by Erin Watt
“You. Us. Forever.”
“Then don’t push me away. Don’t tell me how to feel, what to think, who to love. If you’re really taking this plea deal, then you can’t be too embarrassed to see me. You can’t stop writing me. You can’t turn away from my visits. This is our countdown. This is our wait. Every day brings us closer together. We either do this together or not at all.” Her blue eyes flash like molten sapphires. “So what’ll it be?”
Man up, is what she’s really telling me. Man up and act like a member of our team. The Ella and Reed team.
I grab her chin with my free hand and kiss her hard. “I’m all in, baby.”
Then I rip her expensive dress off her body and show her exactly how in I’m going to be. For the rest of our freaking lives.
33
Ella
On Saturday morning, Steve announces that we’re moving back to the penthouse. Today.
“Today?” I echo dumbly, setting down my glass of orange juice.
He leans his elbows on the kitchen counter and beams at me. “Well, tonight, actually. Isn’t this great news? Now we won’t be stuck in these five rooms anymore.”
Truthfully, the idea of leaving does sound enticing. Living in this hotel has grown old, which is something I would’ve never said a year ago, but Steve’s right—we do need more space from each other. Steve and Dinah have started to fight constantly. While I might’ve had a trace of sympathy for her at the beginning, I’m sick at the sight of her. Not only did she pay off Ruby Myers, but I know she’s involved in Brooke’s death somehow. I just can’t prove it, damn it.
Reed told Callum about my suspicions, but so far Callum’s army of investigators have come up with nothing. They need to find it soon, because if Reed has his way, he’ll be signing that plea deal on Monday morning and going to prison the moment the ink is dry.
Maybe the penthouse holds some clue.
Steve tilts his head. “What do you say? Are you ready to move out?”
He gives me a hopeful, puppy smile that reminds me so much of Easton. Steve’s not all bad. He tries hard, I guess. I can’t help but smile back. “Yeah. That works.”
“Good. Why don’t you go pack a suitcase with your necessities? The hotel will send the rest of the stuff over. Dinah’s called to get the place cleaned before we arrive.”
I’m about to answer when my phone buzzes. Reed’s calling, and I discreetly cover the screen with my hand so Steve can’t see the display. “It’s Val,” I lie. “I bet she wants to know how Winter Formal went.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Steve says absently.
“I’ll talk to her upstairs so I don’t bother you,” I say before darting out of the suite’s kitchen.
He nods, off in his own head to another topic. Steve’s biggest flaw is that if the conversation doesn’t involve him, he quickly loses interest.
Once I’m alone in my room, I answer Reed’s call before it goes to voicemail. “Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.” He pauses. “I spoke to Dad about the waitress. Figured I should let you know.”
“The waitress—oh,” I say, realizing he means Ruby Myers. My pulse instantly speeds up. “What did he say? Do we have proof that someone paid her off?”
“She took out a loan,” he says flatly. “Her mom died unexpectedly and had a small life insurance policy. Myers used that to put a down payment on the car. No signs of any wrongdoing there.”
I swallow a frustrated scream. “That can’t be true. Dinah all but admitted she paid Myers off.”
“Then she did it in a sneaky way, because I’ve got a copy of the loan papers.”
“God, I know Dinah’s involved in this.” Panic ripples through me. Why aren’t these investigators making any progress? There has to be something that doesn’t point in Reed’s direction.
“Even if she did, Dinah’s plane didn’t land until hours after Brooke’s time of death.”
Tears fill my eyes and tighten my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, but a muffled sob filters through.
“I have to go,” I manage to say, my voice only wobbling a little. “Steve wants me to pack so we can be back in the penthouse tonight.”
“All right. I love you, baby. Call me when you get settled.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
I hang up quickly and then bury my face into my pillow. I close my eyes and let the tears flow, just for a minute, maybe two. Then I tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself and get up to start packing.
Brooke died in that penthouse. There has to be some kind of clue there.
And I intend to find it.
