Riptide (23 page)

“Thanks,” Christina murmured. Biz’s grumpy husband,
The New Republic
writer they had made fun of, had died two years ago, and the Cardiffs hadn’t even noticed. Christina felt sorry for Biz Brooks, living in her isolated beach house all alone while she, Christina, had
Danny to love. “We could meet for drinks,” Christina said, feeling charitable.

Jake emerged from the kitchen, flashing a peace sign. “Thanks again,” he called. “You helped me a lot today, more than you know.” He grinned. “I hope I get to return the favor.”

And with that, they were all gone.

Danny emerged from the kitchen, scowling.

For she thought of him now as Danny, not Daniel. That’s how he had introduced himself when he showed up with the construction crew last spring to work on their pool house renovation.

“Daniel Cunningham,” he had said, extending a hand roped with veins and muscle as his gaze slid across Christina’s body.

The other men on the crew had greeted her shyly and looked away.

But Danny had held her hand long enough to make her blush while he looked around. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Now Danny held two highball glasses, full to the brim. “Your little friend is gone.”

“You mean Jake?” But Christina knew he meant Jake.

Danny shrugged. “Kid’s a freak.” He thrust one of the highball glasses her way.

The room reeked of vodka. Before she knew it, Christina was gripping the frosty glass.

Tyler was upstairs with Pamela, out of sight.

Saliva was already pooling inside Christina’s mouth, and she swallowed.

It was loud.

“Cheers.” Danny hoisted his glass, waiting.

The walls felt like they were collapsing in around her.

Danny took a deep sip of his drink, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Damn, that’s good.” He took another, letting out a satisfied little sigh.

Christina needed a drink so bad she could taste it.

Tyler would be heartbroken if she drank, today of all days.

Danny took another swallow. “Baby, you gonna drink that or watch it melt?” He jerked his chin up, signaling it was okay.

He of all people understood what she was going through. Christina could see that now. It was all the encouragement she needed. She raised the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and swallowed.

The Grey Goose filled her mouth with its cool promise, wafting up into her nostrils, sliding down her throat with a slow, steady burn.

Christina tried not to gulp. She downed half the glass before coming up for air.

Danny watched. Smiling. “What a day.” He set his glass down and made a move for her with a chuckle. “What a fucking day, huh?”

In the next instant Christina was in his arms, powerless over the fact that her hateful sister-in-law and even her son were upstairs and could walk in on them any minute.

“I’m here for you, babe,” Danny growled in her ear. “Don’t forget that.”

For one single solitary moment the only thing Christina was aware of was the thump-thumping of her heart, as the weirdness of the entire day and her whole entire life faded, and she allowed herself to lean in to Danny’s broad chest, breathing in his musky scent, and she wanted to lose herself. She allowed herself to be
folded inside his arms, giving herself up to the high she always got off the drug that was Danny.

A small noise caught her attention. Christina stiffened, opened her eyes.

Señora Rosa and Marisol were there.

Señora Rosa’s mouth fell open in dismay.

Her niece Marisol stared, eyes narrow with disapproval.

Christina felt her cheeks go hot. “I didn’t think you were still here.”

Danny slowly pulled away before leaning lazily back against the counter. He reached for his glass and took another sip.

“I’m sorry, Meessus Cardiff,” Señora Rosa said. “We were outside with the catering…” She hesitated. “We came to tidy up.” She looked around.

There wasn’t much to tidy up.

Marisol said nothing. Just continued to stare at Christina with a spiteful little look on her face. Like she’d finally won. She had caught Christina in the act.

Christina looked away. Her gaze landed on her highball glass, half-drained now.

“I think it’s time for the girls to call it a day.” Danny set his glass down.

Señora Rosa’s eyes widened.

Marisol’s lips tightened.

“Load up the dishwasher and vamoose.” Danny motioned toward the door with his chin.

The housekeepers looked her way, and Christina nodded. Jason was the one who had hired them, but it was her house now. She turned away. “I’m going upstairs to check on things.”

