Page 3 of All Fall Down

The prime suspects? Everyone who’d been at his daughter’s party. I might have gotten away with a simple questioning until I found out that the guy I’d shacked up with that night was Jameson West—the heir to the West fortune and the victim’s son. Obviously, I have questionable taste in men. Not as strange as my best friend Josie’s penchant for older men—a vice that sent her to some dude’s hotel room and left me needing an alibi.

Jameson was everyone’s number one suspect, even mine. Especially after he started showing up wherever I was. Despite his stalker tendencies, I decided to find out for myself. I never expected to fall in love with him.

I know he’s innocent, but that hasn’t removed either of us from suspicion in the eyes of the FBI. So, when a mysterious Instagram account ran by someone known only as The Dealer started posting incriminating photos of Belle Mère Prep’s most-likely-to-be-a-murderer list, I took it upon myself to investigate. I need to clear our names, and I can only do that if I figure out who killed Nathaniel West.

But as of this afternoon something weighs more heavily on my mind. Thanks to the FBI’s resident pain in the ass, Agent Mackey, I have to worry if I can be in love with Jameson. I already learned that my sister was another man’s child, a fact my parents kept from me even after her death, but I never considered that I might be as well. If Mackey isn’t lying, and I think it’s entrapment or some other Law and Order no-go if she is, then I have more than one mystery to solve. Only time will tell if Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Baby Daddy, starring yours truly, will have a happy ending.

It’s not true. I am not Nathaniel West’s daughter.

I repeat the thought in my head like a new-age manifestation. I have to believe it, because if I don’t the pit widening in my stomach will swallow me whole.

The question plagues me as I reach the revolving door, but before I can step inside, a hand closes over my shoulder and spins me around. With my mind lost in thoughts of felonies, I shriek. The sound is smothered by Jameson West’s lips.

Jerking away, I try to ignore the urge to melt into him.

In his suit, he looks older than he really is. There’s even a faint trace of stubble peppering his jaw. I run my fingers over it without thinking and he sighs. Rubbing it with his hand, he shakes his head. “I shaved this morning, Duchess.”

“It makes you look powerful.”

His eyebrow curves up like a question mark. “It makes me look old.”

After his father’s unexpected death, Jameson stepped up to run the family business. Given that the last argument he’d had with his father was about him dropping out of college, he hadn’t planned to be running a Fortune 500 company. The new responsibilities might be aging him, and sharing any info I’ve learned today won’t help.

I look for the truth in his face, but all I find is the strong set of his jawline and unreadable expression in his green eyes. His unruly, coppery hair is tamed into submission. Today he’s playing the part of the businessman. Aloof. Untouchable. Calculating. And I’m the one he’s analyzing. I shrink away from him.

“What’s wrong?” The suspicion in his voice only sharpens my edginess.

“Nothing,” I lie too quickly to be believable. “You surprised me.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” he says slowly. “Are you hear to see me?”

“Why would I be here to see you?” I really need some verbal Pepto-Bismol right now to stop all the paranoia from spewing out of me.

“Because I work here, Duchess. I was overseeing the security updates.” He pauses to give me a chance to connect the dots but my brain has gone haywire. “I sent you a text.”

“My phone’s acting strangely.” Apparently, the dishonesty is going to give the paranoia a run for its money.

“I have a few minutes. Why don’t I give you the private tour of the business offices?”

I sidestep him when he reaches for me. Hurt flashes over his features, but he smiles tightly. “I’m sorry. Josie’s sick and I have to run and if we get started…”

He allows me to bow out, gracelessly I might add, without further comment, but before the revolving door seals behind me, he calls out one final question, “Why were you here?”

I step out on the other side, and we stare at each other through the glass. I could go back inside and explain, but facing him is painful enough. Maybe this was always our destiny: to see each other but never touch.