Lucy is sure she is doing the right thing. Positive of it. That’s why she’s so nervous, why her stomach is twisted into knots and her heart is pounding so loud she’s certain the woman across from her can hear it.
She was surprised when Kirstin reached out to her. But it made sense once the doctor explained the situation. How only Lucy had the power to pay Syracuse back for his betrayal.
He practically threw her to the wolves after Reid showed up that night in their room.
“You’re lucky I didn’t let him kill you.” He had grunted as he pulled away from her followed by a backhand that would leave a mark. “Get up and go scream like a good girl.”
She hates him so much and has since she met him. Despises his heavy, sweating body on top of her, the way he treats her like trash after. Lucy has no illusions. She knows what she is and refuses to apologize for it. Or feel bad about her brother. Reid is tough, she told him so.
And he’s on his own.
By the time Dr. Lund sent her a message at the salon where she was getting her nails done, passed to her by a quiet Vietnamese girl with perfect bow lips Lucy envies, her hate is a cancer, eating her up inside. But that’s okay. Because the carefully worded message gave her hope.
Our mutual enemy makes us friends. Meet me and all will be taken care of.
Nothing more but an address, scrawled in dark purple ink smelling of grapes.
Now she sits here, in her flawless pink suit and matching heels, her chocolate brown designer bag a beautiful accent to the outfit, the lace of her bra just visible over the lip of her jacket. Lucy had her hair done too. Her makeup. She needs to look her best.
It matters.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Kirstin’s amber eyes are fixed on the map Lucy handed her. “This warehouse?”
Lucy nods. Clears her throat when her voice won’t work the first time. She's pleased the slight shaking in her manicured hands doesn’t show up in her voice. “Absolutely. I’ve been there myself, saw them. He has them under guard, but your people shouldn’t have much trouble. There are only a dozen or so watching them.”
Kirstin’s smile is both lovely and terrifying. “Very well done, my dear.” She gestures to the tall, uniformed man beside her. He slides a black briefcase toward Lucy. “My compliments.”
Lucy stands with haste, grabs the handle, straightens. Her long blonde hair swings over her shoulder. She loves the weight of it, how it feels freshly done, the artificial curls so springy. She smiles at Kirstin, feeling her fear fade to contempt. The woman is obviously nuts.
“One more thing.” The doctor is on her feet, circling the desk, coming to stand in front of Lucy. “If you’ve lied to me, as your brother has done, I will hunt you down and gut you myself.” She toys with a polished lock of Lucy’s hair. “Are we clear?” A sharp jerk draws a cry of pain from her lipsticked mouth.
“Yes,” Lucy says, tears standing in her eyes. “I’m not lying.”
“And your brother?” Kirstin yanks again. “He is there?”
“I told you, I saw him.”
“What about you, my dear?” Kirstin drops the lock of hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to witness their downfall?”
Lucy just wants out. She’s never been bloodthirsty, just selfish.
“No thanks,” she whispers. “I’m off to sunnier shores.”
Kirstin steps back, smiles again. “Good for you. We’re done here, then. Commander, if you would show the lady out.”
He does. All the way to her car. She is ready for it, prepared for the attack that never comes, the shot in the back she’s sure will happen at any moment. Then she is safe behind the wheel, the engine purring to life and she is driving away.
It takes three blocks before she knows she is free. Lucy laughs away her tension, tosses her hair in the wind the speed of her driving makes and heads for the mansion.
Only one job left to do.
She is sick of Syracuse, of his abuse. Of being treated like a dumb bimbo who doesn’t know any better. So what he found her stripping in a local club in backwater Arizona. She has plans, had big ones then, too. He’s just a stepping-stone to her real life.
Kind of like Reid. A means to an end.
She feels a momentary twinge of guilt. Kirstin will kill Syracuse, Lucy is positive of that. Chances are the crackpot will also kill Reid. But he’s as much as told her he’s going to kill her, so she shoves the regret aside in favor of self-preservation.
Mom and Dad always treated Reid like he was some golden child, gave him everything he wanted while she got the dumb girl end of the stick. She’s happy they are dead. She likes that it’s just her.
Now and forever.
It’s dark by the time she gets back. There’s only the two guards waiting when she pulls up to the gate and neither gives her a hard time, though they both look out the elevated booth down into her cleavage as she drives by.
Let them. She’s happy for the distraction.
Inside the house, she goes immediately upstairs to the bedroom and the fake Rembrandt on the far wall. She knows it’s fake because she put it there. The real one is in the trunk of her car along with a few other paintings, what jewelry she isn’t wearing and the black briefcase full of money.
She swings the frame aside and examines the safe. Lucy’s been watching Syracuse for weeks, picking up a number here and there until she finally has them all. She chuckles to herself. Men are so stupid.
A simple code entry and she’s dumping the contents into her designer bag. She doesn’t count it because the amount is irrelevant. She also has the code to one of his offshore accounts. She’ll empty it when she gets where she is going.
First things first. She spots the bag of dust in the back of the safe and hesitates before taking it, too. Not that she plans on dosing herself. But it won’t hurt to have a bit of leverage just in case.
Last is the pearl-handled revolver he keeps there. He told Lucy it was his first wife’s. A fat lot of good it did her. Syracuse had her drowned in the pool, made it look like an accident. Maybe if the stupid bitch learned not to trust him, she’d have been carrying that night and Syracuse would be the dead one.
Lucy plans to put it to good use.
She’s so absorbed in her task she fails to hear the whisper of the bedroom door swinging wide. It’s not until she turns, full bag in hand, that she realizes Syracuse is standing there, watching her.
It could have been bad. Should have been. But he is gaping at her, like he can’t understand what she’s doing, and before she knows it she’s pulling out the gun, cocking the hammer back and pulling the trigger.
The sound of the shot fills the room, the stench of gunpowder making her gag. Syracuse staggers, gurgles a choking sound, thick lips opening and closing as he clutches his chest. There is a small bloom of red where his hand goes, spreading out over his white shirt and down over his wide belly. He falls to his knees as her index finger closes over the trigger again and fires a second shot into his forehead.
The fat man collapses forward, face-first into the plush cream carpet and falls still. Only then does one of his boys rush in. Her trusty gun takes care of him too. She admires the weapon with a little smile. Who knew she was such a good shot?
She strips off Syracuse’s rings in a flash, fishing out his wallet as a voice calls out from downstairs.
The second guard she catches on the staircase, putting a bullet through his throat. She rushes past him, avoiding the blood shooting from his neck. It wouldn’t do to get any on her favorite suit. Then she is out the door and behind the wheel, her bag beside her on the seat. She struggles to close it and finally settles for draping her favorite pink scarf over it to conceal the contents.
The guards at the gate don’t notice a thing. She waves at them as she leaves, humming to herself. This couldn’t have gone better. Syracuse is dead, Reid will be soon and she’s rich beyond her wildest dreams.
She sings along to the radio as she drives away into the darkness.
***