Crude Heir (Billionaire Heirs #3)

Chapter 17

Derrick

Twenty-four hours later, we’re still no closer to finding the issue than we were yesterday. Nicole keeps murmuring I don’t get it . I can see the frustration in every move she makes. I’m not sure how she’s going to be once we get through this.

“I’m taking a break,” I announce, pushing back from the table. I tilt my head, a loud pop coming from the base of my neck.

“Okay,” she replies absently.

“I think I’ll grab a hot shower, then we’ll see about lunch.”

“We could warm up dinner,” she suggests.

“Or we could warm up dinner,” I repeat, agreeing with her before I head to the bedroom to pull some clothes.

When we finally got to the dinner that was dropped off, it was cold. With rib eye being such a fatty steak, it didn’t make for an appetizing meal. So I put everything away and ordered burgers.

I’m running a towel over my hair, drying off after my shower, when my phone buzzes with a notification. I grit my teeth, letting the towel fall to my shoulders. There has to be some issue to deal with at the office. It’s to be expected when we get hit with a storm of this magnitude.

Reluctantly, I glance at my cell, catching the name right before the screen goes dark. Chase. He must have finished the background check on Nicole. Time stands still as I process the situation.

A lot has changed since I made the request. When I sent the email, I just knew someone was stealing from the company. Nicole seemed the most likely suspect. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

I pull the towel off my neck, absently running it over my chest. The phone sits there, seeming to grow bigger with each passing second.

The phone buzzes again, lighting up the screen. The notification shows Chase sent an email. An email…

The urge to pick up the phone is intense. Did he uncover something?

In hindsight, maybe she was on my mind for a totally different reason. Truth be told, I want to know more about her. While I’m not doing this in the traditional way, I know I’ll find answers here.

I scoff. What else could he be sending but a mundane report? Something to reinforce my belief that the sweet little innocent is a certifiable workaholic.

I wrap the towel around my waist then pick up my cell and press on the banner. The email opens to a familiar greeting.

Hey, bro. Sorry to take so long to get back to you. I’ve been tied up with a student.

I scan past it quickly, needing to get to the meat of the email.

I checked into Nicole, and it looks like you’ve got trouble on your hands.

The certainty I felt tangles into a knot in my stomach, sinking to the bottom as I scroll down, continuing to read.

Nicole Fuentes. Age twenty-one.

She has a year-long lease on a low-rent, one-bedroom apartment in a predominantly Hispanic, neighborhood in Pasadena.

According to the IRS she’s working for a staffing service coming up on a year. Worked at Stewart and Villagran Accounting Services prior to that.

She was going to college part-time while she was there but dropped right before switching jobs. That coincides with the death of her parents in a single-car collision. I included a link to the story in case you want more details there.

Fatal Accident Claims Two Lives.

The link sits in the middle of the screen. It’s one more way for me to intrude into her life, learn what she hasn’t brought up in the short time we’ve been together. I stare at it for an interminable moment then continue.

She’s clean, as in squeaky clean. And you know how I feel about that.

Yeah, Chase finds people like that a challenge. Believes if they’re that clean, they probably have something to hide. An icy shiver creeps down my spine as I continue reading, a wave of dread filling me with surprising speed.

So I went looking farther back.

Fuck. I should have gone with my gut, stuck to the suspicion I started out with. Instead, I brought her home and fucked her into unconsciousness.

Born in League City, Texas.

Went to school in Dickinson. Exemplary student.

Took some time off between graduating and starting the accounting job.

She has one credit card, which she pays regularly. Her biggest overall expense has been a secondhand car. Her purchases are primarily groceries, gas and maintenance on the car, and a ridiculous amount of romance novels.

After everything is paid, she withdraws the money from the bank, keeping a running balance at about one hundred dollars.

Now for the interesting part. She’s turning twenty-two on September nineteenth, yet the state records show Nicole Fuentes died when she was three.

What? I tighten my grip on the phone. Anxiety gnaws at my insides as I reread the last paragraph. While I don’t think it could have happened, I need to make sure I didn’t misunderstand anything.

The state records show Nicole Fuentes died when she was three.

No, it’s exactly as I read it the first time. In other words, she lied about who she is.

What else did she lie about?

Her fingerprints are on file. I sent them to a contact who has connections at Interpol, nothing popped up right away, but he’s going to do some digging. I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Either she’s been masquerading as Nicole for a long time, or she has great connections.

Be careful, man. Whoever you’re looking at is a ghost, in every sense of the word.

