I swallowed hard. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes from the gun barrel, just inches from me. This was it—there was nowhere left for me to hide, nowhere to go. I was pinned, and the scenario she was weaving was all too plausible. Grant knew we'd been looking at Hughie. Ava had been with me when Hughie had gotten defensive and angry. Even Trask could testify to the fact that Ava and I had been asking questions about Hughie Smart.
I felt tears prick the back of my eyelids as I realized just how neatly I'd dug my own grave. "You don't have to do this," I pleaded with her. "It doesn't have to end this way."
"I'm so sorry, Emmy," Jada said, and for a brief moment something human flickered behind her eyes, as if some part of her truly was sorry.
But just as quickly it was gone, as she added, "But you need to die now."
I felt time stop. The room stilled. All sound blurred into one indistinguishable hum. My heart even seemed to stop beating as Jada lifted the gun, aiming at my head, tensing her jaw, her dark, soulless eyes staring right at me.
"Good-bye, Emmy," she whispered.
Her last word echoed in my head. "Emmy. Emmy. Emmy."
Only I realized it was not in my head.
Someone was calling my name.
Jada heard it too, as she paused just long enough to turn her gaze toward the doorway…
Before something metallic sliced through the air and collided with her head.
Jada made a sort of grunting sound before her eyes rolled back, revealing only whites, and she crumpled into a pile, the gun clattering unceremoniously to the wood floor.
It took me a second before I dared to breathe.
When I finally did, I looked up to find the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
Ava stood in the doorway of the dressing room with a golf club in her hand, looking like she'd just landed the hole in one of her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I collapsed into Ava's arms, the two of us dissolving into a mess of tears, I love yous, and incoherent babbling as we both at once tried to fill each other in on the events of the last hour.
Ava said that after I'd left the cocktail party, she'd had the thought that it seemed weird Grant would send Jada to come get me instead of just calling or texting me himself. In fact, it felt weirder and weirder as more time passed and I didn't return to the party. She'd finally decided to just have a peek in on Grant and me, even if only to reassure herself that he wasn't hauling me off to jail for breaking into the dressing room when it had been a sealed crime scene. She'd arrived just in time to hear the tail end of Jada's confessions.
Luckily, there was a lost-and-found closet right next to the Grand Ballroom, where Ava had found a stray nine iron and come to surprise Jada with it just in the nick of time. Something I would forever be grateful to her for. Which I'd told her over and over in blubbering, teary hugs that only ceased when we'd heard Jada moan from the floor.
Finally some of the shock had started to wear off, and we'd had the mental wherewithal to get help. Ava had grabbed the gun from the floor and kept it trained on Jada's inert form while I'd dialed 9-1-1. It hadn't taken long before the entire club had been swarming with police officers and emergency personnel.
Ava and I had watched EMTs wheel an unconscious Jada away before officers corralled us to separate corners of the ballroom to give our statements. At some point in the evening, David Allen had even braved his innate fear of authority and joined us, sitting with his arm around Ava as she gave her statement to one officer after another of apparently escalating ranks.
I did much the same, probably mostly incoherently to the first woman who asked me what happened. Though, by the time I was with the third person up the food chain, the adrenaline was ebbing enough that I was beginning to make actual sense.
I'd just about gotten through one coherent narrative of all that Jada had confessed to me, when I heard a deep voice behind me.
"I can take it from here, Officer."
I turned to find Grant striding across the room, his jaw tense, eyebrows drawn down over a pair of dark eyes that gave zero emotion away.
The officer nodded, clearly sensing he was outranked, and quickly scuttled away to join the other guys in blue uniforms a few paces away.
I cleared my throat, trying not to do a repeat of the blubbering mess thing at the comforting sight of him.
"Hey," he said once we were alone. He sat down on the wooden chair beside mine so he was at my eye level. "You okay?"
I swallowed down tears. "Fabulous."