* * *
Hours later, Steve hustles me into the lobby of the swanky high rise. Dinah’s already inside waiting for the elevator. She barely said a word on the ride over. Is she nervous about revisiting the scene of her crime? From the corner of my eye, I watch her avidly for any signs of guilt.
“I’m going to put you in the guest room,” Steve babbles as the three of us step into the elevator. “We’ll have it redecorated, of course.”
I frown. “Isn’t that where…” I lower my voice, even though we’re in a cramped space and Dinah can hear every word, “Brooke was staying before she, ah, died?”
Steve frowns back. “Was she?” He turns to Dinah.
She nods stiffly and answers in an even stiffer voice. “She sold her apartment after Callum proposed, so she was staying at the penthouse until after their wedding.”
“Oh. I see. I didn’t realize that.” Steve looks back at me. “Are you all right staying in that room, Ella? Like I said, we’ll have it redecorated.”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Morbid as hell, but it’s not like Brooke died in that room.
Nope, she died right there, I think as we enter the posh living room. My gaze instantly lands on the fireplace mantle, and a shiver runs up my spine. Steve and Dinah are both looking in that direction, too.
Steve is the first one to turn away. He wrinkles his nose and says, “It stinks in here.”
I inhale deeply and realize he’s right. The air is kind of stale. The apartment smells like a weird mix of ammonia and old socks.
“Why don’t you open the windows?” Steve suggests to Dinah. “I’ll crank up the heat and light a fire.”
Dinah is still staring at the fireplace. Then she makes a distressed sound and runs down the hall. A door opens and then slams shut. I stare after her. Is that guilt? Crap, how do I know what guilt looks like? If I killed someone, I’d run to my bedroom, too, right?
Steve sighs. “Ella, can you get the windows?”
Glad for something to do that takes my attention away from the crime scene, I nod and quickly move to the windows. Another shiver overtakes me when I pass the fireplace. God, it’s creepy here. I have a feeling I won’t be getting a wink of sleep tonight.
Steve calls in a delivery order, and it arrives about fifteen minutes later, filling the apartment with a spicy aroma that might have smelled good if my stomach wasn’t churning from anxiety. Dinah doesn’t come out of the bedroom, refusing to answer Steve’s summons for dinner.
“We need to talk about Dinah,” Steve says over a plate of steaming noodles. “You’re probably wondering why I haven’t divorced her yet.”
“It’s none of my business.” I push a green pepper around my plate, watching it make tracks through the soy sauce. I haven’t given the marriage much thought. I’m too obsessed with Reed’s impending imprisonment.
“I’m arranging things,” he admits. “And everything needs to be in order before I start the paperwork.”
“It’s really none of my business,” I repeat more forcefully. I don’t care what Steve does with Dinah.
“Are you going to be okay living here? You look…”
“Creeped out?” I supply.
He smiles slightly. “Yes, that’s as good of a word as any.”
“I’m sure I’ll get over it,” I lie.
“Maybe we’ll find something else. You and me.”
I’ll be gone to college in a year, but I reply with, “Sure,” because I don’t want to see Steve’s disappointment. Right now, I can’t handle anyone’s emotions but my own.
“I was thinking that you could take a bridge year and not go to college after you’re done with school. Or maybe we could hire a tutor and go abroad.”
“What?” I say in shock.
“Yes,” he says, sounding increasingly enthusiastic. “I enjoy traveling, and since Dinah and I will be divorced, it’d be great if you and I went on a few trips together.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
He flushes slightly. “Well, think about it, at least.”
I clamp my lips tight around my fork so I don’t say something hurtful. Or worse, stab him with my fork for such a ridiculous idea. I’m not leaving the state of North Carolina until Reed can.
After dinner, I excuse myself. Steve shows me to the guest room down the hall from the dining area. It’s nice enough—all cream and golds. The design and setup isn’t much different than the hotel room we left. I have my own bathroom, which is nice.
The only downside is that a dead woman once slept in this bed.
