He shouldn’t have made love to her last night, no matter how mind-blowing it’d been. It only made it harder, contemplating the day he’d be forced to step aside as her lover and allow another to take his place.
“You look like you’re carrying a heavy load on your mind,” Justin said, breaking through Max’s thoughts.
“Yeah, you can definitely say that again.” Max shifted his weight, the leather creaking in protest. “I don’t really know how to go about broaching this conversation.”
Obvious confusion played across Justin’s face. “Now you’re starting to worry me.”
“Good. I think you need to be.”
Justin gave a nervous laugh. “Someone’s going to win the award for most cryptic today. Out with it, Sheriff.”
He’d rehearsed what he would say on the drive over, and in the end decided a little embellishment might go a long way toward putting the fear into the duke. “Some evidence has been brought to my attention, leading me to believe your grandmother might be attempting a breakout.”
Justin stared at him. “From what? Her coffin at the bottom of the sea?”
“We both know she’s not in any damn coffin.”
“It was merely a figure of speech. I’m fully aware that my grandmother’s body was never recovered, but thank you for having the decency to remind me.” Justin’s voice shook with emotion as he lurched to his feet. “I don’t know what twisted, perverse humor prompted you to come here and upset me with this nonsense, but I’ll kindly ask you to leave.”
He’d seen enough liars and actors in his day to tell that Justin was neither. Which left only one answer. The duke knew nothing about Reva being alive. Or where she was being held prisoner. Shit.
Max scrubbed a hand along his jaw. How he saw it, he had one of two choices. Either he bowed and scraped his way out of Justin’s study in an effort to save the job he’d probably just kissed goodbye. Or he could go balls to the wall and say fuck it. Tell Justin what he knew about Reva and pray the duke would take him seriously. It might be their best shot at tracking the duchess down. Because without the duke’s backing, they were flying blind.
He abandoned his seat and stepped closer to the edge of the desk, strategically blocking the only exit available to Justin. If nothing else, the duke would be forced to listen before his damn security guards came to drag Max away. “I know this is going to sound far-fetched or crazy, but I have it on good authority that your grandmother wasn’t one of the victims in the royal massacre.”
Justin gazed at him for a long moment, his lips tight. “You’re right about one thing. That is far-fetched.” The onyx cufflinks gracing the duke’s button-down shirt glinted as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Did this mysterious source who provided you this incredible information also explain how the devil my grandmother was able to escape the murderer? Or why she would stay in hiding all these years, from her own family, no less?”
Here goes nothing. “Yes. Because Reva was the murderer.”
Justin stiffened, his facial muscles freezing in shock. A fraction of a second later, his paralysis broke, replaced by blistering anger. “How dare you accuse my grandmother of something so despicable. An innocent woman incapable of even defending her good name.”
“Someone in your family damn well knows the truth of what happened. It takes an extravagant amount of money to hide a murderer’s guilt. Maybe you better start asking some questions of your own.” He reached in his rear pocket for his wallet. Pulling out his card, he tossed it on the ink blotter centered upon Justin’s desk. “When you come to your senses, call me. Before it’s too late.”
The drive back to Aurele’s was a testimony in frustration as Max replayed his meeting with Justin. Frankly, he didn’t give a rat’s ass anymore if he was demoted from sheriff or kicked out of the field completely. What did a job title matter when people’s lives—hell, the entire human population—were facing possible extinction? He glanced at his cell phone, the temptation to call his dad nearly crippling. The old man’s investigative mind would be a handy tool to have at the moment. Between the two of them, they could probably narrow down the possible locations where Reva was being held. But his dad was also no dummy. He’d demand to know who Max’s source of information was. It wouldn’t take much for Grayson Truitt to put two and two together and realize it had to be one of the two other missing victims—Aurele and Willa.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his dad. There wasn’t anyone he trusted more. Other than his mom. And Boone. But who knew how fucking deep this conspiracy went? He couldn’t risk exposing his parents to danger if his dad started poking his tail fin where it didn’t belong. Which would be precisely the thing his old man would do. Shit, like father like son. After all, Max had already stirred up a hornet’s nest of trouble by taking his information to Justin. It’d been a necessary evil, yes. One that he hoped wouldn’t backfire on them.
Growling, he tossed his cell into the console’s cup holder. Fifteen minutes later he braked to a stop in Aurele’s drive. Inside the house, he found the two women camped at the kitchen table. They looked at him expectantly as he set Willa’s keys on the counter.
“How did it go?” Aurele asked, her expression worried.
“The duke didn’t even know his grandmother was alive. Someone else in the family must be footing her confinement bills.”
Aurele hunched over her cup and blew at the waft of steam. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I figured a while back that Justin wasn’t the one behind it. He’s too good a man.”
Max gaped at the elder shark. “You’ve been keeping tabs on the Bellemuirs.” He stated it more as fact than inquiry.
“Why else do you think I’ve been living in Atlanta this whole time? I wouldn’t stick this close to the scene of the crime and put myself in danger just for the fun of it.”
Willa frowned. “Hold on a sec. What do you mean by the scene of the crime? I thought you said my parents were murdered on Atlantis.”
“Dear, you’re practically sitting right smack-dab in the middle of Atlantis.”
“What?” Willa looked dazed by the news. Understandable.
“Wait, this will go much smoother with props.” Aurele abandoned her seat and walked down the hall. Meanwhile Willa stared at him in bemusement.
He crossed to her and hunkered in front of her chair. Her fists were clenched in her lap, and she hadn’t lost that I’ve-just-been-hit-by-a-two-by-four expression. He picked up her hands and smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles. He knew there must be a thousand questions swirling in her mind. Hopefully whatever Aurele was up to would fill in some of the blanks. “I’m sorry I snuck out on you this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it. Right now I’m too preoccupied with wrapping my head around the fact that we’re apparently sitting in Atlantis’s kitchen.”
He chuckled. “Not quite. When Aurele returns she’ll explain it in better terms.”
The scuff of soles marked Aurele’s re-entrance into the room. A large scroll was tucked in the crook of her arm. She joined them at the table and unrolled one section of the ancient parchment.
Willa leaned over the document. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she tucked them back in place before peering at Aurele. “What’s this?”
“A map of Atlantis.”
“But it’s enormous. Practically bigger than the—”
“Atlantic?” Aurele supplied. “Hmm, amazing coincidence.” She pulled down another section of the scroll, a tissue-thin vellum that overlaid the original map.