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The first sign that Ransom's plan might not be airtight was when woke up on the morning of the will reading and discovered he was starting to go into heat.
He hadn't bothered to take suppressants since college. It wasn't like he was a horny teenager anymore, and it wasn't like he had to work. What was the point of being rich if he couldn't take a few days to lie in bed with an inflatable dildo and all the internet porn in the world at his fingertips?
But when he woke up and felt the wetness between his legs, he had to admit to himself that the timing was inconvenient.
Whatever. It was fine. He'd already set everything in motion—now he just had to sit back and watch as Marta was found out.
And nothing would keep him from attending the will reading. He might save his family's inheritance, but he was going to enjoy watching them squirm first.
Ransom had always been good at thinking on his feet. He liked to think it was why Harlan saw so much of himself in him.
Harlan could come up with a whole book plot in an afternoon. As Ransom listened to Marta's story, he couldn't help but feel some grudging respect. The old man had still had it, right up until the end.
But Ransom could play this game, too. The wheels were already spinning in his head. He would have to make sure the toxicology report, the report that would prove Marta's innocence instead of her guilt, never came to light. He had to deal with the idiot who was blackmailing him.
Still, no one had any proof of what he'd done. Marta still believed it was her fault, and once she was discovered, she wouldn't lie. She couldn't.
But Ransom was having trouble focusing. He was uncomfortably warm, and the wetness between his legs had returned. He spread his thighs and rocked on the hard, wooden bench. The pressure felt good, but insufficient. Something in the air smelled good and made him shiver. An alpha, perhaps. This was why he usually spent his heats safely confined to his bedroom.
Across from him, Marta stared at him. She pressed the knuckles of her right hand to her mouth and appeared to bite them. Then her brown eyes widened.
"Oh, God…."
"What?" Ransom snapped.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Are you going into heat? Oh my God, you are."
There was no way she could know. He wasn't that far gone, and she wouldn't pick up on his scent unless she was an alpha.
Shit.
Ransom raised his eyebrows. "You're an alpha."
"You didn't know?" The pitch of her voice crept up, and Ransom looked around, hoping no one was listening. "How could you not have known?" she said, almost whining.
He supposed he'd never paid much attention to her. He'd never had a reason to, until recently.
"Oh my God," she said. "I'm making it worse, aren't I? My pheromones—I'm so sorry, I—"
"Will you keep it down? It's not a big deal. Don't give yourself too much credit, okay?" He squirmed in his seat.
He tried to remember the last time he'd been so close to an alpha when he was this far into his heat—if he ever had been. No wonder it was coming on so much faster now. His body had sensed an alpha nearby.
And now that he really looked at her, he wouldn't be surprised if she was about to go into a rut from being around him. There was a sheen of sweat on her face, and she looked sick like she had when he'd interrogated her.
"I should probably go," she said. "I'm just making it worse."
"Yeah. I'll drive you back to the house so you can get your car." He signaled to the waitress so they could get the check.
Ransom felt a little better when they finally stepped outside. The cool November air helped clear his head.
He must have looked rough, though, because Marta said, "You don't look so great. I really think I should drive you home. I can get an Uber back to my place."
"I'm fine," he snapped. "No one drives the Beemer but me."
She hugged her arms around her chest. "I don't want to get my car right now. The family is probably still there. Besides, you had those beers. I don't know if I want you driving me all the way to my place."
"What, those? That was nothing."
He wasn't even close to being drunk, but the beers probably weren't doing him any favors, either. He was a little queasy. He couldn't focus on much except Marta's scent. She smelled good. But then, any alpha would have smelled good about now.
She was right, though. He didn't know if he could focus enough to drive. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He tossed them to her, and she barely caught them.
"Fine," he said. "You remember where I live?"
When they got back to his place, Marta followed him inside. He switched on the living room light. She stayed near the entrance as he headed toward the kitchen.
"You want a drink or something?"
"No, thanks."
He considered the bar, and then thought better of it. He opened a bottle of Perrier instead. When he returned, Marta was standing by the window, looking at her phone. It was completely dark outside now. All he could see was her reflection in the glass.
