Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6)

by Stella Marie Alden

  I stride behind the primary accountant’s computer. “Forget the dog and pony show. What did you find?”

  He hits a few keys, and a spreadsheet pops up. “You’re going to want to call the Feds, Gray. You’ve got some serious problems.”

  My eyes go to what they have circled in red. “Oh shit. How did my dad let this happen?”

  “Xavier is good. Real good. We had to call in experts from the home office but it’s right there in black and white. He’s embezzled over thirty million dollars.”

  Ah shit. All my hopes of going public any time soon shatter. How could my best friend do this to me?

  My fists clench as my heart pounds. “Dammit. I just left him in my office. Why the hell isn’t he in cuffs?”

  “Sign here if you want to press charges.”

  I take the pen and sign where they’ve highlighted. What a fucking idiot I’ve been.

  Suddenly, all the hairs on my arm stand on end. The attempts on my life? Izzy’s? That had to be him.

  I pick up my cell and try to call her but get voice mail. Then, I text. Then I try the driver, Jack.

  When there’s no answer I call Slate. “I can’t reach Jack, can you?”

  “Just a sec.” He puts me on hold, then gets back to me. “I’ll get the car. Meet me out front.”

  At that point I try calling the State Police and use all my influence to get someone out to the cabin. Apparently, snow is falling heavily up there and it may take a couple hours to get to her.

  I turn to the waiting accountants. “Shit. I need to go. Please, call my lawyer, he’ll see to the legal stuff.”

  In the elevator, I call security to make sure Xavier doesn’t leave the building but am told he already exited and took a cab.

  I make sure he won’t be allowed back in the building and insist they call the police if he shows up but I highly doubt it.

  The elevator dings, I dash past the lobby guard, and out the door where Slate is waiting by my jeep. I hop in, he slams the passenger door, and jumps behind the wheel.

  While he waits to pull into traffic, I ask, “Were you able to get ahold of her?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’s fine. I sent one of my Marine buddies to guard her. Why? What’s up?

  “Fucking Xavier. Stole a few million out from under my father’s nose. Do you know how much that guy makes in bonuses? Damn. I can’t believe this.”

  “Did they get him?” Slate eyes me and screeches around a corner through a yellow light.

  “No. He slipped out of the building before the police got there.”

  “Okay. You keep trying Isabella. My buddy’s number is there on my phone. Try him, too.”

  Chapter 12

  Isabella

  CJ’s cabin is bigger than most people’s homes. Made of logs, it sits in the middle of the forest, just outside of Bear Mountain State Park. There’s not a friggin’ house around for miles. However, it’s got an incredibly fast internet and I’m stoked to start working. Anything’s better than to dwell on the mess I’ve made of my life.

  Slate’s friend Carl is a nice guy but his presence is a constant reminder that someone may be trying to kill me. He’s playing solitaire in the living room with eyes on three monitors, constantly switching between the outside cameras.

  Earlier, I warmed up a frozen pizza and shared it with him. If I wasn’t already gone over Grayson, this guy would have my hormones racing, even though he probably has twenty years on me.

  “You really think all this is necessary?” I ask again.

  He sighs, glances at the screen, then at me. “Someone tried to run you over. This kind of thing has a tendency to escalate.”

  “But why? I’m a nobody.”

  He shrugs, blue eyes piercing. “Hard to say. There’s lots of crazies out there. I’m sure it will all become clear soon enough. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? In the morning, I’ll send for one of my pals and catch a few z’s.”

  “Thanks. For doing this.”

  He smiles. “I get paid well but damsels in distress is one of my favorite jobs.”

  I head back to the kitchen table but keep seeing that poor girl’s battered body. It should be me lying in a hospital unconscious, not her.

  Rather than focus my attention uselessly, I peruse my favorite sites for work. Pretty soon I have a potential set of clients. Then, I insert my resume into a program for best key words. It also will direct people to Linked In, where I have multiple profiles.

