Out of the Blue

by Kathryn Nolan

  She blew out a shaky breath. “Let’s hope. And thanks for checking in on her, Quentin.”

  “It’s no problem, and Joey is good people. I didn’t tell him much but got across that her life could be in danger.”

  Goosebumps broke out along Serena’s legs, so I rubbed my hand up and down her skin, warming her up.

  “What else did Joey have to say?” I asked.

  He munched on a tortilla chip, pushing the basket toward me with his index finger. “That’s the thing. I met with Joey for breakfast this morning, asked him what he knew about David Lattimore and the city council. Told me he’s best buds with Foster Hemmings.”

  “The man he’s posing with in that picture?” Serena asked.

  “The very one. He’s been on the city council for years, a real San Diego institution. And when I say institution, I mean sack of smelly shit.”

  I unfolded my arm and leaned across the table. “Councilman Hemmings? The real estate broker?”

  “Yeah, why?” he said. “You know him?”

  “I don’t, not personally,” I said. “But my last client, Mr. Arnold Sheffield, was also a sack of smelly shit.” I pointed at the photo on the laptop. “I didn’t recognize him out of his golfing gear, but once a month Arnold and Foster golfed together at the La Jolla Country Club. They’re real pals; they go way back.”

  Quentin whistled low under his breath. “That tracks. David Lattimore is a member of the La Jolla Country Club, and they’re often seen together. It’s the most expensive club in the city. Elite and exclusive, although they certainly don’t mind that Foster Hemmings is a well-known skeeze-ball. He’s been accused of taking bribes for city services, for bankrolling his own projects using tax-payer dollars. For harassment, abuse.”

  “Sounds like a real class act,” Serena said with an eye roll. “But what is David Lattimore doing cozied up to him?”

  “I don’t fully know yet,” he said. “But the connection isn’t great. That man is known for paying to hide secrets, breaking the law, and using his money to do whatever the hell he wants.” He fished his phone out and scrolled through it. “Worse is the voicemail I received right before driving over here.”

  He pressed play and dropped it in the middle of the table.

  “Quentin, it’s Decarlo. Listen, I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Aerial, but I ran your question up the flagpole, tried to get any dirt on their business dealings, and was told from up high to basically shut the hell up and stop askin’ about it. I wish I had more, and I’ll find Ms. Flores for you, but my guess is powerful people are protecting this company. Sorry.”

  Serena’s eyes went wide. “What the fuck?”

  I shook my head, confused. “But Aerial has been around for over forty years without a mark on their reputation. If they’ve been lying or bribing or whatever, it can’t have been for the whole time, can it?”

  He spun his phone on the table. “I don’t think so, no. I’ve spent most of my career investigating fraud and corporate scandals. Forty years is a long time to hide your sins. Not impossible, but unlikely.”

  She leaned her elbows on the table. “What are these sins they’re so keen to hide?”

  He straightened his glasses before answering. “I have a few messages out to a potential source. One of the factory inspectors in those pictures is willing to go on the record about what they were asked to do and by whom. And how it relates to those lawsuits Catalina copied over for us.”

  “The ones in private arbitration?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” he said. “From what I can tell, this inspector wants to comment on what he has been bribed to do for the past five years at least. That is to look the other way and sign off on reports that verify working conditions and environmental processes in those factories.”

  “What?” Serena and I said in unison.

  Quentin pointed at the files on his laptop, clicking them open. “These are wrongful death lawsuits. Personal injury lawsuits. Employees claiming unsafe and hazardous working conditions made worse by the fact that they’re breathing in harsh fumes and exposed to chemicals known to cause disease.”

  He opened Marty’s planner, the one Serena had taken, which he’d picked up from me while she had her massage appointment. He held up the business card for Sylvester Boggs. “There’s no record of Aerial hiring Mr. Boggs, but I am very familiar with this scumbag.”

  “So was Cope, when I said his name,” Serena said.

  He nodded at me. “I can guess why you are, my friend. Sylvester Boggs has a long track record of protecting wealthy companies in wrongful death or injury lawsuits. His name would pop up all the time when I worked the crime beat a few years ago.”

  Clarity dawned on me. I rubbed my forehead, remembering. “Not Sheffield, but the client I had before him. The guy worked in food supply and hired Boggs when workers at his meat packing factories complained of horrific working conditions.”

  Serena studied me. “Are all of your clients basically Bond villains?”

  That uneasiness I’d been feeling lately multiplied. We were sitting here discussing horrible crimes committed against human beings and the environment, so I was amped up, ready to take these assholes down.

  And realizing that, yeah, after Serena’s assignment, I’d be placed with another Bond villain again. And again, and again.

  At what point was I part of the same problem?

  “It would appear so,” I said grimly. “At the very least, they’re all rubbing elbows with these slimy bottom-feeders. It isn’t a good look, for them or for me.”

  She squeezed my hand beneath the table.

  “When you said Aerial was lying, you really meant it?” she asked Quentin.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her fury was evident by the fire in her eyes. “But Aerial has always claimed the opposite in how their clothing and gear is manufactured. It’s their entire brand.”