"Calling an Uber?"
"Texting my sister. I didn't think I'd be gone this long." She lowered her phone and looked up at him. "I can't remember if I said I was sorry."
"Sorry?"
"About Harlan. Maybe if I just—"
"Harlan made his choice." It came out harder than he intended, perhaps. She looked surprised.
Ransom sat on the sofa and set the still-untouched bottle on the coffee table. There were things he had to do to protect his plan, but right now, all he could think about was getting undressed and shoving his fingers inside himself. He needed to be touched. No, fucked.
Marta sat beside him. She put a hand on his back, so softly that he barely noticed at first.
"Do you want me to go?" she asked.
He didn't respond, and she inched closer. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and breathed in.
He was definitely having an effect on her. If she hung around much longer, she'd go into a rut. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. How many more ways could she cause trouble? How far would she go? He tried to picture her pushing him down on the sofa, ripping his pants down, and forcing her cock inside him. To his shame, the thought just made him wetter.
And damned if she didn't smell good to him right now.
"You want to go upstairs?" he murmured.
She shook her head half-heartedly. "We shouldn't."
"Yeah? You feel up to going home right now?"
She groaned. "You should have told me you were going into heat."
"You should have told me you were an alpha."
"How could you not know?" she whined. "How many times have we seen each other? Do you really not pay attention to anyone but yourself?"
Any other time, he would have told her to go fuck herself. Right now, the thought of her leaving him like this was worse than her judging him.
Her breath was hot in his ear. She clutched the back of his sweater, and he felt her nails through the loose knit. She buried her face in his neck, and he buried his in her hair, breathing in her scent. He shuddered at the trickle of wetness between his legs.
"Are you going to get sanctimonious on my ass or are you going to fuck me?"
In response, Marta said, "Fine. Let's go upstairs." It sounded like a challenge.
Once they were in his bedroom, they wasted no time getting undressed. Perhaps they both realized that the longer they took, the more chance they would realize how ridiculous this was.
Ransom knelt on the bed and turned around so that his back was to her. He planted his hands on the bed and leaned forward. He wanted to spread his legs and invite her to fuck him, but something made him hold back. He’d never been particularly modest—he didn't bother covering himself with a towel in the gym locker room, and he hadn't been shy about wearing a swimsuit since tenth grade. But something stopped him from lifting his ass in the air and presenting himself to her. Contempt? Even in his heat-induced mental fog, he was well aware of how she’d fucked over his family and screwed up his plan. Shame? She was practically part of the help. The whole "part of the family" thing was a polite fiction at best. She’d ingratiated herself because Harlan was fond of her and because there was no point in having a nurse around if she wasn’t close at hand.
Maybe he just didn't like the idea of looking vulnerable. He had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from moaning like one of those insatiable omegas he saw in porn. But he wasn't prepared for how it felt when Marta put her hands on his hips and he felt her erection pressing between his legs.
She leaned over him, and her hair tickled his back. Her teeth grazed his skin until they found purchase and she nipped at his neck. It was a gentle, teasing bite, but the sensation shot straight down his spine and he shivered.
“Will you fuck me already?” he said, panting.
“Not if you talk to me like that, I won’t.”
Maybe he wasn't in any position to make demands. But Marta was getting desperate, too—she was already rubbing against him. Her nails dug into his skin. When she finally put something inside him, though, it was only a couple fingers.
She must have mistaken his strangled noise of surprise for a complaint, because she said, "I'm not going to fuck you until I know you're ready for it."
"Seriously?" Ransom said through clenched teeth. "You can't tell already?"
But it was the gentle fingering that broke him. It wasn't enough. He needed to get fucked already, and if she was planning to make him beg for it, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to resist. He collapsed onto the bed and lifted his hips, offering himself to her.
When she finally removed her fingers and pushed her erection into him, he almost sobbed with relief. He clenched handfuls of sheets in his fists.
