Page 103 of Her Beast

Malcolm laughed again, louder this time.

She scowled. “I suppose you find it difficult to believe because you werefuckinghim—letting a murderer into your own house. Your own bed. That would makeyouculpable in your wife’s death, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed it would.”

She looked nonplussed at Malcolm’s easy agreement.

“Tell me what Brian would get from masterminding such a plan, Mrs. Harlow?”

“Twenty percent of the company. How do you think he’s managed to live in the lap of luxury in Paris all these years?”

Malcolm didn’t dispute her claim, nor did he accept it. If there was one thing that he’d learned since commencing this investigation, it was not to rule out any possibility and not to believe anything that any of these people said. At least not until he had proof.

“That’s an interesting idea,” he said, earning another startled look from her. “But I’m not here to talk about Brian. I’m here to talk aboutyouand whatyouknew.”

“I already told you—I didn’t know anything about it until afterward.”

“What do you think your brother said when I asked him the same question?”

She tried to mask her fear with a sneer. “I assume he told you the truth. Why are you laughing?” she demanded

He ignored her question. “Your brother said it was all your husband’s—”

“You are lying filth! He would never—”

“Would you like to knowexactlywhat your brother said?” He gave her a quizzical look. “Or perhaps I should call him your lover?”

Mrs. Harlow shot to her feet, as he’d known she would. “How dare—”

“Sheehan said it was all Tommy’s idea. He said he was told to ensure the entire warehouse was destroyed so that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill any part of my new contract and Tommy could step into my shoes.”

She glared down at him, the spitting image of one of the gargoyles on Notre Dame. “That is so asinine it doesn’t even merit acknowledging.”

“That isexactlywhat I told the father of your children!”

Her face sagged in horror at his words. “What—how—”

“Shhhhh. Don’t worry, Mrs. Harlow, I’ve not told your husband about your lover. Yet.” He smiled unpleasantly.

“You—that—” she spluttered, shaking her head. “There is no proof,” she finally managed.

Malcolm stood and she flinched away from him. “Not to worry,” he soothed, walking around to the front of his desk. “I’m just going to give you something you might find interesting.”

He unlocked the top drawer, took out the piece of paper that was waiting for him, and slid it across to her.

She stared down at it as if it might bite and then her eyes widened when she recognized the handwriting and she snatched it up, her gaze flickering wildly over the words before dropping to the signature.

Her mouth opened but no sound came out. When she could finally wrench her gaze from the words and stare at him with hate-filled eyes he already knew what she would do.

Her hands moved so quickly they were a blur as she tore the letter into tiny pieces. “There is your proof!”

“No, that wasyourcopy. I had your brother write out several copies of his confession just in case one of them was damaged.”

Her loathing vanished in the blink of an eye and she clutched his sleeve. “Don’t do this. Please. I beg of you.”

“I’m not going to do anything, Mrs. Harlow,youare.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. “Me? What do you want from me,” she whispered.

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