“He cared about the money you gave him, the money he got from your husband. He double-dipped, and it ended up killing him.”
“We had a relationship. Do you understand me?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Tash, don’t upset yourself. The man was a bastard. He took advantage of you.”
“Of you,” Quigley tossed back at Martella. “Not of me. No one takes advantage of me.”
“It’s hard to take.” Eve patted Natasha’s leg. “Really hard for a smart, strong-willed woman to take when she’s been duped. Everything he said to you was a lie, and one your husband paid for—worse, paid for with your money. I know it’s rough. It was bad enough when you found out Ziegler was seeing that idiot Alla Coburn again, bad enough when he lied to you about her, about others.
“He made you feel special, excited,” Eve continued. “When you snuck out to see him that day—the day of your party—you just wanted to see him before he left for the seminar. But you saw he’d been with someone else. The cheap bra, the slutty shoes, right there, in your face.”
“What are you talking about?” Martella demanded. Eve ignored her.
“He brushed it off. He had a way, didn’t he? She didn’t mean anything to him. Just sex. Did he laugh at you when you told him you wouldn’t tolerate it? Did he sneer when you said you loved him, wanted him to only be with you? Was he laughing when you picked up the trophy and swung it at his head?”
“You can’t talk to her that way.” Martella tugged on Eve’s arm. “She’s hurt. She’s been victimized. Lance, make her stop.”
“Wait.” He stared at Eve, shifted his gaze slowly to Natasha’s face. “Just wait.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” Natasha plucked at the sheets, blinked tears into her eyes. “You’re saying horrible things.”
“You stuck the knife into his heart because he’d stuck one into yours. It was all lies, Natasha. Yours, your husband’s, Ziegler’s. Everything you did: lies. You thought you’d gotten off clear, you told yourself you did what you had to do, and that was that. But the time it took? That tripped you up. You had to cancel your hair and face techs. I’ve checked with them, too.”
“I was busy preparing for the party.”
“You weren’t home at the time Ziegler died. Catiana looked for you, couldn’t find you.”
“I was home. Of course I was home. Dozens of people saw me.”
“And when I interview them, each and every one, none of them will be able to verify you were there between six and seven that evening because you were rushing over to Ziegler’s apartment, killing him, and rushing back again.”
“I was home,” Natasha said coldly. “You’ll never prove otherwise.”
“Sure we will. And yesterday Catiana realized it. Talking with your sister, she started putting it together. Started wondering why she couldn’t find you in the house, why you’d canceled your hair and face time. Six to seven-thirty, according to your hair and skin techs. But she was loyal, Natasha. She didn’t run to me, to the police, she went to you. She went hoping you’d explain. But you couldn’t explain.”
“Tella, please. Call the nurse. My head hurts.”
“Tash.” Slowly, Martella eased back from the bed. “Oh my God, Tash. It can’t be true. Not Cate. You couldn’t.”
“But she did. She had to protect herself. Maybe you offered her money. She’d be shocked, insulted. You couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut, so you argued, you threatened. You shoved her. Did you mean to kill her or was it just a happy accident?”
Natasha shook her head, looked pleadingly at her sister. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. Believe me.”
“I think it was violent impulse,” Eve continued. “Like Ziegler. And like Ziegler, you couldn’t leave it at that. After you turned her over, made sure she was dead, you knew just how to use it all to your advantage. You could get rid of JJ—have him locked away like he deserved for cheating on you with that little stripper with the big tits. It would take some guts, but you’ve got them. So you made the nine-one-one call. You could claim you blocked video in your rush, your shock. You faked an attack, using your husband’s name. Then you dropped the phone, crushed it. You got your guts up, picked up that vase. You screamed—alerting JJ, boosting your adrenaline, then
you struck yourself as hard as you could manage. Harder than you should have. It nearly killed you. You nearly died for pride and ego and payback to a cheating spouse.
“Was it worth it?”
“Every bit.”
When Martella began to weep, Roarke put an arm around her, looked at Lance. “You should take her out. She shouldn’t be here now.”
“Come on, darling. Come on now.”
“Go on! You always were the weak one,” Natasha called after her. “Go crying to Daddy, like you used to.”