It was different than fucking himself with a dildo. He was used to having control, setting the pace. He wasn't accustomed to being in the passenger seat and wasn't sure he liked it.
With a groan, he said, "Are you trying to drive me insane? Get on with it already."
"Hey, I'm not so far gone I won't leave your ass. If I'm not good enough for you, I can go."
He had the presence of mind to realize that Marta might be serious, so he bit the insides of his cheeks and refrained from ordering her to fuck him harder, faster, and deeper. Instead, he rocked his hips as much as he could. Tried to take as much of her in him as he could.
He could have been embarrassed by how quickly it took for him to come. When he did, he clenched around her cock. Her knot grew thick inside him. She whimpered.
After his orgasm, the haze around his mind lifted enough for him to realize the predicament he was in. Marta was knotting him. She'd stopped thrusting and was holding on tight to hips as her knot locked them together. He couldn't feel it, but he knew she was coming inside him. He couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. He was vaguely aware that this was an issue, and that he wasn't planning on getting knocked up. But his body didn't give a shit.
He tried to move his hips to soothe his sore muscles, but he moved the wrong way and there was a jab of pain. Marta rubbed his back.
"Don't move," she chided him, clicking her tongue. "You'll hurt yourself."
Like he had a choice.
Ransom had always found the idea of being knotted unappealing. It seemed boring and inconvenient. But he hadn't realized how relaxing it would be. He managed to fall asleep, and when he woke up, they were freed from each other. He was lying on his side, and Marta was dozing while sitting against a pile of pillows, still naked. She was hard again. Or perhaps she'd never gone soft.
His better judgment told him to break this off while he could. He could still send her home, and maybe regroup enough of his senses to do what he needed to.
Instead, he got up on his hands and knees and straddled her lap.
Marta stirred. She lifted an arm and ran a surprisingly tender hand through his hair.
No words were spoken. As he positioned himself over her lap, she held her cock for him to lower himself on.
He was more sensitive this time, and he hissed involuntarily as he seated himself. Marta stroked his hair.
"Are you sure you want to go again?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
He wasn't sure if he liked having her look him in the eye as he straddled her lap. Riding her was more work than he liked to do, too. His thighs were already starting to complain. It felt good, though—from this angle, her cock stimulated his prostate with each stroke. He moved up and down until her knot grew too thick. Slowly, he sank down until he was sitting on her lap.
She pulled him close so that he was leaning against her, and Ransom braced his arms on the headboard. Their foreheads touched, and she stroked her hair.
"If you don't take suppressants," she asked, "what do you normally do when you go into heat? Harlan said you were single. Do you just hook up, or…?"
"I can take care of myself. It's usually not this intense."
Her brow furrowed. "Have you ever been with an alpha?"
He knew he could lie. Unlike her, he not only had that option but was good at it. But what was the point? "Not when I was in heat," he said brusquely. "Do you mind? I'm kind of trying to focus, here."
Now she knew she was his first. At least in a manner of speaking. He figured her for the sort of person who'd see some significance in that. As far as alphas went, he could have done a lot worse than her. That was as sentimental as he got about it.
This time, he came just from the pressure of her knot inside him. She sucked and nipped at his neck as she filled him with her come.
He was completely worn out. He'd never felt so relaxed in his life.
The next time Ransom woke up, sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows. He could hear Marta speaking softly out in the hall, and when he sat up, he could see her pacing outside the door. She was in her underwear and was talking on her phone, speaking Spanish.
Ransom checked his own phone and saw that it was almost eleven. So much for meeting the blackmailer. He also had several missed calls, mostly from his parents. He could imagine exactly why they were calling.
He set his phone back down on the nightstand. He was surprised by how clear he felt, all things considered. His heat wasn't over, but it was sated for the moment. At least he could think straight. Maybe getting fucked by an alpha was more satisfying than trying to take care of his needs on his own.
Marta was still engrossed in her conversation. Ransom considered staying close to hear what she was saying, but she was speaking softly, and his knowledge of Spanish was limited to the most basic of tourist phrases.
He got up and headed for the bathroom instead. He figured he had time for a quick shower while Marta was otherwise occupied.
