Back at the house, Nolan ushered everyone in. He noted the security, glad his boss was willing to grant the manpower for this. He had a feeling they were going to need it. One by one they filed into the living area. Don Grayson, the lawyer hired by Rick, stepped quickly to the small table near the fireplace and set his briefcase on it. Richard and Shelley, Megan, Brian, Callie, and finally their mother took seats facing the lawyer.

Nolan shook his head. Richard sat on the edge of one of the wingback chairs and rubbed his palms on his thighs. Shelley lounged in hers. James chose to stand next to the mantel, hands shoved in the front pockets of his black slacks. “This is so stupid,” the man muttered under his breath.

Nolan raised a brow at him.

He shrugged. “Well, it is. It’s like some scene from one of those old eighties movies or something. The family gathers in the den for the reading of the will.” He snorted. “Ridiculous.”

“Rick requested this,” Callie’s mother said. “I’m simply honoring that request.”

“Why? He wouldn’t have done it for you.”

Her mother flinched and drew in a deep breath. “Be that as it may, I’m doing it. Now be quiet or leave.”

James snapped his mouth shut and turned his glare to the lawyer.

Callie’s mother nodded to Grayson and he pulled a manila folder from his leather briefcase. “Well, this shouldn’t take long.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, Rick signed a prenup before he and Sharon married—”

“What?” Richard jumped to his feet. “I didn’t know that.” He turned to his siblings. “Did you two know that?”

Shelley frowned and straightened, her faux nonchalant pose gone. “No. I didn’t.”

“Me either,” James said. “So what does that mean?”

“It means you don’t get a dime.” Megan laughed.

Richard lunged at her and Nolan stepped between them. He placed a hand on the agitated man’s chest and gave him a light shove. “Don’t do it.”

Richard gave a low growl, but backed off. Nolan turned in time to see Brian place a hand on Megan’s arm and shoot her a frown. She rolled her eyes and settled back against the couch. Callie simply waited.

Mr. Grayson cleared his throat again. “Shall I continue?”

“Of course,” Callie said.

“So the prenup excludes any of Mrs. Goodlette’s money that is in her accounts. The only money Rick had access to was what was in the accounts in his name. And now, he left explicit instruction for me to read this as is, so I will . . . apologize . . . in advance. I asked him not to do this, but he insisted.”

Nolan’s pulse hummed. This wasn’t going to be good.

“To each of my brats—”

Shelley gasped. “How rude.”

“—I leave them the sum of one thousand dollars each—”

“What!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“—To be paid over a one-year period in equal monthly installments.”

Richard and James spoke over one another. Shelley simply rose and smiled. “Well, I guess that teaches us.” She walked out of the room without a backward glance.

The brothers fell silent and stared at one another, matching expressions of fury on their faces.

“Please continue, Don,” Callie’s mother said, her eyes hard, voice flat.

Callie nearly fell out of her chair. She looked at her mother. “Did you know he was going to do that?”

“No.”

“To Megan, I leave the rest of my assets. Megan, you might be a brat at times, but at least I kind of liked you. I can’t stand the other three. Use the safe-deposit key and that will give you access to everything. Sharon’s name is on the box. She can access it and give you the contents.”

Richard and James bolted to their feet. Once again, they raised their voices at the lawyer.

“Hold it down!” Nolan stepped in between the men and the lawyer once again. “Shut up or I’ll throw you out!”

The brothers gaped, then stepped back and took their seats once more, still muttering, their faces pale. Richard looked the most outraged. Fury glittered in his brown eyes. James shook his head, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had erupted. “I’m leaving. I’ll be gone within the hour.” He looked at Callie’s mother. “I . . . thank you for your hospitality. Thank you for all you’ve done for me over the past several years. I wish . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, James.” Surprise coated her words. “You’re very welcome.”

He nodded, then without another word or a backward glance, he walked down the hall toward his room.

“He knew,” Callie whispered. Her gaze snagged her mother’s frantic one. “He knew.” Her mother shook her head, eyes pleading.

Megan raised a brow at her mother. “Knew what?”

“Nothing.” She waved a hand. “Keep going.”

Mr. Grayson shrugged. “There’s nothing else. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Megan said. “What do you mean that’s it? What about Callie? Why would he leave everything to me and nothing to Callie? I’m not even his child.”

Callie pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from blurting out the truth. Her stepfather had known Megan was his. But Megan didn’t know who her biological father was, and Callie wouldn’t spill her mother’s secret.

Mr. Grayson held up a hand. “Could you debate the whys of that later? I’d like to finish this up.”

“Yes, please,” Callie said. Had her mother not filled her in on the events that took place the night Megan was conceived, Callie might wonder the same thing. But Rick knew Megan was his—and had chosen her over his older children. How had he known?

The lawyer finished up, gathered his briefcase, and shook her mother’s hand. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’m going to pack.” Richard stormed out of the room.

