Chapter 78

"I don't understand why everyone else gets to have all the fun," Andrea grumbles. "I always miss the good stuff."

"The good stuff?" I squeak. "Andrea, I had to brain a man with a lamp. I thought Brady and I were going to get murdered in our beds!"

"Exactly," she responds over her shoulder from where she's poking at an outlet on the wall. "The good stuff."

I sigh and slump back in the very comfortable arm chair that sits across from the fireplace of my new sitting room. My "guest room" is really more of a small apartment - it has a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and kitchenette. Andrea is here to inspect the whole place, with the Alpha's permission, of course.

"After I finish up here, I'll make a start on the rest of the house," Andrea says, critically examining the window sash. "It's gonna be a big job to get it all done thoroughly, but I'll make sure the most critical areas are covered before I leave today. You'll be safe here, if I have anything to say about it."

"Thank you," I say gratefully. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She waves a hand. "Don't mention it. The Alpha was so impressed by me in our meeting that he offered me a recurring security-check job here. You wouldn't believe what he's gonna pay me. And in solid gold coin, too."

I'm slightly taken aback by that. "Do you…often use solid gold coin as currency?"

"Honey, where I come from, gold is the only currency."

I decide not to ask any more questions, because Kent is right, I probably don't want to know.

"Are my rooms looking safe enough, then?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Yes," Andrea says. "I'll check the bathroom, and then I'm done in here. Well, except for your hair, obviously."

"My hair?" I ask, reaching up a hand to pat my head. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Roots are starting to show, Nicole." Andrea's voice is somewhat absent-minded as she uses a broom handle to bang around in the fireplace chimney. She frowns, crawling headfirst into the empty fireplace and peering upward.

"Something wrong?" I ask. And then: "Do you need a flashlight?"

Andrea snorts. "I can see perfectly well, Nicole. No, nothing's wrong. I thought I heard an odd echo, but the grate up there is bolted in tight. Nobody's getting through this chimney."

I start to ask how she can possibly assess the security of a chimney grate from all the way down here, but stop myself.

"So, we're doing my hair before you leave?"

"Yep," she says. "Trimming it, too. It's starting to get too long. Your curls look so much better when we keep that bob chin-length. Honestly, Nicole, if you take my advice - which you should - you'll never go back to that mud-brown you had before."

"Andrea, you really are an enigma," I say.

"Don't I know it," she mutters, marching to the bathroom, still clutching her broom. "Now, let's check that toilet cistern."

Charles is not coping with things very well. He woke up this morning and headed to his office, as usual, only to find Mickle skulking there outside his door like a scrawny little rat. Displeased, Charles had asked him if whatever he wanted could wait, but apparently it could not.

Imagine his displeasure when he was informed that Dr. Evelyn Freaking Prism had been moved into the mansion, right under his nose, in the middle of the night. Mickle wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but evidently she'd been attacked or some such.

Charles hadn't ordered that attack on her, which is only adding to how unsettled and jumpy he feels. It must have been Amos - who else? And if Amos ordered an attack, that means he's getting tired of waiting for Charles to handle things.

Well, goodman it, what is Charles supposed to do? He's only one man, after all. He has enough to keep up with as it is. He's already successfully bumped off Nicole and his mother, hasn't he? It's not like everything he's done has failed.

Of course, Nicole wasn't originally supposed to die in that accident, but his intent was to permanently shut her up and get her out of the way. When you think about it, death was the optimal outcome.

So, Charles's plans don't always go wrong. Sometimes they even go extra-right. Shame that no one gives him any credit for it. Especially not his wife.

Daisy. Damn it. Charles is sick and tired of dealing with Daisy. He's started to feel like he has to look over his shoulder whenever she's around - she's making him uneasy.

She's largely stopped talking to him, planning with him. She just stands there, holding her grotesquely large, pregnant belly, staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face. It's enough to give a man a nervous breakdown.