The corner of his mouth hitched up. "Good." His eyes moved to the growing bruise at my temple, and his right hand followed a beat later, fingers gently brushing my hair away. "You're one tough cookie," he said.
That was it. I lost it. The tears burst out of me on a messy sob, and once they were free, I couldn't hope to hold them back.
"I-I-I'm not a tough c-c-cookie. I'm a m-m-marshmallow!" I cried.
Grant chuckled, though his eyes were full of more sympathy than humor. "Oh, Emmy." His arms were suddenly around me, shielding me from everything the big bad world might have thrown at me over the last twenty-four hours. They were strong, warm, and I never wanted to leave. I burrowed deep into his chest, creating wet spots on his shirt as I bawled like a baby.
I had no idea how much time passed before I ran out of tears, but when I did, I finally pulled back and managed to get ahold of myself.
"You really okay now?" he asked, his thumb wiping wetness from my cheek in an intimate gesture that made me feel like we were the only two people in the world and not sitting smack in the middle of a crowded crime scene. Again.
I nodded. "Sorta."
"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked softly, taking one of my hands in his.
I took a deep breath. "I think so." And I did. This time spilling everything, including all of my not-so-shining moments that I'd previously glossed over. I told him about the glass emerald, the fact that the real one was apparently in my camera bag, and that we might very well owe not one but two pawnbrokers money now. By the time I was done, the little gold flecks in his eyes were moving in a frenzy, but his expression was still not giving anything away. I wasn't sure if he was about to arrest me or kiss me.
But if I had to guess, I'd lean more toward handcuffs.
"I'm sorry," I finished, swiping at those pesky tears again. "I'm so sorry I didn't just tell you everything sooner."
He nodded slowly. "You should have," he said, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion.
"I'm sorry," I repeated again, hoping that if I said it enough times, he might believe it.
He gave my hand, still cocooned in his, a squeeze. "I know," he said softly.
I opened my mouth to expound on my apology, but he continued right over me.
"And I know I don't always make it the easiest for you to come to me with these things."
I shut my mouth with a click. Well, that was unexpected.
He gave me a sheepish grin. "What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry for blowing up at you the other night. And after you baked me pie, too."
I couldn't help an answering smile. "Well, Conchita baked it."
He shrugged. "Okay, then I don't feel quite so bad."
I laughed in earnest. "But I'm sorry I blew up too," I added. "I guess we were both kind of tense."
He nodded and sighed deeply, his gaze going around the room. "You tend to bring out the tense side in me."
I wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment.
Before I could figure it out, he leaned forward, cupping my chin in his hands. "You scared the crap out of me, Oak," he said, rubbing his thumb over my lower lip.
I shivered, the sensation suddenly taking all of my focus. I watched his mouth move closer to me, slowly, until it was softly brushing against mine. His breath was warm and smelled of coffee, his touch tender and creating a tingle that started at my lips and quickly spread throughout my body.
It was over much too quickly, but even as he pulled away, my
head felt light and giddy.
I heard him draw in a deep breath, as if trying to pull himself back to reality too. His eyes went to the dozen or more officers and EMTs still mingling in the ballroom.
"It looks like they're going to be a while here, documenting the scene of the assault."
I willed myself to come back down to earth at the word assault. "Is Ava going to be okay?" I asked, glancing toward my best friend. "Legally speaking. I mean, it's clear she acted in self-defense, right?"
Grant nodded. "We won't be charging her with anything. In fact, Officer Green said as soon he's finished with her statement, she can go home."
I nodded. "Good. She saved my life, you know?"
His gaze moved to my hand still ensconced in his, and I could see his shoulders tense. "I'm glad she was here," he said, his voice thick with emotion again.
"That makes two of us," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. "I think I owe her at least another bottle of vintage Sirah after this."
"Yeah, well, not tonight," he said, raising his eyes to meet mine. They were dark, hooded, and filled with all manner of unfulfilled promises. "Tonight, you're all mine."
