Chapter 8 – The Woman Who Doesn’t Blink
1306 Words
Detective Elena Cruz didn’t rush.
People who rushed usually wanted something.
Cruz preferred to let people wonder what she already knew.
The lobby of Blackwood Tower gleamed with the sterile perfection of billionaire ambition—white marble floors, chrome fixtures, quiet security guards pretending not to watch everyone who walked through the doors.
She paused just inside the entrance and looked up.
Forty-two floors.
A monument to power.
Also, she suspected, a monument to secrets.
“Detective Cruz?”
A young assistant hurried toward her, slightly out of breath.
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Blackwood is expecting you.”
Cruz smiled politely.
“I doubt that.”
The assistant gave an awkward laugh and gestured toward the elevators.
The ride to the executive floor was silent.
When the doors opened, Cruz stepped into a hallway that felt less like an office and more like the interior of a fortress. Glass walls. Minimalist art. Security cameras positioned with almost paranoid precision.
At the end of the hall stood two people.
Ivy Blackwood.
Sebastian Blackwood.
Waiting.
Interesting, Cruz thought.
Most suspects preferred distance.
These two preferred confrontation.
Ivy forced her expression into calm neutrality as the detective approached.
Inside, her pulse hammered.
Sebastian stood beside her with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way she knew was deliberate.
He was never relaxed.
Not really.
“Detective Cruz,” Ivy said.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
Cruz’s eyes shifted briefly to Sebastian.
“Mr. Blackwood.”
“Detective.”
There was something in his tone—measured, cautious.
The kind of voice a man used when he knew the room had just become dangerous.
“I appreciate you meeting with me so quickly,” Cruz said.
“You didn’t give us much choice,” Ivy replied smoothly.
Cruz smiled faintly.
“No. I suppose I didn’t.”
She stepped past them and into Ivy’s office.
The room was exactly what Cruz expected.
Large.
Expensive.
Intimidating.
Power lived here.
Cruz took a slow walk around the space before sitting in the chair opposite Ivy’s desk.
Sebastian remained standing near the window.
Watching.
Always watching.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Cruz said.
“Please do,” Ivy replied.
Cruz opened a thin file.
“Julian Blackwood’s death was originally ruled an accidental discharge.”
“Yes.”
“But forensic review has raised… questions.”
Ivy’s expression didn’t change.
“What kind of questions?”
Cruz flipped a page.
“The bullet trajectory.”
Sebastian’s gaze sharpened.
Cruz continued calmly.
“The angle of entry suggests the shooter was standing approximately six feet away from the victim.”
Ivy felt something cold settle in her stomach.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” she said.
“No,” Cruz agreed.
“But it contradicts the original accident theory.”
Sebastian spoke for the first time.
“You’re suggesting someone shot him.”
“I’m suggesting,” Cruz replied, “that someone might have.”
Silence filled the room.
Cruz let it linger.
People often revealed more in silence than under questioning.
Finally Ivy spoke.
“There were twenty men in the vineyard that night.”
“Yes.”
“Any of them could have fired the shot.”
“That’s true.”
Cruz closed the file slowly.
“But only two of them disappeared from the party around the time of the shooting.”
Ivy’s heart skipped once.
She didn’t move.
“Who?” she asked calmly.
Cruz looked at her directly.
“You.”
Then she turned slightly.
“And Mr. Sebastian Blackwood.”
Sebastian didn’t react.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe differently.
Cruz noticed that.
She liked people who could hold themselves together.
It made the game more interesting.
“You’re implying something serious,” Ivy said.
“I’m observing patterns.”
“And those patterns accuse us?”
“They raise questions.”
Sebastian pushed off the window and walked closer.
“Then ask them.”
Cruz studied him.
“You were seen leaving the party shortly after ten p.m.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed air.”
“You were gone for nearly twenty minutes.”
“Wine country is large.”
Cruz scribbled something in her notebook.
“And you, Mrs. Blackwood?”
“I went upstairs.”
“Several guests claim they didn’t see you inside the house.”
“I didn’t realize they were monitoring me.”
Cruz smiled slightly.
“People notice things at parties.”
“Especially rich people.”
Sebastian’s voice carried quiet amusement.
Cruz closed the notebook.
“Let me be very clear.”
Neither of them spoke.
“I’m not accusing either of you of murder.”
“Good,” Ivy said coolly.
“But I am reopening the investigation.”
Sebastian folded his arms.
“And you came here to warn us?”
Cruz stood.
“No.”
She walked toward the door.
“I came to watch you.”
Ivy frowned.
“Why?”
Cruz paused in the doorway.
“Because when powerful people panic… they make mistakes.”
Her eyes moved between them.
“And I have a feeling one of you will.”
Then she left.
The office remained silent for a long moment after the door closed.
Sebastian finally spoke.
“She’s good.”
Ivy walked slowly back to her desk.
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t believe it was an accident.”
“No.”
Sebastian studied her carefully.
“Did you see the way she looked at us?”
“Yes.”
“She thinks one of us killed him.”
Ivy sat down slowly.
“And she’s waiting for the other to crack.”
Sebastian nodded.
“She’s not wrong.”
Ivy’s eyes snapped up.
“What does that mean?”
Sebastian held her gaze.
“It means pressure does interesting things to people.”
Her voice dropped.
“You think I’ll break?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“I think you’re the strongest person I know.”
The compliment caught her off guard.
“But strength,” he added quietly, “doesn’t mean innocence.”
Something sharp flickered between them.
Ivy leaned forward.
“Let’s settle something right now.”
“Alright.”
“Did you kill him?”
Sebastian’s expression didn’t change.
“No.”
“Swear it.”
“I don’t need to swear.”
“Do it anyway.”
He stepped closer.
His voice lowered.
“I didn’t kill my brother.”
Her chest tightened.
She believed him.
God help her.
“Then someone else did,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And they’re letting us destroy each other while they watch.”
Sebastian nodded slowly.
“Exactly.”
The realization settled over them like a shadow.
The war between them had felt personal.
Now it felt… manipulated.
Ivy stood.
“We need to find out who did it.”
Sebastian tilted his head.
“You’re suggesting a truce?”
“For now.”
He studied her face carefully.
Trying to decide if she meant it.
“And if we find the killer?” he asked.
Her eyes hardened.
“Then the war continues.”
Sebastian smiled slightly.
“Fair enough.”
But as he turned to leave, he stopped at the door.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
He looked back at her.
“If the detective is right…”
“Yes?”
“Then someone in that vineyard planned the perfect murder.”
Ivy’s stomach tightened.
“And?”
Sebastian’s voice dropped.
“They also knew exactly where we were.”
The implication hit her instantly.
Someone had seen them.
Someone had known about the affair.
And someone had used that knowledge.
The war had started long before Julian died.
And suddenly—
Neither of them knew who the real enemy was.
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