Naughty Ransom Holiday Tales Chapter 1

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only
Warnings: Non-con, kidnapping, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, loss of virginity, chloroform…Does contain spoilers for Knives Out though we’re straying away from the story a little bit…
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader (You)

“Who ordered the hooker?”

If there was a moment in your life when you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, that cold, rainy Valentine’s Day was it. That was first time you met him.

Standing on the doorstep of the ancestral Thrombey mansion, you stared up at the man who’d answered the door. He was tall with shoulders as wide as church doors, stretching the baby blue sweater he wore to its limits. His light brown hair was swept back from a gorgeous face that was a perfect mix of angles and curves. His blue eyes were the same innocent shade of blue as his sweater.

But church would be the last place you’d find the man before you.

His blue eyes were cold, his gaze leering as it moved over the short red dress you wore with fishnet stockings and kitten heels. Self-consciously, you pulled your coat closed around you, hiding the front of the costume you’d worn at the floral shop where you were seasonal help. It didn’t do much to hide your legs since it only came to mid-thigh.

“Ransom,” Marta pushed into his space, making him take a step back. “This is my sister.”

Marta motioned you in past him, but you felt his gaze on you as he closed the door behind you.

“And your sister is a nurse?” You didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice as he followed you and Marta into the parlor. “So she’s just a hooker part time?”

Marta stopped when the three of you reached the foot of the stairs.

“She’s—”

“I’m sorry,” you told him politely, turning around and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I work part time at a floral shop. I didn’t have time to change.”

“Feel free not to,” he finally spoke directly to you. Then to your sister he said, “at least she speaks English.”

Marta introduced you. “This is Ransom Drysdale, Harlan’s grandson.”

Ransom didn’t extend a hand or even spare a “nice to meet you.” It became awkward really fast.

Marta’s expression was pained but she quietly said, “come on” and led you up the staircase which made a chorus of creaking sounds as the two of you climbed up.

Like an idiot you glanced back. He wasn’t even hiding the fact that he was ogling you.

When you reached the top of the stairs, Marta showed you to a small bathroom so you could change clothes. She brushed her fingers over the hand clutching the strap of your backpack. Your knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry about that,” she muttered. “He’s an ass… Get changed and I’ll introduce you to Harlan.”

Changing into your street clothes made you felt much better. Not quite ready to meet the famous murder-mystery author Harlan Thrombey, but as ready as you were going to get.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Harlan’s smile was genuine. His blue eyes were the same shade as his grandson’s only they held a warmth that Ransom’s lacked. “I’m afraid I had a bad night last night and kept your sister up all hours taking care of me. I want her to get a few hours of sleep, but she insists someone still needs to be here to watch over me.”

You smiled, the older gentleman immediately putting you at ease. Now you understood why she loved her job.

“I’m glad to help, Mr. Thrombey,” you said with a smile.

“Harlan, please,” he bid you. “Make yourself at home. I’ve already had supper so I’m just going to work on edits for my latest manuscript.”

Marta was already stretched out on the study sofa sound asleep, so you settled into the armchair, pulling out a needlepoint kit you’d bought a long time ago but never seemed to have time to work on or even start. The final product was a simple, colorful ocean scene. You didn’t know what you’d do with it once it was finished and you hoped your remembered how to get started, but it would pass the time.

Harlan settled at his desk and got to work. All was peaceful.

You’d finished a good portion of the lower left corner of the needlepoint when eleven o’clock rolled around. As she’d asked, you woke Marta up so she could give Harlan his meds. You’d followed your sister into nursing and were finishing your RN program later in the spring.

As she stretched and sat up, Marta grinned at you. “Thank you for doing this. It will only take me a minute to finish here so you can go home. Be careful, okay?”

Tucking everything back into your pack, you rose to say goodbye to Harlan.

“My dear, it was nice to meet you,” he said warmly. “I trust I’ll see you again at some point.”

You nodded, smiled. “It was an honor to meet you. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

It was simple enough to show yourself out. You walked down the stairs but of course, the stairs creaked along with each step you made, dashing your hopes of flying under the radar. You’d just reached the bottom when you saw Ransom walking your way, wearing a long coat and a smirk.

Please don’t let him be leaving too.

You weren’t that lucky.

Ransom reached the doorknob before you did, startling you as you stopped abruptly. His grin widened as he pulled the door open and motioned for you to go ahead of him.

