Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

the address and hung up. He had no intention of budging until the cops arrived.

He might not be able to hunt down Max, but he could hand the police Ms. Lytton-Jones. Sure, it seemed lame to press charges for her tossing a lit cigarette at him, but he was positive she’d crack under pressure as soon as she was hauled to the police station. She was ultimately responsible for Dominique’s death, even if Max had been the one to do her dirty work. When Desmond thought of his sister’s life, and everything that had happened in the aftermath of her death, he envisioned it as a spiral, twisting wildly and growing bigger and taller, until it consumed everything. Trinity was finally going to be swallowed up by it, too.

What if you’re wrong? asked a voice in the back of his mind. Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth. He shook it off. There were facts in this case that couldn’t be ignored. Trinity was the person who benefitted from the deaths. Well, from Gary’s death. Obviously, she got some sick satisfaction from Dominique’s. Klepper’s… who knew? The woman was sick.

He crossed the street, keeping an eye on the entrance to the building and fending off creeping doubts. One thing that had never made sense to him was why Trinity would want to kill Gary at the very time Dominique was gathering evidence against the man. Clearly, Amberson hadn’t told his client what he was doing, but wouldn’t she have some clue things were moving on the screw-Gary front? And Costa’s story about Detective Lee bothered him. It suggested that Trin was actually being set up. Now, obviously Gary wanted her dead, because he would be free—and rich. But how big a coincidence was it that Trin and Gary had conspired to kill each other on the same weekend?

Just as that thought went through his mind, he noticed a beautiful blonde walk by. There was something familiar about her. She was tall and model-slender. Her long hair bounced over her shoulders like she was in a shampoo commercial. She spoke to the doorman, and he nodded. Desmond crossed the street again to get a better look at her. He watched the blonde get into the elevator, the private one that led to Trinity’s apartment.

There was only one apartment on that floor.

He realized exactly where he’d seen her before. That woman looked an awful lot like the one who’d bumped into him in front of Dominique’s building just before he was attacked. Was that just another coincidence?

Desmond’s hands clenched into fists. It was time to finally get some answers.

Part Three

Polly

Chapter 48

When Polly went upstairs, Costa met her at the door. “I’m so glad you’re here! You look gorgeous,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

“Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?” Polly asked. “I thought she threw fits if she sees you in normal clothes.”

“She does, but I just quit. No more monkey suit.”

“But doesn’t that mean you have to go back to South America?”

“No.” Costa looked almost giddy. “My boyfriend and I have been talking about getting married.”

“That’s wonderful!” Polly exclaimed. In the background, she heard the woman screeching “Costa! Come here!”

“Ugh. She doesn’t believe I’ve quit. She thinks I should be waiting on her hand and foot. She’s a horrible person.” He reached to the side. Polly hadn’t noticed his packed suitcase. “Good luck. Don’t worry about locking the door when you leave. It’s her own fault if someone breaks in and robs her.”

Polly hugged Costa, then watched him get into the elevator. He gave her a sweet, childish wave before the doors slid shut. Polly turned around.

“Costa!” The Unsmiling Tsarevna was coming along the hallway. That was how Polly thought of Trinity Lytton-Jones. Of course, in the Russian fairy tale, the Unsmiling Tsarevna one day met a man who made her laugh. Polly didn’t think that was ever going to happen to Trinity.

“I haven’t seen you in months, and now you’re late,” she ranted, a cigarette burning at the corner of her mouth. “How dare you keep me waiting!”

“If it’s a problem, I can leave,” Polly suggested. “Just like Costa did.”

Trinity grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. For such an emaciated wreck of a woman, she still carried some strength in her. “Don’t you dare.” On second thought, that was just the power of her addiction.

“Our courier was running late,” Polly said, walking into the grand apartment. “It couldn’t be helped.”

“Where’s my package?”

Polly gave her a lingering glare and strolled deeper into the apartment. The Unsmiling Tsarevna was always so nasty. Polly had been making semiregular deliveries to this apartment for four years, and in all that time, Trinity had yet to say thank you. She just grabbed for what she wanted with those bejeweled knobby-twig fingers of hers. Let her twist. Let her wait.

“It’s already paid for, isn’t it?” Trinity whined, smoke pouring from her mouth and nose.

“Is it? Perhaps I should check while you wait.”

“It’s always paid for in advance! You know that.”

The Unsmiling Tsarevna never touched money, of course. A princess never had to do that, Polly surmised. That was the job of a handmaiden like herself, a woman who was born to work.

In the living room, Polly saw that Trinity had already laid out her silver tray and the other accoutrements of her addiction.

“I don’t even have a pill left,” Trinity whined. “Your employer stinted me last time.”

“He wouldn’t do any such thing. He is very careful.” Polly eyed her. “But if you’re unsatisfied with the service, perhaps you should find another supplier.” Polly would never get away with talking back to her brother. Sniping at this horrible woman, and a few of her brother’s other customers, was one of her rare freedoms.

“Just give me the package.” There was heat in the Unsmiling Tsarevna’s voice, desperation winding through it, taut as a violin string.

“All right.” Polly pulled the package out of