Callie sat back on the couch and lifted her eyes to the ceiling as though she’d find answers written there. “So, Megan gets everything and someone is trying to kill me.”

Truly she didn’t care about the money. Her mother had made sure she had more than enough to be comfortable while she got her law degree. And, of course, she wouldn’t wish this on Megan, it was just—why?

Because, obviously, it wasn’t about money.

At least not anymore. Truly, she’d wondered if one of Rick’s children thought they would get more if she were out of the picture, but she’d dismissed that idea almost as soon as it popped in her head. After all, she’d had absolutely zero contact with the three of them. In fact, the only time she’d met them had been at the wedding six years ago. Why would one of them want to kill her? The idea was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

Nevertheless, someone wanted her dead.

And she had no idea who it might be.

Once again Nolan found himself sitting in his car outside the Goodlette house sipping hot coffee from a thermos. Jason was working tonight so Nolan was flying solo.

But Nolan had been busy after the reading of the will. While there was excellent protection for the family and no real chance of someone getting inside the house, he’d taken it upon himself to do a little research. He was glad for the little bit of information he discovered but was still frustrated and felt like he was missing something. Something in the story Callie’s mother had told them.

Rick had drugged Sharon Goodlette and then raped her. She thought she’d had too much to drink and the next morning remembered nothing of what had happened. Rick had been aware of Sharon’s dissatisfaction with her husband because he and the business partner, Clyde Durham, were good friends.

Until the argument. What had the argument been about?

Clyde had an airtight alibi for the night Rick had the wreck. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have hired someone. And then that someone decided to get rid of the one person who knew what he’d done? It was far-fetched, but not impossible. But that left the question . . . Why?

He thought about Callie’s whisper. “He knew,” she said. Rick knew Megan was his. And truthfully, if Rick and Megan were in the same room, one would notice the resemblance. She didn’t look a bit like Blake Ainsworth, the man who’d been a father to her until his death.

Lisa Cleveland was Rick and Clyde’s secretary. He’d left her numerous messages and she had yet to call him back. After their initial conversation when she’d disclosed the argument, she’d all but disappeared. He’d had several officers drive past her house over the course of the last two days and they hadn’t reported seeing her come home or leave. And now darkness had fallen. It was getting close to midnight. Would she be home?

Nolan cranked his car and drove to the address he’d visited the day after Rick’s death. When he pulled in front of her house, all the lights were off. The open carport stood empty and the place looked deserted. Nolan debated his next move as he climbed out of his vehicle, praying he wouldn’t find another dead body.

A hand clapped over her mouth and Callie woke with a gasp. “Sh,” the voice whispered in her ear. “If you wake anyone, they’ll have to die. Understand?”

Sleep fled. Terror quickly took root. Callie lay still, feeling something against the base of her neck. A gun. Her heart thudded and a fear-generated weakness flooded her. Who—?

“Get up,” the person behind her said, “and move slow.”

Callie did as ordered, her mind racing. How had someone gotten inside with all of the security?

As fast as the question blipped through her mind, the answer came. No one had gotten in. Whoever was behind her was already inside.

One of Rick’s children?

But which one?

“Move,” the voice hissed. “Out the French doors.”

“The alarm will sound.”

“No, it won’t.”

So, the person knew the code. She was sure her mother had given the code to her step-siblings, but Richard had taken the first flight out to return home after his disgust with the reading of the will.

That left Shelley.

“Why?” she whispered. “What did I do to you?”

“You exist. Now move.” Shelley—if it was her—pressed the weapon harder against her neck.

Callie flinched and thought fast. As soon as she walked out those doors, she was dead. “I need shoes and a coat. Please. If you want me to walk I have to protect my feet.”

Callie had fallen asleep in sweatpants and a short-sleeved T-shirt. With the outside temperatures in the low thirties, she’d freeze without covering. She spoke in a whisper, heart thudding in her ears, while her frantic brain tried to figure out what to do. All she knew was that if she got a chance to run, she’d definitely have a better chance of escaping with shoes on her feet.

A sigh reached her ears. “Get them and let’s get going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

Callie dressed quickly, ever aware of the gun aimed in her direction. She thought she saw a silencer on the end and wondered why the person hadn’t just shot her in her sleep.

Then she realized that would spark an intense investigation of everyone under the roof. Shelley wouldn’t like that at all.

What would happen if she put up a fight?

“If you don’t hurry it up, we’re going to walk down the hall and I’ll put a bullet in your mother, then we’ll visit each and every room until they’re all dead. You understand?” The husky whisper didn’t sound much like Shelley, but if not her, then who?

“I understand.” Her only hope was to attract the attention of one of the officers watching the house.

The gun pressing against the back of her head directed her to the door. She unlocked the deadbolt and twisted the knob. Cold air rushed in, sucking the breath from her. Oh God, please protect me.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I hate you.” The whispered hiss ricocheted through her mind.