You tried walking fast but at his height, keeping up with you wasn’t hard.

“What happened to the dress?”

You didn’t stop. With your tiny car in sight, you were making a beeline for it.

Ransom beat you to it, leaning himself on your drive side door and crossing his arms across his chest.

It took you a minute to realize that you were staring at him with your mouth open.

“It’s just… what I’m required to wear for my other job,” you said, wishing for the millionth time you were more assertive. Wishing you could say something clever or funny and shoo him away from your car.

“Shame,” he said, his expression hard to read in the shadows. “I never got to find out what was under there.”

Oh. Oh.

You needed to get out of here quickly. You took a step back, meaning to go back to Marta and wait to leave with her.

Ransom blew out a sigh as he stepped away from your door, pulling it open.

You were still about to full-on run back for the mansion. Ransom was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in real life. You couldn’t deny you were attracted to him.

But you felt anything but safe right now.

“Come on,” he motioned you forward impatiently.

Timidly, you made your way to your car and climbed in. He shut the door for you a little harder than he had to. Starting up the engine, you were anxious to get away from here. Away from him.

You jumped when he tapped sharply on the window, using a ring on his little finger. Quickly, you hit the button to slide the window down.

“You really shouldn’t leave your car unlocked, pumpkin,” the man’s grin could only be described as wicked as he leaned down to put himself on eye level with you. “You’ve got to be smarter than that.”

You shuddered. His words felt like a warning.

With that, he straightened and walked away. You didn’t see where he was headed. You didn’t care.

You just needed to get home.

***

The next time you saw Ransom was Easter.

Harlan’s son Walt was hosting some macabre Easter egg hunt for their publishing company, Blood Like Wine. Various people would be wandering about the grounds including Harlan himself. Apparently,

Walt and Linda thought it would be a good idea to have additional medical staff on hand.

When Marta asked you, you should have said no. You wanted to say no. You were preparing for your clinicals after all and she knew that.

You also didn’t ever want to see Ransom Drysdale again.

And yet on a certain level, you very much did.

What was wrong with you?

But there was no one else Marta knew that she trusted. With Harlan’s mother, Greatnana Wanetta, to consider too, having another nurse did sound like a good idea.

Wanting to help your sister, you ultimately agreed to go help.

You weren’t proud of the fact that it took you a solid hour to pick out what you were going to wear, how you were going to style your hair. That you were anxious about the possibility of Ransom being there and noticing you was a massive understatement.

As you were packing your medical bag, you shook your head at yourself.

The outing was for the publishing company. Chances were strong that Ransom wasn’t going to be there for that. You were getting all upset for nothing.

“Are you ready?” Marta stopped in the doorway of your room.

You nodded, smiling at the fact that you’d both elected to wear dresses for the occasion. Following Marta to her car, you climbed in and off the two of you went.

The yard around the gothic mansion that was Harlan’s home was littered with people in suits and dresses that you and Marta couldn’t afford. They wandered around with champagne flutes in hand, some already drunk and stumbling. You looked to your sister for guidance.

“Just stay close to Harlan and his mother,” she directed you. Leaning in closer, she whispered, “Try to avoid Ransom if you can.”

He was there?

You should have been nodding confidently at her advice, not glancing around hopefully with your heart racing in your chest.

Marta was staring at you mouthing “you okay?”

You had to get a grip on yourself. You were here to work.

After a couple of hours, the staggering throng was thinning, and you could tell Harlan was getting tired and you didn’t even know him well. He’d been engaged in one tedious conversation after another, but he handled each of them with a sharp wit and class that the rest of his family didn’t seem to possess.

His son Walt was a pompous ass who acted as if he knew way more about the publishing industry than his successful father. Walt’s wife looked you with disdain, only barely greeting Marta. Their son Jacob wouldn’t even look up from his phone when he pretty much ordered you to go in and get him a bottle of ginger ale.

You didn’t even know how to get to the kitchen in that huge old house.

You scrambled into the mansion, determined to get the drink and get back out as fast as possible. So far there’d been no sign of Ransom, which comforted and disappointed you at the same time, and you thought you’d be okay.

You found the kitchen easily enough. That was good. When you reached it, the person you should probably avoid was sitting at the dining room table just outside it reading a magazine as he drank a beer, you panicked.

Nope.