For the second time that night, I thought I felt my heart stop.
Oh boy.
* * *
"I could get used to this lifestyle," Ava said, stretching her long, tanned legs out in front of her as she sipped her Bloody Mary on the terrace of the Links club.
It had been just over a week since Jada had held me at gunpoint and Ava had saved the day, and our lives were finally starting to go back to some semblance of normal. Jada had been treated for a mild concussion, thanks to Ava's excellent golf swing, and had been transferred from the local hospital to the county women's correctional facility to await trial. She'd pleaded not guilty at her arraignment, though the insanity plea she was offering up was going to be a tough sell, considering how neatly she'd laid out all her plans to me in detail. Not that her high-price lawyer wasn't going to give it an expensive try. Word was Carl Costello had put his House of Costello up for auction, using the proceeds to pay for Jada's legal defense.
Once the truth had played out in every gossip column in America, Costello had bravely faced the criticism he'd been so terrified of and stood by Jada's side. In a way, she'd finally gotten what she'd wanted—a very public acknowledgement of their love. While the backlash on all fronts was as sharp tongued as Costello had feared, the "dark place" he told the press that this scandal had taken him to emotionally had inspired him to start a whole new fashion line—an emo-chic, all-black collection he'd dubbed the "death of beauty," which fashion critics were already hailing as the most fresh and innovative thing Costello had done in decades.
To celebrate the return of the gem, and me not being Jada's second victim, David Allen had invited Ava, Eddie, and me to the Links for Sunday brunch, which we were currently enjoying—on his dime—to the fullest. We'd already made our way through eggs Benedict, spinach quiche, and freshly baked blueberry muffins and were currently leisurely sipping our cocktails in the sun as we watched the golfers on the freshly mowed expanse of lawn in front of us.
"Well, if this lifestyle suits you, my dear," David said to Ava, leaning back under the shade of an oversize umbrella, "I dare say you could afford a membership here now."
"Now that is tempting." Ava winked at him.
After the emerald had been recovered from my camera bag, Grant and his team had taken it into evidence as part of their case against Jada for Gia's murder. As grateful as Ava had been to see it recovered, Grant had explained that it would likely be several more months to possibly even years before Jada's trial would conclude and the gem could be released to her. An explanation that had nearly brought Ava to tears at the time. However, after Bradley Wu had published his sensationalized account of her heroic rescue in the Sonoma Index-Tribune, the line to get into her shop had been around the block the next day. And, while some had been the previous brand of curiosity seekers, several had actually purchased items from the "Daring Designer," as Bradley had dubbed her. Including one woman who turned out to be a collector of nefarious jewelry, including a collection of Borgia rings, and had offered Ava a very tidy sum up front in order to secure the ownership of the notorious necklace as soon as it was released from police custody.
An offer Ava had jumped at—using the funds to not only pay back the loan on the shop but also funnel 11% to Trask plus a small sum to Al in finder's fees, leaving her shop secure, her financial future looking bright, and her kneecaps totally intact. Plus more profit than she'd been expecting to pad her own bank account.
"Oh, if you do buy a membership here, you totally have to bring me to the spa," Eddie jumped in, sucking his mimosa noisily through a straw. "My husband Curtis told me that they do a mango cucumber brown sugar facial that is to die for!"
"Sounds tasty," I said, unable to keep a giggle in. I blamed the fact that I was currently on my second morning cocktail, a summer watermelon Bellini.
"Well, don't go spending all my money yet," Ava said, wagging a finger at us. "The reason I got into this whole mess was for funds to expand Silver Girl's hours."
"You think you will now?" David asked, dropping a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes.
Ava nodded. "I think I'm going to need to. Did I tell you I had orders for two custom pieces this week?"
"Wow, that's great," I said.
"It is, but it's going to keep me busy working on them. I'll definitely be hiring someone to help look after the shop. Heck, if it works out, I may be able to work full time designing and let employees run the shop."