  “That’s why these are private lawsuits,” he said. “That’s why they bribe the factory inspectors. It’s still cheaper to do that than to pay your employees a fair wage using recycled materials better for the earth but much, much more expensive.” He clasped his hands together on the table. “This is just my initial research, and my source will go far in painting a clearer image of how deep this goes. But what it looks like is that the workers in their factories have gotten sick, injured, and died so Aerial could make more money.” He touched Serena’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  It was hard to fully describe the anger, disappointment and shock etched in her face. And every truth Quentin revealed only added to the sick twisting feeling in my own stomach.

  “So what’s our plan then?” she asked.

  “In an ideal world? I’d write the story with sources and as much information as I could gather. Work with Catalina and ensure she’s protected before we move forward with the article. This would be…” He paused. “This would be huge news, y’all. Certainly not the first big company to mistreat its employees and falsify their claims, but it’s a beloved one with devoted fans.”

  A hefty pause stretched between the three of us. Serena stared down at the table, and I stared at her. I knew enough about these cases to know what Quentin was going to tell her next, and it was the part I hated the most.

  “Serena.”

  She glanced up at his tone. “What is it?”

  “You’ve been my friend for a long time. But I won’t bullshit you about this, and I’ll share the same with Catalina. The media is not kind to whistleblowers, especially if they’re women. Catalina is going to take the brunt of it, but you’re a professional athlete with a well-known name. It’s gonna stick to you, darlin’. They will try and discredit you. Plus, you’re the face of their company. I’m sure you’ll find a way to get out of that contract, but it will be impossible for you to hide from this.” He leaned over, held her gaze. “I couldn’t have you saying yes without me being abundantly clear.”

  Hearing Quentin say it out loud was worse than
my late-night anxieties. If anyone could withstand a situation like this, it was Serena, and I knew she’d make sure Catalina was protected and supported. I just couldn’t stomach the thought of what the public might do to her.

  “Yes,” she said in a clear voice.

  “Yes, as in, you’re ready to move forward?”

  A smile like I’d never seen spread across her face. “Yeah, I’m fucking ready. Besides, I’ve already got a controversial reputation, according to Marty, so I might as well lean into it.”

  I reached over and touched her hand. “It’s the right thing to do. And I knew you’d say yes. It’s also very brave.”

  She shook her head. “Staring at a wall of water you have to paddle up is brave. This is right. Aerial hurts human beings and the environment for profit and lies to the public while doing it. I don’t see another option here, do you?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I do not see another option.”

  Her fingers tightened in mine. “They can come for me all they want. I’ll be too busy winning competitions.”

  Quentin chuckled while nodding his head. “We’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise.”

  Beneath the table, I kept holding her tight. I don’t know what she saw in my face when she looked at me, but it put heat in her cheeks.

  I knew what I was thinking, though.

  Quentin cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting through our charged moment. “I’m going to talk to my editor, my sources, and keep pulling this story together. And Joey is searching for Catalina. And you, Serena, probably need to get some rest before tomorrow, right?”

  “Rest, yep,” she said, chewing on her lip. “I’ll be getting a lot of rest, thank you. Will you call me as soon as you have word on Catalina? Or any other developments?”

  “You can count on it,” he said, packing his things into his messenger bag. When he stood up, she pulled him in for a long hug—he raised his eyebrows at me from over her shoulder. I wasn’t positive but thought he was saying something like, ‘Are you two back together or what?’

  “Thank you,” she said. “So much.”

  “Please, you know investigating corporate malfeasance is my idea of a good time.”

  She pulled back and pinned him with a look. “It’s important, and I know you’ll do an amazing job.”

  “I will try my best,” he said. As Serena was putting food and drinks away and clearing up the kitchen, I walked my best friend to the door. I couldn’t walk him to his car, or Falco would see me, but it also meant that Serena was privy to our entire conversation. I took great pleasure in shrugging nonchalantly while he stood there trying to nonverbally ask for an update. When her back was turned to the sink, water running, I mouthed, “Things are good.” Then I gave him a dorky thumbs-up.

  If we had privacy, I would have told him that we’d had the most incredible reunion sex the world has ever seen. And then opened up to each other about some of our most intense areas of mistrust.

  It was far more than good.

  Sighing in defeat, he opened the front door a half inch. “As always, it’s been a pleasure, Copeland.”

  “And you as well, my friend.” Dropping my voice, I asked, “And you feel safe at your apartment, correct? You’ll make sure you aren’t followed?”

  “I’ll drive in meandering circles for a bit just in case, but I really do feel fine,” he said. “My gut says this is going to get a lot more intense before it gets better, so I’m happy y’all have each other.”

  I squeezed his shoulder and clapped him on his back before he left. “Text when you get home. I’m only a phone call away.”

  I heard him whistling as he walked to his car. I checked and double-checked every point of entry on that first floor, peeked out through the curtain, and was comforted by seeing Falco, standing in the dark.

  Serena was already on the second floor, where our bed was. Heart in my throat, holding my breath, I slowly climbed the stairs and found Serena leaning against the closed bedroom door. She’d changed into a large, faded black tee-shirt that fell just past the curve of her ass, the front faded with a logo I hardly remembered anymore.