He would have liked to stay in there for a while, or even soak in a hot bath. But there wasn't time for that. He settled for scrubbing down quickly and cleaning the come and his own wetness from his skin.
When he emerged, Marta was sitting on the edge of his bed. She was gripping her phone so hard her knuckles were white.
"That was my mother. The press found out about Harlan's will. There are reporters outside my home."
"Okay, then it's a good thing you're here and not there, right? Do you want to take a shower?"
She looked up at him. "You're not going to say anything about what happened last night?"
He sighed. "What's there to say? We were both there."
"Yes, but…are you even on birth control?"
His hesitation must have been answer enough. Marta's eyes widened in panic.
"We need to go to the pharmacy."
She was right, of course. They could get emergency contraceptive. That was what they should do, but all he could think about was all the other ways his plans had gone to shit. He had to see if the blackmailer had made any additional efforts to communicate. He had to make sure the police didn't get their hands on the toxicology report.
He needed a minute to think. He could deal with the possibility of Marta impregnating him later.
"Yeah, of course. I just need a minute. Why don't you wash up, calm down a little, and we'll go? Then we can go to the pharmacy and get your car."
She hesitated, but then she sighed and said, "Fine. But we'd better leave soon."
"We will. Don't worry."
She shut the bathroom door behind her. Ransom got dressed quickly and headed downstairs.
He was going to check his mailbox for another blackmail letter, but stopped short at the sight of Benoit Blanc peering in the window beside the door. The asshole didn't even have the sense to look ashamed when he saw Ransom looking back at him. He just tilted his head and held up a finger as if to say, "Have a minute?"
Ransom didn't have a minute, but what was he going to do? Let Blanc stand out there to ambush him and Marta when they tried to leave? Maybe if he let him in, he could get rid of him quickly.
As he opened the door, Ransom said, "What are you doing here? And why are you looking through my windows like some sort of pervert?"
"I do apologize. I was just about to ring the doorbell. Do you have a minute to talk? With all the excitement yesterday, I didn't get a chance to talk to you about the night of the party."
"No, I don't have a minute. And everything I have to say is in the original statement I gave."
"Yes, yes, I know. But if you would humor me, there are a few details I'd like to—" He cocked his head and glanced at the ceiling. The shower had just turned off. "I'm sorry. Do you have a guest?"
"Would you ask your questions? I have errands to run."
It took Blanc a moment to look away from the ceiling, but he didn't push the matter. "Yes, of course. And I do apologize for intruding on your time, particularly when…well."
Ransom raised his eyebrows, waiting for Blanc to elaborate. When what? When he had someone over? When he was in heat?
Again, Blanc changed course. "Now, you left the party early, after Harlan told you he was changing his will."
"That's right. I don't see why you had to come out here to confirm that."
"Just covering all bases. And did you return to the house at any point that night?"
Ransom held his tongue. It would be easy to say no, and there couldn't be any proof that he had returned. But if Blanc was asking, he must have suspected something.
Ransom rubbed his forehead. "No. I mean, I considered it. I thought about going back in to talk to him. But I didn't go in."
Blanc looked at him inscrutably. Ransom was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake hiring this guy. He just needed someone to convince the police to take a closer look at the cause of death! How hard was that?
"Is that it?" Ransom asked.
"Almost. I was hoping you might tell me where I could get ahold of Miss Cabrera. I would like very much to speak to her, and she isn't answering her phone."
"Can't help you. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave."
Blanc glanced at the ceiling again, but only for a second. "Certainly. Thank you for your time, Mr. Drysdale." Blanc started toward the door and then stopped. "Oh, before I forbet—I've asked the family to gather at the house at twelve o'clock, if you don't mind. I appreciate your cooperation."
Blanc had a lot of nerve demanding everyone's presence again, but after everything that had happened, Ransom knew he needed to stay close.
After Blanc was gone, Marta crept down the stairs.
"Did he know I was here? I thought for sure he was going to find me."