I could see the wistful look in her eyes and knew that the creative side of the job was the one she relished. I hoped things did work out so she could indulge in it more.
"I guess that means if I want an Ava Barnett original, I should put my order in soon," David said with a grin.
I shot him a look. I'd never pegged David as the man-jewelry type.
"Well, what I want to know is, whatever happened to your Stalker Guy?" Eddie asked, swirling liquid in his glass.
"The police actually picked him up a couple of days ago," I said, setting my Bellini down. "Grant said they finally did get a hit from a traffic cam. With our photo of the guy from Al's security footage, they were able to place him in a gray sedan that came up on a camera just down the highway from the Walmart parking lot we pulled into."
"And they could get a name from that?" David asked.
I nodded. "They followed the footage to a traffic cam that picked up the plate number, and it came back as registered to a guy named Bradley Squires. Aka Stalker Guy."
"Aka Gia's partner in crime," Ava added.
"So he was working with Gia?" Eddie asked.
"He was," I confirmed. "When Grant charged him for the hit and run, Squires agreed to take a plea deal in exchange for confessing to his part in the jewel thefts."
"Which we were totally right about," Ava said, picking up the story. She knew because she and I had been enjoying a well-earned night of wine, chocolate, and rom-coms when Grant had stopped by to fill me in. "This Squires guy was a friend of Gia's from high school who worked at an art glass studio. When Gia cooked up her theft scheme, she contacted him to see if he could make glass replicas of gems. He did, and even went one further, agreeing to fence them for her for a cut of the profits."
"He confessed that the two of them had pulled this scam at least half a dozen times," I added.
David raised an eyebrow my way. "Wow. I can imagine designers all over San Francisco are inspecting the authenticity of their gems right about now."
I nodded. "Grant estimated they stole at least half a million in precious gems over the last year."
"But even that wasn't enough for Gia," Ava jumped in. "According to Squires, she got greedy, just like we'd thought, and figured she could find someone else to make the replicas for less and fence the gems herself."
"So it was the partner that Costello overheard her firing?" David
said.
"Sounds like it," I agreed. "Squires said he was at the show, waiting for Gia to have a chance to make the swap and hand the emerald off to him. Only Gia called him just before she took the runway and told him it was off. That she didn't need him."
"He must not have been happy about that," Eddie said.
"No, he wasn't. In fact, he says he went backstage to talk to Gia about it, but before he had a chance, he saw someone leaving her dressing room in a hurry."
"Jada!" Eddie said.
I nodded. "Jada had been right to be worried about someone seeing her. Someone had—Gia's partner. When he peeked into the room after Jada left and saw that Gia was dead, he immediately took off, afraid someone was on to their theft scheme."
"Which is why the police didn't question him when they arrived. He was already gone," Ava added.
"So why was he trying to run you off the road after you left Trask's place?" Eddie asked.
"He was after the gem," I said. "When Squires heard that the gem was missing, he was just as keen to get his hands on it as we were. He guessed that the woman he saw exiting Gia's dressing room had taken it, which is why we saw him at the hotel that day. He'd been tracking down Jada."
"Only he saw Emmy and me, recognized us from the fashion show, and got spooked when we apparently recognized him as well," Ava said.
"He was afraid we might be getting close to figuring out the truth about him and Gia," I added.
"Which, we actually kind of were," Ava noted with a small hint of pride.
"So, he decided to follow us the next day. The fact that we went to Trask's and started asking about gems made him nervous enough that he tried to warn us off by ramming my Jeep." I paused. "Which, by the way, is still in the shop," I said, trying not to sulk about it.
"Don't suppose Mr. Squires' insurance will be covering that?" Ava asked.
I shrugged. "I put in a claim, but we'll see."
"So, did Squires still have Daisy Dot's rubies?" Eddie asked, signaling a passing server in a blue polo shirt for another mimosa.
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 22