The truth was there was an open bottle of vodka left
in the master bedroom from last night. She knew just where it was, tucked away under her side of the bed where no one could find it. A few more hits would calm her nerves, and no one would know.

“You go ahead,” Danny said, all business now. “Check on Tyler. We’ll get things squared away down here.” Ignoring the looks the housekeepers were exchanging, he started gathering dirty dishes. “This won’t take long.”

Christina fled upstairs.

Tyler’s door was closed. Pamela was probably in there with him.

Christina couldn’t face them, not yet. Not with her nerves jangling out of control. She’d feel better in a few minutes, once she was calmer. She walked quietly past Tyler’s door, down the hall to the master bedroom.

She slipped inside, closing the door soundlessly behind her. Relieved that help was within reach. She made a beeline for the bed, which the housekeepers had remade, uttering a silent prayer as she reached underneath that nobody had moved her stash since last night.

Christina’s fingers closed around the smooth cool neck of the bottle, and she gave thanks.

Dropping to her knees, she felt a surge of elation when she saw how much was left. She unscrewed the cap, raised it to her lips and drank. Not giving a shit whether she gulped or not.

The Grey Goose went down smooth and easy, sliding into her stomach with a welcome burn. Once upon a time, Christina had drunk it on ice, mixed with orange juice. She graduated to a curl of lime peel. Then discovered it was better straight up. She took to storing it in the freezer so she no longer required ice.

She no longer needed her vodka chilled.

Nor did she require a glass.

Christina Cardiff crouched on her knees, waiting for the heat in the pit of her stomach to spread until it eased the jangling of her nerves.

It required a mighty act of willpower to pull the bottle from her lips. She wanted to drink enough to take the edge off, not enough for Tyler to notice she’d been drinking.

Christina screwed the cap on carefully, ready to stash the bottle back in its hiding place.

There were at least half a dozen others around the house where she could get to them easily.

She drew in a deep breath, to aid the vodka along its journey. There was mouthwash in the bathroom. She’d use some before knocking on Tyler’s door for their mother-and-son chat.

Christina stood, still clutching the Grey Goose.

The door to Jason’s closet was partly ajar.

She frowned.

The cleaning women never left it that way.

There were small noises coming from inside.

She tiptoed over and nudged the door all the way open, afraid of what she’d find.

Her sister-in-law, Pamela Cardiff Lofting, knelt in front of Jason’s in-wall safe.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fueled by vodka, Christina’s voice rang out strong, accusing.

Caught off guard, Pamela rocked back on her heels. She lost her balance and went over, losing her grip on the manila envelopes she was holding.

A sheaf of official-looking papers spilled on the carpet, along with a good-sized wad of U.S. currency.

Pamela’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw Chris
tina. “Ooh!” She made a frantic grab for the papers which, presumably, she had just removed from the safe.

Christina had never known the combination to that safe. She took one giant step forward, planting one foot firmly on the stack of papers Pamela was making a grab for. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Pamela looked up, shaken and scared for once. “Nothing,” she stammered. But she made one final grab for the papers, which were pretty much not going anywhere unless Christina moved her heel.

Christina had no intention of doing that. Eyes blazing, she dropped to a crouch and grabbed the contents of the manila envelope, brushing Pamela’s hand away. “You have no right to be here,” she snapped. “Get out.”

Pamela scrambled to her feet, her eyes still focused on the manila envelopes Christina was now clutching to her chest. “You’re being childish,” she said in her best Cardiff tone.

But her cheeks flamed with guilt.

Christina stood, drawing herself up to her full height. “You’re not welcome here.” Her mind was reeling.

Jason had provided his sister with the combination to his safe.

Something he had refused to give her. His wife. Rage boiled up inside her. Her grip tightened around the neck of the Grey Goose bottle. “Get out.”

Pamela’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “Really, Christina,” she huffed. But her gaze returned to all that cash scattered at their feet.

Christina took a menacing step toward her. “Don’t even think about it,” she growled.

Pamela Cardiff Lofting was no fool. She backed up but made one last grab, this time with one dainty foot, for a slim DVD jewel case that had fallen to the floor. Covering it with one of her Manolo Blahniks, she slid it across the carpet until it was within reach, revealing all the instincts of a street urchin.