"There was no way he could have known," Ransom said. "And even if he did, so what? Let's go."
Of all the ways he imagined spending the morning, shopping for emergency contraception with Marta wasn't even close.
The pharmacy was out of stock.
"I can't believe this," Marta said, shaking her head at the empty shelf. "I'm so sorry."
As much as he wanted to blame her for every single thing that had gone wrong, he had to admit this wasn't her fault. Her concern was getting annoying.
He checked the time—it was already eleven-forty. He gritted his teeth. If Blanc was calling them all to the house for more inane questioning, he was going to strangle him.
"It's fine. I'll deal with this later."
It wasn't ideal to bring Marta to the house when everyone was there. It was obvious that her car had been left overnight. The fact that they were arriving together now undoubtedly raised questions. He could see that nosy pain in the ass Joni peering at them from the living room window as they walked up to the front door.
He made it three steps into the foyer before his mother ambushed him and pulled him into the study, closing the door behind them. She looked like she was ready to have a stroke.
"Where the hell have you been? Your father and I have been calling you for hours. What were you thinking running off with her like that?"
"What was I thinking? I wasn't the one who drove her away by yelling in her face. You should be thanking me." Ransom sank down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He rocked back, balancing the chair on two legs.
Linda blinked. "What does that mean? Were you able to talk some sense into her? Is she going to give up the inheritance?"
Ransom shrugged. Linda's mouth set into a thin line.
"Right. I didn't think so. I don't know what you were thinking, going off with her in your condition."
Ransom stopped rocking in the chair. Could everyone tell he was in heat?
With a laugh, he said, "What? In case she tried to seduce me? Hey, at least you don't have to worry that she's after my inheritance."
"Maybe you don't take any of this seriously, but I am very concerned—"
Before she could finish, there was a perfunctory knock on the door and one of the police officers poked his head inside.
"Mr. Blanc is asking everyone to gather in the living room."
Ransom got up before his mother could continue lecturing him.
Benoit Blanc stood in front of them like he was giving a performance. Maybe that's what it was.
"Thank you all for meeting me here. Over the past couple days, I have studied the circumstances surrounding Harlan Thrombey's death, and I have discovered several curious details. To be sure, the issue of motive is a curious one. There is no discernable reason for Harlan to have wanted to kill himself, and several individuals in this room may have stood to benefit from his demise. In the course of my investigation, I discovered that a person or persons unknown accessed the upstairs via a secret window. Unfortunately, there is no way to establish precisely when this occurred. Nor were we able to capture any identifiable footprints. And then there is the fact that Linda Drysdale recalls hearing Harlan come downstairs for a midnight snack but did not hear him go back upstairs. How did he return without her hearing him? This leads one to wonder if perhaps the person Walter Thrombey saw come downstairs just after midnight was not Harlan, after all.
"And finally, there is fact that some anonymous individual hired me to investigate this case. Someone believes that Harlan was murdered, and that someone may be in this very room. But why could this person not come forth openly? What evidence do they have that led them to hire me?
"Indeed, there are curiosities in this case. And yet, the investigative course to which we are bound demands some degree of closure. This morning, I obtained a copy of the medical examiner's report."
Ransom clenched his teeth. He glanced at Marta, who was standing near the doorway. She looked ready to pass out.
Blanc continued. "Now, the police didn't study the findings too closely at first because the cause of death appeared quite clear. But, given the circumstances, I wanted to give the report a closer look. And I can say quite definitively that the cause of death was suicide. The medical examiner is certain that the injury was self-inflicted, and the autopsy and toxicology report show no indications of any alternative causes of death. In short, notwithstanding my misgivings about this case, I cannot find sufficient justification to request that it remain open."
The response from the family was explosive, and instantaneous.
"A-are you sure? Can't we, like, hire another medical examiner?"
"I can't believe you put our family through this for nothing. The Chief of Police will be hearing about this…."
"What does this mean about the will?"
Marta, meanwhile, was silent. She looked too confused to be relieved.
Ransom had heard enough. He strode past his bickering family and into the hallway. He made it as far as the front porch when he heard Blanc call his name.