You’d just tell Marta you got lost, apologize profusely, and get her to do it.

You’d just turned to head back the way you came when his voice stopped you.

“Where you going, pumpkin?” Ransom called.

He knew it was you.

Why did he call you that again?

Just keep walking. And you did. You almost made it back to the stairs when you were grabbed about the waist and spun around. Ransom had you pushed up against a wall in what looked like a library, looming over you with a grin that was gorgeous and malevolent all at once.

“I asked you a question,” Ransom said, not moving his hands from your shoulders. “Where are you going?”

You hated that you were trembling in his grasp, that he towered over you, forcing you to look up at him.

“Jacob asked me to get him a ginger ale,” you explained, “but I didn’t want to disturb you so—”

“Liar,” his voice was a purr. “You’re afraid of me.”

You thought that was fairly obvious, but you didn’t dare say that.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ransom moved closer, the light off-white sweater he wore in your face now. “It’s a nice change of pace. Normally, I’ve got women bugging the shit out of me. No one’s given me a challenge in a while.”

You tried to push off from the wall, to get back to Marta. It was no effort for him to hold you there.

“Please,” you tried, “I’m working. I really need to get back.”

Ransom’s grin widened. “There’s no big rush. That little alt-right shit can wait a little longer for his ginger ale, can’t he?”

“Please?” you tried again.

Ransom hummed. “That goes right to a man’s head.”

Oh, God. What did?

“Love the sound of a woman begging for me,” Ransom went on idly.

Your heart was racing in your chest and you were struggling to breathe. The hand on your right shoulder slid down, pulling the strap of your sundress with it.

“Say it again,” his voice was pitched low.

Despite yourself, you shivered in his grip.

He dipped his head, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your bare shoulder, his tongue sliding over your skin. The scent of his cologne was stronger, the heat of his body palpable.

“Say it,” he whispered against your skin.

“Please,” you said automatically, a little breathless because of the way his lips were scorching a path over your shoulder, across to your neck.

Your hands lifted weakly, meaning to plant them on his chest and push him away. There was a solid wall of muscle beneath your palms. And you tried to shove him back but then his mouth had made it just below your ear.

When his mouth closed over yours, you did try to push him away. Without breaking the kiss, Ransom grabbed your wrists and pressed them to the wall on either side of your head hard. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, trying to gain entry but you fought him.

You yelped when he bit your lower lip. And when you gasped, he had the opening he needed to get a good taste of you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned you.

You were both breathless when he finally lifted his head. His gaze moved over your face, your body.

“You’re an innocent little pumpkin, aren’t you?” he asked, his grip on your wrists tightening like he was struggling with himself.

“You still a virgin?” his voice was low, dark.

You shook your head immediately, hoping he wouldn’t detect the lie. What? Did it excite him that you might be a virgin?

You had to get back to Marta.

“Mr. Drysdale, pl—”

“No,” his expression hardened. “Say my name.”

You swallowed hard under that darkened gaze. He could carry you off anywhere and do whatever he liked by the time anyone thought something might be wrong. And it looked like he was contemplating just that.

“Ransom,” you said slowly, deciding to do as he asked. “Please, let me go back.”

Dropping your gaze, you couldn’t help noticing the bulge at the front of his slacks. The sight only pushed your anxiety level higher.

Blowing out an exhale, Ransom mostly released you. Keeping his strong fingers wrapped around one of your wrists, he pulled you on unsteady feet out of the library. You thought about screaming. Where was he dragging you? What did he intend to do?

When you reached the kitchen, he let you go. He pulled open a huge refrigerator, reaching in to pull out a bottled ginger ale. He was barely looking at you now.

“Take it before I change my mind,” he snapped, handing you the bottle.

You took the bottle with a shaking hand then turned and fled the kitchen. You hauled up the strap of your dress as you went, hoping you didn’t look worked over when you made it back to Marta and Harlan.

You didn’t feel like you could breathe until you were out the front door. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to relax.

You ran across Jacob on your way back, handing him the drink with a smile.

“Took you long enough,” he said with disinterest before returning to his phone.

You made your way back to Marta and Harlan, just as your sister was helping him up from the patio chair where he’d been holding court.

“There you are,” Marta said warmly. “Will you grab Harlan’s things for me so I can get him inside?”

“I’d be glad to,” you said.