  If the recruiters use the standard search engines, I’ll have plenty of work by week’s end which is good because no matter what happens, I need to quit my job at Patten.

  That done, I open the well-stocked kitchen, make breakfast, and work out in an NFL star’s gym. Staying at Mel’s cabin has some serious perks. Her husband’s workout space takes up the whole basement.

  While I run on the treadmill, I think of her relationship with her quarterback hottie. Despite a really rough start, they are so damn cute together and love each other so much. I imagine having something like that with Grayson, then shake it out of my thoughts. I got too many issues. Whereas Mel has had years of therapy, I just started. My psychologist has had a field day pointing out all the ways I fuck up royally.

  After taking a shower, I put some logs on the fire, find a dog-eared paperback, and curl up in a huge lounge chair. With a warm granny-square afghan wrapped around me, it’s so comfy, I fall asleep almost immediately.

  Suddenly, a loud bang wakes me.

  “Carl?” I whisper into the darkness, lit only by the fire’s dying embers and wait for his answer which doesn’t come.

  Shivering, I reach and turn the knob on the reading lamp but the bulb must’ve gone out. That’s what I pray as I feel my way along the wall for the overhead switch.

  Dammit.

  Nothing happens when I toggle it repeatedly. With my heart thumping like mad, I feel my way back to my chair to find my cell phone. The charger clanks onto the floor as I pull it clear.

  Shit. Where the hell is my body guard?

  Twigs crack on the deck outside, the door handle rattles, and I drop onto my hands and knees.

  Fumbling, I check for bars and when I find none, shut off my phone.

  This is so not good.

  Footsteps outside tell me I’ve got seconds to do something if I’m to survive.

  Thank God, I’m such a slob because my coat and boots are lying by the door. As I grab them glass breaks in the kitchen and men start cursing.

  “Where is she?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Heart pounding, I dash my bare feet up the stairs, into the bathroom, and lock the door. Below, there’s shouts and another gun goes off.

  I can’t stay put so step onto the toilet, open the window, and squeeze through. With my boots and coat in tow, I inch my butt to the edge of the roof. The drop is about eight feet but the snow is pretty deep so hopefully, I won’t break a leg.

  After throwing my stuff onto the ground, I grab the gutter with a death-grip and slowly swing my legs around and just dangle.

  Then, I let go.

  The snow burns my feet as I sink deep but I hardly notice. I need to get up on that ridge and make a call for help if I’m going to live through this night.

  Chapter 13

  Isabella

  Using the flashlight in my cell, I dash up this narrow path behind the cabin. I assume some kind of animal made it or maybe CJ and Mel have used it for hiking. I’ve no idea but it doesn’t really matter. I just hope the guys coming after me won’t find it as quickly as I did.

  I check again for bars on my cell phone.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  Voices behind me get louder so I shut off my phone and head off the path, deep into the woods. Maybe I’ve seen too many westerns because I turn and walk backwards, using my coat to brush snow into my footprints.

  It doesn’t look anywhere near as good as it does on the big screen but the holes made by my footsteps are filled. Suddenly, it da
wns on me that if I don’t put on my boots, I’m going to get frostbite.

  Xavier’s voice rings out, “Come back, Izzy. I just want to talk. No need to run.”

  Riigggght. Like I’d fall for that.

  Seeing a stone by a small stream, I stop long enough to slip on my boots. Then, I use the water as a path up the hill. Immediately, I regret that choice as icy water seeps into my boots and surrounds my toes.

  Too close, a guy curses. “Hey, her tracks are gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  I mentally up my count of bad guys to three and wonder what happened to Carl.

  “They stop right here.” The first guy’s voice is muffled by the snow and I thank God for old Westerns and that he’s not some kind of outdoorsman.

  I continue to climb up the slippery rocks and can’t feel my toes but at least I’m still alive. By the time I’m forced to stop to catch my breath, I’m sweating bullets.

  I check my phone and still, no bars.

  It’d be smarter to shut off my flashlight-app to save battery but if the shouting is any indication, I need to run a lot faster.

