“I don’t want this, Ivy.”
“You’ve always wanted this, Ethan. Sutton, gone, and me, ready and willing for anything, in your bed. That’s what you told me that night. You don’t remember, so you claim, but I see it in your eyes. I see how much you want me. Now she’s gone, and we don’t have to hide it anymore.”
Closer now. He could smell her perfume, see the lace thong. Her dress had a deep V-neck; she was wearing a matching set. Just like what he’d woken up to that horrible morning. Him: naked and suffering from the most epic hangover he’d ever had. Her: bedecked in red lace, hot as a lit stick of dynamite and ready for another go.
He’d turned her down. He’d been so sick with himself that he’d cheated on Sutton that the idea of doing it again was repugnant. He felt the same sense of loathing right now. He didn’t want Ivy. He never had. There was something about her, yes. She was beautiful and smart, but he’d never wanted her like he wanted Sutton.
Ivy grabbed his hand and made a credible attempt to put it down her panties.
“Ivy, stop. She’s your best friend. What are you doing?”
“Anything you want,” she purred.
A lesser man would already have his dick out. Ethan wasn’t even aroused.
Their eyes locked. Ethan looked away first. He pulled his hand free. “I don’t want this.”
The house phone began to ring.
“Yes, you do. You know you do.”
He didn’t give a shit who was on the phone, he needed this situation to end, right now.
He whirled away, grabbed the handset and barked, “Hullo,” into the mouthpiece.
“Ethan? Oh, thank God you’re okay.”
His heart stopped. It literally stopped, and he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Sutton? Oh my God, Sutton, is that really you? Where are you?”
“Ethan, you have to listen to me. You’re in—”
He turned, smiling now, to tell Ivy, but the front door was open.
No one was there.
The room was empty.
“Ivy?” he called.
“Behind you,” she answered. He saw the flat edge of a board a second before it hit him square in the face, and went down, hard, the phone spinning away, Sutton calling, “Ethan? Ethan?”
POISON IVY
So now you know.
My name is Ivy. Like the poison.
I told you at the beginning you weren’t going to like me very much. You really don’t like me right now, do you? Am I a horrible person? A loathsome creature? You bet. I’m evil to the core.
And I warned you. I warned you, and you didn’t listen. I know what you’re thinking. Why? Why would I try to hurt the two people who’ve shown me nothing but love and friendship since I came into their lives?
I don’t think I’m quite ready to share the whole truth with you. Sorry. But I will tell you this. They aren’t the people you think they are.
Do you think I don’t care about how Ethan feels? Do you think I don’t care how Sutton’s going to feel when she finds out the whole truth? Well, I do care. I care so much it hurts my very soul.
I’m doing this to make them hurt the way I do. I’m doing this so they understand exactly who and what they’re dealing with. They have no idea what it has cost me, finding her, tracking them, devising this plan. It’s been years in the making.
Sutton thinks she can run away from the truth, can hide from me. She is wrong. She is so very, very wrong.
So, now that we’ve been properly introduced, I present: my goals.
I want to see Elizabeth Sutton Wilson Healy Montclair exposed for the fraud she really is. For the predator that she is. I could see it from the first moment I laid eyes on her. She has a coldness in her soul. You know how you can tell? Take a picture of her. In person, she’s this absolute glamour-puss with all that red hair and lissome figure. But try to capture her on film, and you can see who she really is. The lens is an inanimate object. It can’t be bewitched, can’t be fooled. No glamour can be put upon it. It shows the truth. And the truth is, her soul is empty. Black and rotted and bottomless. She is ugly, she is loathsome.
She is not a good person, and nothing will make me happier than taking her down.
And neither is Ethan. He is a cheat and a liar, the worst sort of man. Wait until you find out what he did. Then you’ll see. You’ll see exactly what kind of a man he is. You won’t blame me in the least.
They deserve each other. So I will make sure they get everything they deserve.
Everything.
I want them to bleed. And they will. Trust me. Ethan already is. I think I’ve broken his nose.
Oops.
So much fun to be had here. But first, I need to deal with something. Join me, will you?
ABOUT...FACE
Holly’s desk phone rang, something that only happened if someone was calling in-house from another phone in the station, or the receptionist. Fifty-fifty shot. She much preferred in-house calls than the blind squirrel finds nuts ones she got from outside. Still, she had to answer. It was policy. She grabbed the receiver and kept typing with one hand.
“Graham.”
It was the receptionist. “I have a call for you. Paris police.”
“Paris?”
“That’s what she says. The accent is a bit of a giveaway, too. She certainly sounds the part.”
“Okay. Put her through.”
A click, then the static of an open line. “Graham here.”
“Bonsoir, madame. My name is Amelie Badeau. I am an inspector with the Paris Metropolitan Police. I have a woman in my custody by the name of Sutton Montclair.”
Holly stopped typing. “You’re kidding me.”
“I am not. We have her in custody on a double murder charge. She insists on her innocence. But I need more information. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Boy, do I ever,” Holly said, whipping out her notebook. “Please, tell me everything.”
“Are you familiar at all with the name Ivy Brookes?”
“I am. Brookes is one of Sutton Montclair’s best friends. She’s been incredibly helpful to the investigation into Montclair’s disappearance.”
“If what I am being told is true, you should pick up Mademoiselle Brookes as quickly as possible. She could be a very dangerous person.”
Holly listened in utter disbelief as Badeau talked. After fifteen minutes, the woman said, “I will send you all the supporting documentation I have. We are, as you can imagine, very anxious to speak with Mademoiselle Brookes, and Monsieur Duggan is currently being searched for by your FBI. I am hopeful they will find him quickly.”
“I need a number where I can reach you immediately, at all times.”
Badeau rattled off a string of numbers. Holly gave her own mobile number, and the direct number to Homicide, too, just in case. She hurriedly thanked the inspector, hung up, and rushed into the conference room. It had been disassembled, the murder investigation had moved to the squad room, but Jim was still in there with his computers.
“Where’s Moreno?”
Jim pushed his glasses up his nose. “Home. Getting some sleep. I don’t think I’ve seen him shut his eyes all week. What’s wrong? You look like your hair’s about to burst into flame.”
“It is. I need you to do your magic for me.”