He's starting to wonder if Daisy has become more of a liability than an asset to him, these days. She's never going to get elected the Alpha's heir now, he knows that all too well. If Emmett was going to name her heir, he would have done so already.

No, Emmett is holding out for Marcus. And since that damned little doctor seems almost unkillable, he's probably going to succeed. Marcus is going to marry Evelyn and get named heir at the wedding reception, mark Charles's words.

Of course, that won't stop Charles from trying to knock the little bitch off before she can steal his place at the top of the food chain. But that's going to be more about revenge than anything else, because Charles knows that the chances of getting Daisy named heir and himself named Top Dog - figuratively speaking, that is - are almost zero.

If anything, Daisy is more likely to turn on him and bite him in the ass, he frets to himself. He can see it in her face. She regrets that attempt on her father's life; he knows she does. She's weak, she's chickening out.

She's going to drag him down with her, or she's going to cut him loose. Charles might not be able to make it to the Alpha position - that ship has probably sailed - but he can still retain his standing as the family lawyer and top advisor.

If he gets rid of his wife, that is.

His office phone rings, jolting him out of his thoughts. When he answers and realizes that it's Amos on the other end, his voice turns as sour as his thoughts.

"What? No, she's alive and well, and now living right down the hall from me. How did you screw that one up so badly, Amos? I don't want her here."

"Me? You're talking to me about screw ups?" Amos sounds genuinely amused. "Charles, you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were. It should be easier than ever to kill her, if you have such close access to her."

"You don't know how devious she is," Charles grumbles. "She can wriggle out of anything, it seems. It's going to be harder than ever to kill her now. You should've nailed her when you had the chance. One woman and a cripple, alone in a house, and your man couldn't finish the job?"

"Again, I strongly caution you against criticizing me, Charles," Amos says, sounding less amused now. "You have another shot. Take it."

"I have better things to be doing," Charles snaps. "Better targets."

Amos pauses, then asks with interest: "Like who, Charles? Going after my brother again, are you? Or maybe you're finally ready to take a stab at my self-righteous little nephew, kick him out of the running once and for all?"

"More like your niece," Charles says. "She'll be easier to dislodge first. She's only carrying a girl, so I don't even need to wait until the whelp is born."

There's a long silence at the other end of the line, and then Amos bursts out into true, hearty laughter.

"Charles, what the hell are you talking about?" he asks, gasping for breath.

"Daisy," Charles says irritably. "I can tell she's thinking of getting rid of me, and then that would be my goose cooked once and for all. If I get rid of her first, I'll have a cemented position here, and I'll have eliminated the chance that she squeals on me.

"She's been getting cold feet about all this; I know she has. The sooner she's gone, the better. I have a plan all worked out –"

"Charles, you are a ridiculous ass," Amos interrupts. "This is why you fail so miserably at everything; you don't research. You don't plan. You have no idea what the hell you're even talking about, clearly."

"What do you mean?" Charles asks warily.

"If you murder your wife - even if you get away with it, which I doubt you would - you would be terminating your own career immediately and irrevocably," Amos says. "Do you know nothing of the inner workings of werewolf hierarchy, you idiot?"

Charles bristles, swelling up with indignation. Before he can respond, Amos continues.

"If a werewolf dies, their mate is immediately retired from all active public office. If the marriage has lasted for less than 10 years with no living heirs, they are also removed from all ceremonial offices.

"You'd be out on your ass faster than you could blink, if you murdered Daisy."

Charles feels dizzy. The walls are closing in. He fumbles for the glass of water sitting on his desk, desperately dousing his dry tongue with a glug.

This can't be right. It can't. That would mean that Charles is truly powerless when it comes to his wife, and Charles Robinson has never been powerless to a woman a day in his life –

"Charles?" Amos is saying, sounding delighted at his misfortune. "I hope you can come up with a better plan than murdering your wife, otherwise you are well and truly screwed."

Amos hangs up, and Charles sits at his desk, staring into blank space.

What the hell is he going to do now?