  She was wearing one of my shirts. A favorite one. I’d left it for her on the horrible day that I packed up my things and drove away.

  “Are you wearing my shirt?” I asked.

  Only a few feet separated us.

  She fingered the fabric. “I wear it when I miss you.”

  “How often is that, sunshine?”

  “Every night.”

  My hand tightened on the banister, preventing me from doing what I craved. “Are you comfortable with what we talked about? With Quentin?”

  She nodded. “I’m furious.”

  I didn’t think it possible to pack so much jagged pain into two little words.

  “I’m so furious it feels like it might tear me apart,” she said. “But I’m ready to fight for what I believe in. I’m ready to fight for what’s right. Are you, Cope?”

  My mind filled with images I’d locked away for my own self-preservation: Serena dancing around a bonfire on the beach, laughing beneath the stars. Serena blowing me a cheeky kiss in her thrift-store wedding dress as she walked down the aisle. Serena licking her fingers happily while cooking bacon in a camp skillet.

  I took a step closer to her.

  “Yes,” I said. “Of course. I’m ready to fight for everything. Even if it’s hard.”

  “That kind of fight is always worth it.”

  I took another step.

  “Even if it’s scary?” I asked.

  One more step. I could count the freckles on her face, see the scar on her cheek.

  “Especially if it’s scary,” she whispered, head tilting back to hold my gaze. I closed my hand around her hand, holding the doorknob, the only thing keeping me from our marriage bed.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked.

  “As your bodyguard?”

  “No,” she said. “Will you stay as my husband?”

  Intoxicating possession flooded my veins. The absence of that word—ex—didn’t escape my notice. My mouth dipped to hers, grazing our lips together. I dragged my fingers up her thigh, lifting the fabric of the shirt when I reached the juncture between her legs. Her mouth opened on a gasp.

  “Do you want me in our bed?” I asked.

  She clutched my shirt, pulling me closer. “Please.”

  I palmed her sex and enjoyed her throaty moan. I slipped one, then two fingers inside her underwear, sliding through her hot, wet folds. I found her clit, circled with the barest amount of pressure. “Do you remember how fast you came for me in that elevator after our wedding?”

  “Yes, yes,” she sighed. I nudged my nose against hers, teasing, not letting our lips connect. I increased the pressure of my fingers, still keeping it light.

  “And why was that?” Her head tipped back, and I kissed down her throat, working her clit in ever-increasing pressure. Her hips were starting to punch forward, seeking more friction.

  “I don’t recall.”

  I bit her neck. “Don’t lie to me.”

  She laughed, but it ended on another moan as my hand moved faster. “Oh, fuck.”

  “That’s not an answer, Serena.” I let go of the doorknob and turned her face to mine. I pressed my thumb into her lip, and her tongue darted out, licking. “Be a good girl and tell me what I want to hear.”

  Her eyes flashed with pleasure. I remembered everything about this woman, including her dirty little secret. There was no faster switch to turn her on than by giving her an order.

  “It’s so good,” she panted. One hand gripped my shirt, the other wrapped around my wrist, trapped between her legs. She was starting to grind against my fingers, like she had that night, and the sight was so hot my control almost snapped. “It’s so good, so good, please don’t stop.”

  “Why did you get off so fast that night?” I asked. Her beautiful face was flushed, sweat beading on her brow.

  “B
ecause you’re so… fuck, your hands are perfect.” Her head fell back, and she almost yanked my shirt off. “Because you always make me come. Always.”

  My hand landed next to her face so I could lean in, angle my motions just right while watching my wife climax on my fingers. She started to chant my name, and I kissed her, unable to resist her plump lips any longer. She opened for me, deepened our kiss, hands sliding into my hair and pulling. We tasted each other, tongues stroking, lips bruising. I felt each whimper, her breath like a caress, her ecstasy evident in the way her mouth moved against mine.

  “Oh god, oh god,” she cried. “Cope, Cope.”

  I twisted my hand, gave her the exact pressure I knew she needed.

  “Come for your husband now,” I whispered, the tenderest command I could manage. Serena flew apart around my fingers, and I caught her beneath the knees to keep her standing. I held her to my chest as she caught her breath, feeling like I was back on that elevator again—so desperately in love my heart couldn’t contain it.

  She tipped her head back with her lips parted, dark eyes searching mine.

  The door clicked open.

  “I want you to fuck me on our bed,” she said.

  30

  Serena

  I could barely stand after the orgasm Cope had given me against the door. But that didn’t stop me from dragging him inside. He stepped into our bedroom, rubbing a hand across his mouth and eying me like a starving man. He kicked the door closed behind him and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth planes of his chest, covered in dark hair.

  “Serena.”

  His rough voice snapped me to attention. “Cope?”

  “Take your fucking clothes off.”

  I tore off his shirt and threw it across the room. Hooked my fingers into my underwear and eased them down my legs. I finally stood naked in front of my husband for the first time in four years, but I was much too distracted by his body. His white shirt, sliding off those broad muscles, revealing abs I’d been obsessed with. Still staring at me, he worked off his belt. Tossed it.