Christina grabbed Pamela’s bony little wrist and squeezed. “That’s mine.”

Pamela dropped the DVD, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Well,” she huffed, “my brother—”

Christina cut her off. “Is dead,” she snapped.

Pamela’s eyes widened. “My brother wanted me to have the combination to his safe—”

Christina cut her off again. “It’s mine now.” She’d had a lifetime of Pamela’s misplaced jealousy of her brother.

Especially when it seemed that even beyond the grave, Jason chose his sister over his wife. “Get out,” Christina growled.

Pamela was angry now and self-righteous as always. She stamped her foot. “How dare you? My brother didn’t trust you with the contents of his safe, any more than he trusted you with his belongings or his son.”

Christina took another step forward. “I was Jason’s wife,” she said through clenched teeth. “I know everything about him.”

“My brother was planning to divorce you, Christina. The proof was all in there.” Pamela motioned at the safe. “Looks like you are the last to know.”

Her sister-in-law’s voice had a triumphant ring to it. More than anything, Christina wanted to wipe that smug look off Pamela’s face. She played the one card she had that trumped all others. “Everything your brother had is mine now.”

Christina’s words hit home. Pamela grew very still, tilting her head to one side as she considered this statement.

The way a bird watches wet grass on a rainy day, knowing if it sits long enough, the right moment will come.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” she said in a quiet voice.

Christina plunged on, reckless and spiteful, into dangerous waters. “You wish,” she hissed. “Jason died before he had a chance to divorce me.”

Even as the words left her mouth, Christina suddenly understood. This didn’t look right. A wealthy man in a bad marriage, ready to divorce his wife, found dead.

Something cold and small snaked its way up from the pit of Christina’s stomach, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. Like a Roto-Rooter worming through her veins, sucking up all the blood. Christina clutched the bottle with both hands now so Pamela wouldn’t see them tremble.

Pamela’s deep-set little eyes flashed with something darker than simple anger. “Based on what we know, he had good reason to leave you.”

“Based on what we know,” my ass, Christina thought. Pamela was just trying to scare her. But truth be told, Christina was frightened. “What’s done is done now,” Christina said, wanting to end this. It was lame, but all she could come up with.

“Oh, yeah? Then what was that man doing at your house early yesterday morning?” Pamela, getting her mojo back, straightened up, eyes blazing. “The man who was barely dressed.” She snapped her fingers in the air for emphasis.

It was an angry sound.

Pamela didn’t wait for any reply.

She seemed to know it wasn’t coming.

“We all know the answer to that, Christina. You’re sleeping with him!” Pamela’s eyes blazed and she leaned forward, warming to her subject. “You might want to ask yourself why my parents aren’t here right now. Why nobody in the entire Cardiff family will come near you. Why practically nobody showed up for you today.” She paused, allowing the meaning of her words time to sink in. “You are a disgrace.”

Christina wondered how it would feel to smash the Grey Goose bottle across Pamela’s skull, maybe knock that skinny black headband out of kilter. She tightened her grip without knowing she did so.

Pamela moved back out of swinging range. “You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head.

It was enough, combined with the Grey Goose she’d downed, to push Christina over the edge. She was about to draw back her swinging arm, the one holding the Grey Goose bottle, when she heard movement from the bedroom.

Tyler appeared in the doorway. “Mom? Aunt Pamela? Is everything okay?”

Christina’s heart melted in the space of a second. “Ty, it’s okay,” she began, letting her arm fall to her side.

“Tyler, your mother and I were just having a grownup discussion,” Pamela began in the fakey “Everything’s okay” voice she used for her own children.

But everything was not.

Tyler’s eyes, red-rimmed from crying, took in the whole scene from the pile of papers and cash on the floor to the open safe door, to the bottle in his mother’s hand.

“Oh, Tyler!” Christina dropped the bottle so it landed with a loud thunk, and rushed at her son with arms outstretched. She wanted to explain. But the vodka was already kicking in. She was drunker than she realized, and unsteady on her feet.