  Putting it to the dimmest setting, I use both hands and feet to scramble up the frigid stream, stopping every so often, straining to hear.

  When it’s quiet for a while, I check for reception and two beautiful bars appear. As I text 911, I realize I don’t even know the address.

  Me: ‘Help. I’m in CJ Quinn’s cabin. In the woods.’

  I hit send and my phone goes dead.

  Out of juice and out of luck.

  Chapter 14

  Grayson

  “Can’t this jeep go any faster?” I put my foot down on the passenger side floor, willing the vehicle forward while Slate shoots me an annoyed glance. Then, he checks a police scanner, darts inches behind a Forrester in the middle lane, and swerves in front of a BMW going about ninety.

  He tosses his head at the dash. “The minute the temp gets near freezing, let me know.”

  On the George Washington Bridge, I call Cherry. “Any word about Isabella?”

  “The State Police can’t get through the snow but said for you not to worry. There’s never any reception in the valley and with the power off, there’d be no wifi. What’s this all about, Gray?”

  “Hopefully, nothing, but keep me informed. We’ll be at the cabin in about thirty minutes. Call CJ Quinn and let him know what’s going on.”

  I try to think positively but keep recalling the woman from the hit and run.

  That same ruthless bastard could be after Isabella.

  With ice pellets ticking on the windshield, I hang up and am about to tell Slate that it just dropped three degrees when the car hydroplanes.

  Black ice.

  He pulls the wheel left, then right, then left. Miraculously, we just miss a truck as it slams down its brakes with a bang. In the side mirror, it careens across the road and jackknifes behind us while the jeep jerks into the fast lane.

  Slate exhales deeply. “Shit. That was close.”

  I open up Google Maps, call the police, and after ten minutes on hold, get a harried sounding dispatcher. “Unless you know for a fact a murder is about to take place, we’ve got our hands full, son. Hang tight. We’ll check on her as soon as we can.”

  Slate pulls off onto the next scenic outlook and puts on chains as rain mixed with snow begins to fall.

  Hang in there, Isabella, we’re coming.

  Chapter 15

  Isabella

  Shivering, I hug my body to stay warm. It can’t be all that cold out because the flakes are huge and wet. Unfortunately, wool isn’t waterproof, I’m soaked to the bone, and my feet are ice. I’ve watched enough survivor shows enough to know that hyperthermia is setting in. If I don’t do something pretty soon, I won’t be able to think straight.

  Dammit. I probably should’ve dressed better but when I decided to hang out in CJ’s cabin, I was going to read by the fire, not get chased in the woods.

  Far below, a snow plow scrapes the road sounding like a creepy monster. The yellow beacon on top rotates, occasionally flashing deep into the pines and I get my bearings.

  Suddenly, a gunshot echoes off the mountain and men shout.

  “What the fuck!”

  “Go!”

  Multiple car engines roar to life, followed by complete silence.

  What the hell just happened?

  I hope to God that they’re gone until I realize I’m lost and alone in the woods. The wind picks up and clumps of snow drop onto the forest floor.

  Should I try to make my way back to the cabin? I haven’t got a clue which direction to go. What if I wander off a cliff?

  In an attempt to find matches that I know can’t magically appear, I check my pockets anyhow. There’s an old napkin and a scrunched-up grocery receipt. If I ever get out of this thing, I swear to God I’ll never leave the house without a small survival kit sewn into every one of my jackets.

  Slowly, I slip one foot in front of the other, following the gurgle made by the stream. When it’s close, I stop, squat and dip my hand in the frigid water to figure out which way it’s flowing. My fingers burn as I tuck them under my armpits but at least now I know which way is down.

  When the ache gets less, I put my arms back into my sleeves and try to inch down the hill. Suddenly, my ankle twists and I see stars. Wobbling around, I almost fall into the water but in the nick of time, my fingers clamp around a low hanging bough. I use it to pull myself to the edge of the stream and feel my way to the trunk. The sticky bark is rough and tangible, the only real thing in this never-ending blindness.