"Mr. Drysdale, just a moment, if you please."
He should have kept walking, but he stopped and turned around.
"You couldn't have told me this when you were at my house earlier? You had to drag it out, huh?"
"I do apologize, but I didn't want to rush the announcement. As I said, a number of questions remain. For example, I was hoping you could say why you hired me."
Ransom raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"See, the way I figure, whoever hired me must have known that Harlan changed his will. And furthermore, if that person knew that Marta was to inherit…well, if doubt about the integrity of Marta's medical care were to come to light, that would be most fortuitous for anyone hoping to disinherit her."
"Except, Harlan didn't tell me he was leaving everything to Marta. I was as surprised as everyone else."
Blanc smiled in a way that made him look very smug and satisfied. "Were you?"
Ransom raised a finger at him. "I don't know what you're trying to suggest, but whatever it is, you have no proof. You have no evidence. You have nothing."
Ransom wasn't that easily intimidated. Blanc couldn't prove shit.
"That may be so. Though, I find that I typically arrive at the truth even when my train is delayed."
Blanc turned back to the house, leaving Ransom to call out in vain.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
Ransom didn't go home. It felt too much like retreating. He snuck back inside and hid out in Harlan's attic office while his family fought among themselves downstairs. Maybe in all the chaos, no one would notice he wasn't getting kicked out along with the rest of them. He could talk to Marta alone.
What would he say? For once, his brain was failing him. His plans were fucked to hell—Harlan was dead, Marta had everything, and Blanc was turning out to be a problem that would be hard to get rid of.
It was strange, being in Harlan's office. He used to play Go with the old man right where he was sitting now. He and Harlan were at each other's throats more often than not, but they'd always understood each other. At least until Harlan decided to throw away everything he earned.
What was it about Marta, anyway? Ransom had wondered if she spent all those hours alone with Harlan poisoning him against his family, but she acted so sincere. So ridiculously good-intentioned.
It took longer than expected for Marta to find him. At least a half hour after he heard most of the cars pull away. He was starting to wish he'd gone home. He was feeling feverish and hazy again.
His eyes were closed when Marta came up the stairs, but he could hear the creak of the steps and smell her pheromones in the air.
"I don't know if Harlan would have wanted you in his chair."
He cracked open his eyes. "So what? Are you kicking me out?"
"No. I think it'd be cruel to do that to you in your condition. Your heat is coming on again. I don't know if you could get home safely." She leaned against the desk. "Seriously, though, you're lucky I didn't ask the cops to kick you out."
"Is that how you'd repay me for what I did for you?"
"For what? You didn't actually do anything."
"Still, I didn't tell Blanc what you told me. Medical report or not, that wouldn't have looked good. You might have lost the inheritance anyway. Even if you didn't kill him."
"You didn't have to tell him. I just did."
Ransom hadn't pegged her for someone who could take him by surprise, but she'd proved him wrong a lot, recently. He sat up straight.
"Are you serious? Why would you do that? He never would have known."
She shook her head. "No…I think he did. I had to tell the truth. It's like he said—there were things that didn't add up. I couldn't live with that."
He wondered how things would have played out if he'd encouraged her to tell the truth last night.
"And I know you're the one who hired Blanc."
"Is that what he told you?"
"He warned me to be careful. You never wanted to help me, did you? God, I don't know if I even want to think about how you knew about the medication. Maybe it's easier if I don't know."
"So, I take it our deal is off."
"What do you think?"
Ransom smirked. "You know, it's entirely possible you knocked me up. We never did get that emergency contraception. Might be too late now."
"Is that supposed to worry me? Maybe I'd like to have a kid. I can afford to take care of one now. I don't have to give you anything."
She came closer and sat on the ottoman in front of him. She brushed her hand over his groin, and then reached for the hem of his sweater.
"You look warm. Let me make you comfortable."
He wanted to hate her more than he had wanted anything in his life. Maybe even more than he wanted he inheritance. But it was entirely possible he wasn't going to get what he wanted.