But you were anything but. You couldn’t go back in there with Ransom. Today he’d scared you enough to rid of your ridiculous notion of being attracted to him.

Today’s encounter made you realize you couldn’t come to back to Harlan Thrombey’s house at all.

Ransom was nowhere to be seen when you followed Marta and Harlan up the stairs to his rooms. You didn’t see him before you left with Marta shortly after.

It’s for the best.

You never noticed Ransom in the shadows of the Thrombey mansion, watching you walk out with your sister Marta and letting her drive you away from him.

One day, Ransom thought. One day.

***

“My car won’t start,” Marta explained on the phone. “I need you to come and get me.”

Fuck.

“Where are you?” you asked.

Please don’t say at Harlan’s. Please be anywhere but there.

“Harlan’s,” Marta muttered. “Can you come get me soon?”

Fuck my life.

You didn’t mean to blow out an exhale on the phone. But you really didn’t want to do this.

It was the fourth of July. Marta had gone over for Harlan’s family’s annual cookout like she had last year. Only last year, you’d listened to her talk about everything and you’d actually felt envious. It had sounded like so much fun even if she was “the help.”

This year? You didn’t want to be in the same zip code as that house.

“I can pay for a cab,” you offered. “Or an Uber.”

You could almost hear your sister think on the other end.

“Did something happen the last time you were here?” Marta asked now and that made you feel a little better because that meant your sister was alone wherever she was. “You’ve been sick or busy each time I’ve asked you.”

You wanted to tell her. You really did. And considering she’d told you herself that Ransom was an ass, Marta would probably believe you.

But Marta loved that job. She loved Harlan. Did you really want to take all of that away from her if you didn’t have to? Sure, the family were dicks to her often. But for Harlan, she made it work and most days she seemed content when she came home.

At the same time, you really needed to avoid Ransom. He’d pretty much molested you when you’d been there for Easter. You still got chills when you remembered him handing you that ginger ale and telling you to go before he “changed his mind.” He’d left no doubt as to what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you told her. And you were sitting at home, watching Netlfix on your laptop. “I’ll come get you,” you told her quietly.

“Thank you,” Marta’s tone picked up. “I’ll make you waffles tomorrow morning.”

You did love your sister’s waffles.

“I want whipped cream,” you informed her.

“We’ll stop and get some on the way home.”

With that, you got off the phone and got dressed. It was still summer hot outside so you pulled on the shorts you wore earlier with a loose sweatshirt so you wouldn’t have to worry about a bra.

You didn’t plan on getting out of the car. You’d honk, Marta comes out and you drive off. That was all you had to do.

Slipping into your flip flops, you grabbed your keys and headed for your car.

It was funny how you’d only been to the Thrombey estate a couple of times, but you could get there like you’d visited dozens of times. You got there within the hour, but you’d decided against honking when you saw Harlan’s son and Ransom’s father having a heated argument on the front porch with Jacob oblivious to all of it on his phone.

You sat there for a moment with the car running, hoping Marta would come out. They kept looking towards your car in the dark, you guessed trying to figure out who you were.

You texted Marta quickly, telling her you were here. Dropping a big hint for her to come out now so you could get home.

When your car door opened, you felt relief.

Until you noticed who it was.

Ransom smirked at you from your passenger seat. “What did I say about locking your car? You remember?”

Fuck.

Tensing behind the wheel of your car, you thought about shutting off the engine and running into the house to get Marta.

Ransom smelled like alcohol.

“Still afraid of me?” As if he could read your mind, a corner of the handsome bastard’s mouth curved up. “My family is right there on the porch. You’re safe… for now.”

You released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“For now,” you repeated quietly. “And you wonder why I’m afraid of you? When you say things like that?”

His grin widened, his eyes glittering at you in the dark of the cabin.

“You haven’t come around since Easter,” his tone held a note of accusation.

“I don’t work here,” you replied. “My sister does.”

“But you and your sister are close,” he said, leaning his head back against the headrest of your passenger seat and closing his eyes. Was he drunk then? “I knew you’d come.”

You frowned at him. Wait. “Did you do something to Marta’s car?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ransom said quietly.

Now you were angry. “And that’s how you went about it?”

“You two don’t seem to fight like siblings normally do,” he mused like you hadn’t just asked him a question. “I’m an only child so I didn’t have anyone to fight with… I didn’t have anyone at all.”