  Ah shit.

  The injury hurts like a futher-mucker and I slide onto my ass, wondering how long before I die. I wish to hell I’d told Grayson how I feel. I don’t want him to forever think that I was a real shithead. I never would’ve called that blogger. I never called a lawyer. I just wanted to do a good job.

  And well, yeah sure, I wanted to be loved.

  As usual, I screwed everything up big time.

  Sitting there in the dark and cold with my ankle throbbing, I can’t help but ponder my fucked-up life.

  My childhood abuse always happened when my parents left me alone with my older cousin, Mike. Hell, despite hours of therapy, I can’t even remember the first time it happened. It was so often, it’s like trying to remember your first bowl of ice cream or first hot dog.

  Shit. This is not what I want to be thinking about during my last moments on earth.

  God damn it. I’m going to freeze to death and leave my cousin free to abuse other young girls. I always figured I’d have more time to figure out the best way to announce it. I know I can’t take him to court. He was so careful to never do it when anyone else was around.

  Fucking slime-ball.

  What makes grown men crave little girls? Even though I’ve read a whole library on the subject, I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s so fucked up and I know my family won’t believe me.

  What happened to Mel will probably happen to me. I remember in one group session how she said her family won’t even talk to her anymore.

  My nose runs from the cold and I take the napkin out my pocket to blow. Suddenly, I get this idea and tear the paper into tiny pieces. Then, I drop them one by one into the water. A few minutes later, I do the same with the receipt.

  Survivor-man says that when you get hyperthermia, you get stupid and just fall asleep and die. That doesn’t sound all that bad, I mean if you have to go.

  Not sure.

  I’ve stopped shivering which is probably not a good sign. Also, you’d think after spending hours in the dark, my eyes would become accustomed but it’s not like that.

  There is absolutely, positively, no freaking light what-so-ever.

  Eventually, I start to dream of the last time Grayson and I made love and let it take over. It’s so real, it’s as if he’s right here, kissing me.

  I figure I must be dead or damn near to it.

  C
hapter 16

  Grayson

  “I found her! Over here. Hurry!” I grab the flare gun, shoot it to the sky, and falling snow sparkles like fireworks. Quickly, I unzip my jacket, wrap her in it, and kiss her cold blue lips.

  Ah shit, Izzy, no. Don’t leave me.

  Moments later, the captain of the rescue team squats on his heels, checks her neck for a pulse, then shoots me a grin. “She’s hypothermic but we got to her in time. Let’s get her warmed up but remember, no sudden movements.”

  After shooting a prayer to the Big Guy upstairs, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and hold her. She needs the warmth of my body until the rest of the search team arrives. Then, they expertly strap Izzy onto a gurney and wrap her in silver blankets. With walkie-talkies crackling and my waiting helicopter looming overhead, we make our way down the hill.

  When we near CJ’s cabin, Slate and a man with a bloodied face approach. I figure the one limping must be Carl, the guy Slate left to watch over Isabella. If he didn’t look so beat-up, I might’ve taken a swing at him.

  Instead I ask, “What the fuck happened?”

  He growls back. “Hey, I’m really, sorry but you two should’ve warned me. Hell, I would’ve had at least two more guys watching with me. You want to know what happened? Here’s what went down. Around six, I heard a noise and went outside to check. Then, all hell broke loose. I counted at least eight guys. While I tried to contain the situation, Isabella bolted and they tried to follow her up the mountain.”

  He tosses his head at the two arriving ambulances, red flashing across the snow. “Those three won’t ever cause a problem again. Unfortunately, the rest ran off before I could take them out.”

  “Was Xavier with them?”

  “I didn’t see him. He probably hired those thugs and they must’ve cost him plenty. They were good.” Carl smiles grimly as body bags are loaded into the back of one of the vehicles. “Just not good enough.”

  “My lawyer is coming. Make sure to clam up until he gets here, okay?”