Love Drunk by Libby Rice

Author:Libby Rice [Rice, Libby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Spicy Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Gateway Publishing Ltd.
Published: 2015-07-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The warehouse didn’t have a hose. After picking through the broken glass leftover from London’s close call and throwing it into the recycling bin outside¸ Clara found herself washing away drying puddles of pooled wine with buckets of soapy water. Each toss cleansed her conscious as well as the concrete floor.

Dillon had disappeared from her sister’s life.

Good.

Dillon’s father and other more notable naysayers had replaced him.

Bad.

While London had been forced to grow quieter over the years, Clara had been free to grow louder. London had avoided risk. Clara had courted it.

The price for London’s good behavior had been high.

Clara used the office push broom to scrub at the dried remnants of wine and push the dirtied muck out the bay door and into the encroaching evening. When the floor gleamed under the fluorescent lights, she began to systematically open every remaining bottle of Olaszrizling and dump it into the industrial sink.

There were hundreds of bottles, but Clara remained undeterred. Energy vibrated her insides, feeding on the clarity that came to her courtesy of the pill bottle waiting inside her purse. All those risks London hadn’t taken rose up inside Clara like a storm. With each bottle she dumped, a faint whiff of conscious whispered that the chemicals lacing the castoff liquid probably called for a less compromising disposal method.

But there wasn’t time. Clara had taken the risks her sister had refused, and she wouldn’t let London be called upon to pay for them.

At last, the warehouse no longer smelled of rotting fruit and moonshine. Every smoking gun had been dumped. Clara approached an aging forklift parked in a dark corner. The lift sputtered and rumbled to life with only a little coaxing. Soon the pallet of empties sat on the loading dock, flush with the dumpsters, ready to disappear in the morning like so much trash.

Ridding the warehouse of the fake wine had been a crucial step, but only a first one. Clara washed her hands, applied a fresh coat of lipstick, and brushed her hair. Youth and beauty often told a story of innocence.

Tonight she would spin the ultimate tale.

For her sister. For herself.

She stepped from the warehouse to the office, breathing a sigh of relief to find the space unoccupied. Lipstick or no, she didn’t want an audience to witness her building her case or composing her threats.

She took a seat at her desk, knowing exactly where to look for proof of Dillon’s perfidy. An hour later, she closed her laptop and left the building carrying a manila envelope with several printouts, each one a breadcrumb leading straight to Dillon Farro.

Dillon’s father would swallow his petty need for revenge once he saw the credible threat to his son’s legacy and Clara’s willingness—eagerness, really—to deploy it, which was why Clara had made sure the trail to Dillon’s shadowed door didn’t make any pit stops in front of hers.

******

Trevor let his fingers skim Brutus’s keyboard. Like braille to the blind, computer keys lifted the curtain and revealed the hand working life’s levers, a magic wand he used to make sense of the world.

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