Of course he was making it about himself.

And that he was an only child? Yeah, that made sense.

“Marta and I are close,” you explained. Why was he so interested?

“Did she warn you about me?” he wanted to know.

You had to be careful. Marta worked for his family and if you pissed him off, you could cost her the job.

“No,” you said simply.

Ransom’s head turned toward you, his eyes opening. “Bullshit.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“What do you think she told me?”

“I honestly don’t care,” Ransom said, one hand sliding over to your knee.

You threw it off and he laughed.

“Only one thing you need to know about me, pumpkin,” Ransom leaning closer to you, his breath stained by whiskey. “I always get what I want.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You tried to swallow down your fear.

Ransom watched you in the dark, so large in your small car. His hand slid across to your leg again, this time his warm fingers crawled over your bare thigh.

“Because I want you,” he admitted.

Now you were trembling, scared.

And excited which horrified you. Why did this spoiled man have to be so gorgeous? Such a threat to you?

You shook your head. “I would… I would bore you… I’m not like the girls you’re used to… I’m really not worth the chase.”

Again, that quiet laugh. When you tried to push his hand away, he held on. His fingers gripped your thigh painfully.

“Only one way to find out,” he told you, leaning toward you.

You tried backing away but he kept coming, pushing against your own door and claiming your mouth with his own. He was so much bigger than you and you knew in the dark, no one would be able to see you behind him from the porch, the house.

You tasted the alcohol on his lips, fighting to keep the kiss at that level. When his hand slid from your thigh up to your breast, your gasp had you opening for him. His moan was a deep rumble in his chest as he kissed you breathless, his tongue tangling with yours.

God, he could kiss.

His hand worked its way up under your sweatshirt, sliding over your bare breast.

Easing back, he smiled at you. “Didn’t wear a bra for me?”

“I wasn’t planning to be here at all,” you managed, trying to catch your breath.

“But you are,” Ransom whispered, his hand dropping to your shorts. He’d plucked open the button before you could stop him, shoving his hand into your panties. “You’re right here.”

You desperately tried to pull his hand out of your pants, but his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you to the glass of the window behind you. His grip was enough to make you fight to breathe but not enough to hurt.

What it did make you do was panic. Your heart flew as his fingers slid along your most intimate flesh, finding and zeroing in on your clit. Teasing you with feather-light strokes, he held you pinned to the glass.

It was humiliating how wet you were beneath his fingers.

Ransom hummed, watching your face as he explored you. You were squirming in his hold, the pleasure he was drawing from you with the gentle pads of his fingers had you trying to close your thighs around him to stop him, but it didn’t even slow him down.

“Relax, pumpkin,” he whispered against your lips. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

Yes.

“Please let me go,” you managed with less air than you normal had for speaking.

“Is that what you really want?” Ransom smirked at you, those blue eyes smoldering.

When he slid a finger just inside you, you jerked in his grasp, panicking.

“No!” you wailed. “Please, Ransom…”

His fingers tightened around your throat. His finger carefully slid in and out of you while you tried to pull yourself free of him.

“You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?” Ransom whispered before pressing his mouth against you, the kiss gentle as the finger that was searching along your inner walls. “No one else has been in this pussy, have they?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. Where was Marta?

“Shhhh,” he whispered, releasing your throat and allowing you to shakily suck in air. His hand slid up to your cheek and he brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you grabbed his wrist, trying to move his hand.

When his finger slid along your inner wall you convulsed, your body wracked by a pleasurable impulse that stole your breath. When he did it again, you cried out. He captured the sound in his mouth. Ransom’s kiss was commanding, unrelenting as your body was wracked by powerful spasms, the orgasm shaking you like a rag doll as his fingers worked you skillfully.

Easing back from you, Ransom’s breath came as fast as yours. You could just see the outline of him swelled against the front of his jeans in the dark space within your car. Sliding his hand free of your shorts, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning indecently.

You trembled in his shadow, watching him.

“Take Marta home,” he demanded, pressing forward to claim your swollen lips again. You could taste yourself on him. “Then get back here. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head. “I can’t, I—”

“Bullshit,” he told you with a frown. “Act like you’re going to bed and sneak back out. We’ll go back to my house.”

His lips scorched a path across your jaw, to your neck. Damn, but he made it feel good, soft lips nibbling at your throat and ear.

