You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,139

holding the knife up between their noses. “Back off,” she’d warned, and in that second, Sophia had felt her heart clutch, and she’d wondered fleetingly how far her twin could go, just how dangerous Julia could be. Julia’s eyes had narrowed behind the bloody blade and, ignoring the drips from her fingers falling to the floor, she’d glared at her twin and warned, “I thought you of all people would understand! Either we’re in this together, Sophia, or we’re not!”

“Wow,” Sophia had responded, and that had sent Julia spiraling into an even darker, more desperate mood.

Julia had tensed, her teeth bared, and for the briefest of seconds, Sophia had worried for her life. Then her sister had muttered, “Oh, fuck it!” and tossed the knife into the sink before hurrying to the bathroom for a Band-Aid.

So now, was it possible that Julia had done something to Phoebe Matrix? That seemed unlikely. Still, she felt a chill in her blood and had to tell herself she was letting her imagination run wild.

How had this all turned out so awful? When Julia had contacted her last year, Sophia had been ecstatic. Through one of those genetic-testing companies, they’d found each other, met at the bistro, and were both taken aback. Not only a sister, but a twin!

It had been a little spooky, but so exciting.

And then, eventually, Julia had told her about her plan to get their hands on the fortune that was rightfully theirs. Though reluctant at first, Sophia had eventually embraced the scheme, even the part about pretending to be one person. Twins might scare James off, but one girl who was always around would keep him interested, or so they’d hoped. And it would be fun, Julia had insisted. They could make a game of it, fool everyone in Riggs Crossing. That sounded a little lame to Sophia, but she hadn’t said so—Julia had been so excited. Sophia hadn’t wanted to burst her bubble. Julia had also insisted that they deserved their piece of the “San Francisco old money pie.” After all, hadn’t they both suffered enough? Sophia was an only child whose parents were wrapped up in their own lives, their marriage brittle, their interest in their only child waning as she’d become a teenager. And Julia had ended up with younger siblings whom her parents had doted upon. She’d been little more than a slave helping take care of them.

Neither Sophia nor Julia had been given a fair shake in life!

So Sophia had put her reservations aside and gone along with the plan:

Get close to James Cahill. Real close. Be always around, so that he can’t imagine life without Sophia. Eventually marry him. Get what was due to both of the twins! The goal was to walk down the aisle before he inherited his millions.

She’d found it an exciting challenge to try and catch his eye and flirt with him, to steal him away from that awful Megan. That part hadn’t been hard. The difficult part had been to try and avoid falling in love with him.

And she’d failed.

Worse yet, his wandering eye had moved on.

To Rebecca Travers, of all people! A woman he’d already tossed aside!

Neither she nor Julia had seen that coming.

But now . . . now . . .

Sophia glanced down at the stick in her hand, to the tiny results window, and sure enough, just as she’d expected, it indicated that yes, indeed, she was pregnant.

With James Cahill’s child.

Her heart soared, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips. All her doubts about having a baby fled, and tears starred her eyelashes, tears of a newfound joy.

Take that, Rebecca Travers!

Game over!

CHAPTER 41

Rivers wasn’t sure what he expected from Earl Ray Dansen, but it certainly wasn’t two digital pictures, one each of two dead women. The first was of Charity Spritz, her face battered and bruised, similar to the photographs Detective Tanaka had sent to him. The second picture, according to Earl, was Willow Valente, lying on a bed, a bullet hole visible in her temple.

“Jesus,” Mendoza whispered.

“Where did you get these?” Rivers demanded, stunned, his jaw tight as they stood in what had once been the reception area of the newspaper’s offices. One of the fluorescent lights overhead was buzzing, hinting that it was about to go out, and the entire suite of offices beyond seemed empty.

“Came from Charity Spritz’s phone.” Earl scrolled down and showed Rivers and Mendoza the text message: ANOTHER VICTIM.

“What the hell?” Rivers said under his breath. The