I stare down at the screen, struggling to draw breath in the steam-filled room. How could I have missed this? Nothing she has on her computer raised any flags. I brought her into my home, into my bed. And I left her alone with a link directly into the company’s payment program.

I’m an idiot!

Determined to confront her, I yank open the door and stalk through the bedroom. I’m not at the doorway yet, but from this angle, I can see she’s not at the table. Where the hell did she go? I need answers. I need the truth. And I need to hear it from her.

I come to an abrupt stop. Nicole is at the counter, rummaging through her bag, a curtain of dark hair hiding her face. She pulls out a hair tie, pulling it across her knuckles, then gathers the silky locks at the back of her head. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine.

I have one last second of seeing her as the beautiful, innocent woman I spent the night with. Then she loses the soft smile, and her expression becomes guarded. She knows something’s up.

“Derrick?” She brings her hand down, releasing her hair. She squares her shoulders and straightens her back, looking all business. “What’s wrong?”

I stare at her, up and down, astonished at how quickly she’s turned back into the unassuming woman I see every day at the office.

She played me for a fool. What else did I miss? What else is lost in the fog of lust? Goddamn, how could I have another woman lying to my face without me knowing?

“Who the hell are you?” I demand, the words honed to a sharp edge from anger born of betrayal.

* * *

Nicole

I draw in one shaky breath after another. Stay calm. He can’t be asking what I think he’s asking. No matter what, don’t freak out. Not again.

I don’t need the memory of having a complete meltdown in front of him to cycle through my mind for the rest of my life. That’s not a story I want to be telling the half dozen cats I’m destined to be living with thirty years from now.

“What do you mean?” I try to keep as calm as possible when I say it.

He takes a step forward. Heart racing, I automatically take a step back. He stops, narrowing his eyes as he assesses me all over again.

I reach out blindly, holding on to the solid wood of the breakfast bar. If ever I needed something substantial to hold onto, it’s now. The guy who played the hero, the one who pulled me out of that dark hole, the one who held me through the night, is gone. In his place is the guy with the cold, hard eyes.

“Derrick…” My heart breaks seeing the man in front of me, losing the man whom I’d just discovered.

“Nicole Fuentes, the real Nicole Fuentes, died when she was three.”

Oh Lord, he is asking what I think he’s asking.

“So, who the hell are you?” he demands.

I’ve had nightmares about this moment ever since the woman I called Grandmother confessed to what they had done. But I’d always expected it at a job. I could have never imagined a scenario where my work life and my personal life collided.

I lick my lips, trying my best not to throw up in sheer horror at what might happen. “I’m Nicole,” I insist, a slight tremble in my voice.

“Cut the bullshit and tell me who you are.” He looks ready to bite someone’s head off, and I’m the only target in range.

“I’m Nic—” He steps forward. I step back.

“Are you the one who’s been stealing from Kelly Oil?” His expression turns dark. Every muscle in his body is tense. “Is this just some elaborate plan to buy some time?”

“No.” I shake my head. How could he have jumped straight to that when I’ve spent all that time trying to help? “Please, let me explain.”

“How about I call the cops.” To my horror, he brings up his cell. “They can come sort this out.”

I hold my ground, knowing he’s not going to do it. But his thumb is already punching the first number. The dial tone practically screams out of the earpiece, reaching me across the room.

He can’t…

The next two digits go in quick succession, beep—beep. The sound echoes in my mind. He did it. A part of me has gone numb, unable to process what he’s done.

He moves the phone to his ear while he focuses on me dispassionately. Then, to my horror, I hear the phone ringing loud and clear despite him not having the call on speaker.

Fear rises inside me like a tidal wave. What happens when the police get here? What will they do? Where will they take me? Everything I’ve worked so hard for would be gone. Everything I know as my life would be ripped away.

“Wait!” The words tear from my throat, bringing a wave of emotion. “Stop.” I sob, hoping for a shred of compassion. But Derrick’s eyes are steely, uncaring. I’m out of time. I know deep down inside he isn’t going to let me explain.

Pain explodes in my chest. Through the blur of tears, I see him move. He’s coming for me, and he’s furious.

I whirl around needing to escape, to run away while I still can. I snatch my bag off the counter and run for the exit.

Blood rushes in my ears, blocking out everything around me.

Don’t look back.

I’m halfway down the hall, picking up speed as I reach the door, blindly reaching for the knob. I manage to turn the knob despite feeling like my grip has no strength to it. Wrenching the door open, I rush through.

Something inside me shatters. For a brief moment, I thought I found something that could be perfect. Only it lasted all of twenty-four hours.

He won’t follow me. He won’t stop me. He won’t even call out my name because he wouldn’t know which name to use.