“Ransom,” you pleaded. He was drunk and you were scared and naïve. Sure, he might want you now but tomorrow, he’d be kicking you out of his house, crushing you under the boot of his superiority. You were no match for him on any level. You knew that.

All you could do really was run away.

A quick, sharp peck on the passenger door made you jump.

Ransom pulled back with an irritated sigh. “Fuck.”

You scrambled to button up your shorts, straighten your sweatshirt.

Marta’s voice was muffled as she called your name.

Casting one last baleful glance your way as he moved to his side of the car and put his hand on the door handle, he said, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Ransom?” Marta moved back as he pushed past her, climbing out of your car and marching back towards his grandfather’s home without really acknowledging her.

Marta scrambled into the car, glaring at you. “What was that?”

You couldn’t help it. You burst into tears under her scorn.

Any ire immediately drained from your sister’s face. “My God, what happened?”

You shook your head, putting the car in gear and turning the car around to head back for the front gate, driving faster than you needed to. Marta grilled you the entire way, offering to go to Harlan about it.

You begged her not to. You didn’t tell her that Ransom tampered with her car. Harlan arranged to have it towed to a local garage where they fixed it quickly and easily.

And most importantly, you didn’t go back that night as Ransom expected. You didn’t leave your house for three days, claiming to be sick. Marta alone suspected the true reason you were scared, staying in bed with your laptop to watch movies.

Slowly, you realized he wasn’t going to come to your family’s tiny apartment and break his way in. You realized he wasn’t following you as you applied for jobs, went to job interviews.

You swore then and there that you’d never return to the Thrombey home.

Ransom Drysdale wasn’t coming after you.

Until he did right after Thanksgiving and the death of his grandfather…

***

On Harlan Thrombey’s 85^th birthday, the family held a party. Marta didn’t ask if you wanted to go with her. She did try to get you to tell her for the hundredth time what happened that night with Ransom, but you never did. You couldn’t.

The more time went on, the more you decided you must have led him on somehow. You must have done something to make him think…

The next day the horrific news broke of Harlan’s death by apparent suicide. Fran, the housekeeper, found him dead. The kind older gentleman had slit his own throat.

Marta was devastated and seemed on edge. She wasn’t able to attend the man’s funeral which you knew hurt her immensely because she considered him a friend. She was called in repeatedly to answer questions from the police. When a private detective was called in, the world-renowned Benoit Blanc no less, you could see your sister’s anxiety escalating.

You just didn’t understand what she was afraid of.

Over the course of the next several days, Marta’s behavior was erratic. When she came back from the reading of the will, she closed herself off in her room a lot like you had after the episode with Ransom. You knew something terrible had happened then.

Was Ransom involved? Had his attention turned to your sister?

You were the worst sister in the world for even thinking about it. Why would you wish that on her? Were you jealous?

You loved Marta and you wanted to help. You nearly beat down her bedroom door when the news broke that she’d inherited Harlan’s estate.

What happened there?

One thing you knew for sure. The Thrombey family had to be losing its mind right now. They’d turn on her.

You’d later find out that day when your sister went to confront the family about her role in Harlan’s death, she believed she’d given him a fatal dose of morphine and didn’t have the antidote in her bag where it was supposed to be. The detective had cut her off before she could confess. Instead, he’d pulled her into the story to piece together a complicated web of a tale.

Thanks to Fran letting Marta know where to find the toxicology report that would prove her innocence, Benoit Blanc believed that he had everything figured out. Only Fran died before they could confirm who she saw do what, who was responsible for her death.

And when the detective sent Trooper Wagner to bring in one Ransom Drysdale for questioning, he’d already left.

A call was immediately put out to bring him in as the primary suspect in the case now. The detective was puzzled when Marta fainted away into the floor at the news that Ransom had fled. When they’d brought her around, the detective was curious as to why she whispered her sister’s name.

You’d just made it back home from a job interview, hoping that Marta was okay. You thought about making a dinner that she liked to cheer her up when she got home.

You never made it to your door.

You were putting your keys in your purse, still in the driver’s seat, when someone grabbed you from behind. A white cloth was slapped over your nose and mouth and your senses were filled with something that smelled sweet.

The world faded for you and strong arms and you were dimly aware of someone jerking open your car door to pull you out.

Why did you never lock your car?.

The last thing you heard was, “I’ve got you, pumpkin.”