Page 83 of Wicked and Claimed

An insistent, annoying buzz jolted Haisley awake.

Scowling, she opened one eye. Her bedroom was as dark as the predawn morning outside. And Nash was no longer beside her. Where had he gone? The clock on her nightstand told her it wasn’t even six a.m.

She touched his pillow. It was cold, suggesting that he’d left her bed a while ago. Was he downstairs making coffee? Or had something driven him away?

Memories of the night before rushed back, bringing a flush of heat to her cheeks and warmth to her heart. They’d both said some incredibly honest things and admitted their long-held feelings, baring their souls along with their bodies. No one could satisfy her like Nash, but last night had been different. Amazing. Afterward, he’d made her feel so special. So cherished. So loved. He’d been everything she’d ever wanted, and she wished it could have lasted forever.

But in the harsh gray before dawn, uncertainty crept in. Had he changed his mind? Where did they stand now?

She stretched, feeling each and every one of the sensual bites and bruises Nash had imprinted on her skin. Two years ago, the sight of his markings had always left her a little breathless and giddy. Her friends had all told her to have her head examined. But she’d reveled in his possessiveness. Last night she’d loved it even more.

The disruptive buzzing that had awakened her sounded again, breaking into her thoughts. Her phone; that’s what had awakened her.

She reached for the device and found a note beneath.

Took Benedict’s burner to Trees. Call me when you wake. I’ll fill you in.

-N

Haisley sighed, torn between lingering in the afterglow and facing reality. Her emotions were a tangled mess—elation at finally being with Nash, fear of what their revelations meant for their future, and a gnawing worry that the secret she kept could unravel everything.

Forcing herself to push all that aside, she opened her phone to text Nash. Social media alerts tagging the Oakfield Mall exploded across her screen.

The first one read:Land developer George Benedict and his wife, Mila, found dead in a suspected murder-suicide.

Shock doused her veins with ice. “Oh, my god…”

Seriously? Was this news report actually real?

The next alert confirmed the first, even more brief and blunt.Lafayette mogul George Benedict’s mansion burns to ground, two bodies recovered.

As soon as she swiped that notification away, another took its place:Police confirm: Benedict dead from self-inflicted gunshot. Woman’s remains, believed to be his wife, found in rubble.

More headlines filled Haisley’s screen. Frantically, she scrolled, trying to piece together this horrible development. Details were still sketchy, but according to police reports, the neighbors called 911 about three thirty this morning after the blaze engulfing the Benedict mansion awakened them. By the time fire trucks rolled up and put out the inferno, nothing was left of the house. The female inside, presumed to be Mila, was found in the master bedroom, burned beyond all recognition. Mr. Benedict’s body was found on a chaise lounge by the pool without a single burn. He clutched a gun in one hand, dead from an apparent gunshot to the head.

Haisley gaped. What had happened to make Mr. Benedict snap?

Last night, a sobbing Mila had nearly spotted her and Nash at the office…then what? Had she gone home and confronted her husband about whatever had upset her? Haisley had sensed tension between them all week and felt sorry for the bubbly woman saddled with the curmudgeonly asswipe. Had they fought? Had it escalated into violence? Had George Benedict been so horrified by whatever he’d done to her that he’d taken his life?

Clutching her phone and trying to stop her head from spinning, Haisley leapt out of bed. What the hell should she do? What could she do?

She opened her messages to text Nash with the news, but her phone buzzed with an incoming call from a number only identified as Oakfield Mall.

“Hello?”

“Haisley Rowe?” asked a frantic female.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“My name is Julia. I was the assistant to Ben Yuslav, the former manager of Oakfield Mall.”

The girl Ethan had gotten off at her desk with his hand down her panties. “Yes. Mr. Garrison mentioned that he’d…spoken to you after Mr. Yuslav abruptly quit.”

“That’s who gave me your number. Um…the press is beginning to swarm the mall.”

“This early?”

“News is breaking. As soon as I heard, I came to work to see if there was anything I could do. Then the press showed up… They’re asking if anyone representing the mall will make a statement. What’s happened to Mr. Benedict and his wife… It’s terrible. I don’t know what to say or do.”

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