Page 134 of Luck of the Devil

She may have murdered her, but I’d helped lead her there. Even if I hadn’t meant to.

The older woman’s face looked strained. She was pale, and blood dripped steadily from her arm. She was going to need more than her hand to stop the bleeding, but I wasn’t about to offer any help.

As if reading my mind, she gave me a smug smile. “She might still be alive if you’d only let her bring you into her confidence last Tuesday. That’s why she called me, you know. Because you refused to help her.”

“That’s bullshit,” James spat, lifting his head part way. “Sarah Jane had plenty of chances to tell Harper what was goin’ on. But I suspect you convinced her not to.”

The triumphant look in her eyes made my finger twitch on the trigger, but I forced myself to tear it away. I wasn’t done with her yet.

“So you went to her house on Tuesday to help her?” I asked sarcastically. “And after you left, what? You tried to get her to open her bank box, and she refused?”

“She said if the papers left the box, she wouldn’t be the one to remove them,” Nicole said with a sniff. “By then, she’d realized I’d never planned to help her. At least not in the way she thought. She started getting suspicious of my persistence. I’d picked up the Zoloft Paul said he had filled for her, and popped a couple in her drink, hoping I’d get her loopy enough to agree.” Disgust twisted her face. “She was a stubborn bitch.”

“So you killed her.”

“You think I’m going to admit to that?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m not that stupid.”

“But you had her murdered all the same,” I said. “You drugged her with her own meds, put her behind the wheel of her car, then had your men run her off the road.”

“I’m not admitting to any such thing.” But the proud smile on her face said everything.

“You’re definitely not denying it,” I sneered.

“Which isn’t an admission of guilt,” she countered. “I plead the fifth.”

This woman was gloating about murdering my mother.

“Why capture James?” I asked, gesturing my gun toward him. “I’m the one who has the papers. Not him.”

“My issue with James Malcolm is a separate matter. It was just a lucky coincidence you were both together. Then again, I’m not surprised. I know he’s been snooping around. If he had the documents, it would lead him straight to us.”

I shot a look at James. Did he want me to press her further? He didn’t meet my gaze, but then again, he looked like he was about to pass out.

I had to get him out of here. But I had to figure out what to do with her first.

“You need to free him,” I told her. “Then we’ll talk about what happens to you.”

“What happens to me?” she laughed. “Oh, you stupid fool. You should be worried about what happens to you after shooting me and my men. And if you even think about killing me, not only will you sign your death sentence, but it will be slow and agonizing.”

“You think whatever you like,” I said. “But right now, you’re going to untie him.”

“Like hell I will,” she sneered. “I’m walking out of here, and you’ll count the days until my son tracks you down and makes you pay for what you’ve done.” Then, like she was the damn Queen of England, she spun around and headed to the front door.

My finger curled over the trigger, and for one vivid moment, I could picture pulling the trigger, her falling to the ground. Getting justice for my mother. The fantasy felt so real I could taste it.

But James lifted his head, his eyes locking with mine. He gave a slow shake of his head. “Let her go.”

Let her go?

The words hit me like a physical blow. She’d practically admitted to murdering my mother—she’d tricked her, drugged her, hit her over the head, and pushed her into the river to drown. What kind of sick, twisted person could do that? Now she was walking away, smug as ever, promising her son would come for me next.

“Harper,” James said, his voice firmer this time.

I swung my gaze to him, my hand trembling around the gun. Did he really expect me to let her go? She’d killed my mother! Wasn’t the whole point of this finding out who’d murdered her so I could seek retribution?

“She murdered my mother,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She murdered my mother and she’s going to get away with it.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But not like this.”