stabbing pain up her legs, but she kept going. She was almost close enough. A little more. Another few inches left.

  Chantal poured herself another drink.

  Sweat popped on Brooke’s brow. Without looking away from the other woman, she reached for the poker. Her bound hands prevented her from reaching success. Her fingers extended as far as the end of the sofa would allow. But she was still too far away. She’d have to look away from Chantal, leap to her feet and pull the poker fast. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to steady her racing heart.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  As she surged to her feet, she slipped a little from the blood covering her feet, but her hand clasped the poker handle. She ignored Chantal’s swift gasp, turning with the heavy metal in her tied hands. Everything happened as if in slow motion.

  The glass in Chantal’s hands hit the floor.

  Brooke charged her.

  Chantal grabbed for her gun.

  “Harry, throw your body to the side,” she screamed. “Hit the floor!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rock on the wooden chair, throwing his body to the right. He went down with a hard thud, and his grunt told her he was safe.

  The gun fired, but Brooke didn’t slow down. She heard the bullet rip beside her ear and a hard shudder rolled over her shoulders. Too close. Her momentum increased, ignoring the broken glass under her feet, her adrenaline high. She swung the poker to the left, hitting Chantal.

  The woman screamed, collapsing to her knees.

  Brooke didn’t stop.

  Chantal managed to fire off another shot, the sound of glass breaking behind her. Brooke swung the poker again, smacking the other woman in the head. With a small heave, Chantal hit the floor, the gun falling beside her. Brooke leaned forward, knocking the gun away with the poker. The weapon slid underneath the table, as the front door crashed open.

  The wood splintered, sending fragments into the air. Brooke heaved a sigh of relief as Donavan and Damon appeared.

  Damon rushed to her.

  Blinded by tears, she nearly sank to the floor, but he caught her up in his arms, lifting her out of the glass and away from Chantal’s body. He carried her easily.

  She buried her face into his chest, shaking. Sobs of liberation racked her body, as she clutched at his clothing, twisting the fabric between her fingers. She hardly noticed his soothing words. Or how he squeezed her closer.

  “Brooke? Baby, you’re okay. Look at me, please,” he whispered, sitting on the sofa with her across his lap. He pushed stray hair from her face, holding her cheek.

  Clarity burned into her mind. Several more shivers rolled over her body, and her adrenaline rush dissipated. “S-she said she w-would kill me and Harry. S-she said she was my mother.” Her words tumbled out fast. “I-I don’t know if she’s dead or—”

  “Shh, you’re safe now,” he said gently.

  His warm voice penetrated the fog surrounding her mind. She was safe. She sat on his lap, cocooned in his arms.

  “Harry!” Brooke glanced his direction to find him sitting up with an EMT working over his cuts and bruises. He appeared fine. She wanted to go to him, but her feet protested, pain shooting up her legs.

  Another EMT arrived to access her injuries. She winced. As he started an IV, her mind started to swim. He must have given her something because she spiraled into unconsciousness.

  A sense of panic swarmed her. She met Damon’s eyes. “I…” her words trailed off.

  He squeezed her hand. “I won’t leave you.”

  That was all she heard before everything went black.

  Chapter 14

  At the hospital, Brooke shifted on the hospital bed, happy for the last dose of pain meds. She had ten stitches in her right foot and five in her left.

  After she gave a lengthy statement to Detective Abbott, he had informed her that Chantal and Kirk were dead. He also said they found a shallow grave with two bodies. The police were hopeful that the remains belonged to Gail and Marcus Stone, though they would know more in the coming days.

  A sense of relief and sadness swarmed her. She had always thought the Stones abandoned her, but they had lost their lives to Chantal’s greed. In many ways, she’d been happier not knowing the truth, but her spirit was soothed everything was over.

  Brooke peered at Harry, sitting next to her on her hospital bed. Damon paced across the room as he spoke into his phone. He appeared tired. His hand threaded through his dark hair, his profile one of worry. There was no doubt that she loved him.
Desperately. Completely. But her concern went deeper. No matter the facts, she still saw him through a heart of love.

  Where would they go from here?

  She didn’t know how to process everything. His lies. His deceit. His care. Or his profession of love. Her heart felt numb, as if suspended in a holding pattern. There was a tug-of-war pulling both sides of her emotions. Forgive him. Love him. Or make him leave. Weakness twisted against her heart and tears pricked her eyes. They had been through so much.

  “Lady Bug,” Harry began, drawing her gaze to his.

  Brooke glanced at him, so thankful he appeared fine. Other than the hint of a scratch on his forehead and some bruising around his mouth, he seemed the picture of health.

  She took his hand in hers, squeezing. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  He shook his head. “You’re my girl. I would be with you again in heartbeat.” He sighed. “I’m just sorry I was bound like a turkey for Sunday dinner and couldn’t do more to help you.”

  A tear she tried not to allow, traced down her cheek. She brushed it aside, attempting a smile, but failed. “With everything that happened and all the truths revealed, there’s one fact that I wouldn’t want to change.” She drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “When there was no one else, I’m so thankful that you and Uncle Duck raised me.”

  His cheeks flushed, chuckling. “Lady Bug, you’re a sweetheart. Ain’t no bones about it.”

  He sobered. His expression took on the ‘Dad’ look. The one he used often when she was younger.

  “I know things look grim between you and Damon,” he said and she started to protest, but he continued, “Just listen, now. I know he should have been honest with you, but now that I understand the facts, I think he was scared, Lady Bug.”

  She snorted, crossing her arms. “Are you suggesting that I just turn the other cheek? There needs to be some accountability for his actions. How can trust him again?” Her eyes briefly touched Damon across the room. He was still pacing and on the phone. Her heart ached in her chest, loving him, despite his dishonesty.