The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,16

Bradford.”

“Not anymore, darling.”

She winced at the sobriquet, as if recognizing that she was not the sort of woman that would ever be called such, especially not by someone with his pedigree. And he was ashamed to admit it, but he’d wanted to hurt her for no good reason.

No, actually, that wasn’t true. The lack of a reason, that was.

Shelby had an unerring ability to catch him in vulnerable moments, and the defensive part of him hated her for it.

“How long did you take care of your father?” he demanded.

“All my life.”

Jeb Landis had been a terrible drinker, gambler, womanizer … He had known horses, though. And had taught Edward all he knew at a time when Edward had never thought of going into the racing business as anything other than a rich man’s hobby—and certainly never envisioned himself employing the man’s daughter.

Hell, he hadn’t even known Jeb had a child.

For some reason, Edward found himself wondering how many sarcastic cuts Shelby had taken over the years, the ego-draining obstacle course presented by her miscreant sire training her well … for her going on to care for exactly the kind of man Edward had become.

It was as if Jeb, in sending her here, had been determined that his cruelty survive his grave.

Edward sat forward. Reaching out a trembling hand, he touched Shelby’s face. He’d expected her skin to be rough. It was not.

As she recoiled away, he focused on her lips. “I want to kiss you.”

Back at Lizzie’s farmhouse, Lane stared out at the rising sun as her words hung in the quiet air between them.

Are you thinking maybe someone killed him?

Hard question to answer, especially when, for him, he felt cheated because he hadn’t been the one to kill the man. And wasn’t that a tough pill to swallow, especially as he watched a fresh day dawn across the flat Indiana landscape.

In the face of so much resplendent beauty, his dark thoughts seemed like f-bombs uttered at an altar.

“Well?” Lizzie prompted. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. There are a number of people who have a motive, for sure. Most of whom I’m related to.” He frowned as he thought about something Deputy Ramsey had told him down by the river. “You know, the security cameras on the bridge haven’t been turned on yet.”

“What?”

Lane made arches in the thin air. “There are cameras mounted on the spans, and they were supposed to be recording footage that night. But when the police checked the feeds, they discovered that they hadn’t been initiated yet.”

“So no one knows what really happened, then?”

“Guess not. But Metro Police do think if he jumped it had to be from there. The other bridge is too hard for someone to get to the open drop—which is something Mitch said they were going to fix on the Big Five now.” Lane shook his head. “As for murder, though? No, I do think he jumped. I believe he killed himself. The debt, the embezzlement—it’s all coming crashing down, and my father knew this. How the hell could he have held his head up in this town now? Or anywhere else for that matter?”

“Do you know when they’ll release the body?”

“Ramsey told me as soon as the autopsy was finished. So it has to be only a matter of time.” He refocused on her. “Actually, there is something you could do to help me.”

“Name it. Anything.”

“It’s about the visiting hours for my father. As soon as the remains are released, we’re going to have to have people to Easterly, and I want it … I mean, I want everything to be as it should.”

Lizzie took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll make sure it’s done right. Of course.”

“Thank you.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “You know, it’s funny … I don’t care about honoring his memory. It’s not for my father. It’s for the Bradford family name—and yes, that’s superficial, but I kind of feel like not on my watch, you know? Those people who come are going to be looking for signs of scandal and weakness, and I’ll be damned if they’ll get it. And I’m also concerned that Mother will want to make an appearance for something like that.”

Yes, it was true that “young” Virginia Elizabeth Bradford Baldwine, who was now over sixty, hadn’t been out of bed in the last three years for anything other than hair tending, but there were some standards even an addict like her was