Pushing aside the thought, I unpack my school uniforms, a few T-shirts, and jeans. My shoes and jacket go in the closet. Next to the bed, behind the nightstand, I find an outlet for my phone charger. I plug in my phone and then lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow I’ll look for Gideon’s stuff. I doubt it’s in this room, though. Dinah wouldn’t let the blackmail evidence far from her sight.
But…maybe if Brooke was sleeping on it, it would be just as safe?
I hop off the bed and look under the frame. The hardwood floor is clean, and none of the boards seem to be loose, which would be a telltale sign that something might be hidden underneath them.
How about between the mattress? It takes a few pushes to get the mattress on its side, but there’s nothing underneath it but the box spring. I let it drop down with a thump.
I do a quick search of the nightstand, where I find a remote, four cough lozenges, a bottle of lotion, and a spare set of batteries. The dresser has extra blankets in the bottom, extra pillows in the middle drawer, and nothing in the top one.
The closet is empty. Dinah or the cops must’ve had Brooke’s clothes taken away.
I run a hand along the wall and stop to inspect the bland abstract painting hanging over a thin console table across from the bed. There’s no secret safe behind the painting. Frustrated, I collapse on the bed. There’s nothing in this room but normal items. If no one had told me that Brooke slept in here, I would’ve never known about it.
With nothing to search for, my thoughts drift back to Reed. The large room suddenly feels oppressive, as if a heavy fog settled into the space.
Things are going to be okay, I tell myself. Five years is nothing. I’d wait twice that to have Reed back. We’ll be able to write letters to each other, maybe even talk on the phone. I’ll visit him as much as he lets me. And I do believe he can control his temper, if he wants. He has a huge incentive—good behavior equals less jail time.
There’s a silver lining in every cloud, Mom always said. Granted, she said that mostly when we were leaving to go to some new place, but I believed it then. Even when she died, I felt like I’d survive. And I did.
Reed’s not dying, even though it feels like I’m losing someone yet again. He’s just…going on an extended vacation. It’d be like if he went to college in California and I was here. We’d have a long-distance relationship. Phone calls, texts, emails, letters. It’s pretty much the same thing, right?
Feeling marginally better, I get up and reach for the phone. Except I forget I didn’t put my suitcase away, and end up tripping over it. With a squeaky cry, I fall into the console table. The lamp on top of it teeters. I grab for it, but I’m too far away and the damn thing crashes to the ground.
“Everything okay in there?” Steve asks from the hall, sounding concerned.
“Yeah.” I look at the shattered remains of the lamp. “Well, no.” Sighing, I walk over to open the door. “I tripped over my suitcase and broke your lamp,” I confess.
“Don’t worry about it. We’re redecorating, remember?” He holds up a finger. “Don’t move. I’ll get a broom.”
“’Kay.”
I bend down and start chucking the big pieces in a nearby trashcan. Something white pokes out from underneath one shard. Confusion wrinkling my forehead, I ease the paper out. From the way it’s hastily folded and tucked against that one piece, I realize someone deliberately slid it inside the white porcelain base. Maybe it’s the instructions for the lamp? Yeah, probably.
My hand is halfway to the trash bin when the word Maria catches my eye.
Curious, I unfold the paper and start to read.
Then I gasp.
“What’ve you got there?”
My head swivels to the door, where Steve is standing with a broom in his hand. I want to lie and say “Nothing,” but I can’t get my vocal cords to cooperate. I can’t hide the paper, either, because every muscle in my body is frozen.
Looking concerned again, Steve leans the broom against the doorframe and marches over.
“Ella,” he orders. “Talk to me.”
I look at him with wide, frightened eyes. Then I hold up the paper and whisper, “What the hell is this?”
34
Ella
The paper crackles as I hold it between my trembling fingers. My mind is spinning with the few paragraphs I read—and I’m not even finished reading. Before I can blink, Steve snatches the letter from my hand. As he scans the first few lines, his face drains of all color. “Where did you get this?” he chokes out.
My mouth is so dry with shock and horror that it hurts to talk. “It was hidden in the lamp.” I continue to stare at him. “Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you destroy it?”
His skin is as pale as mine probably is. “I…I didn’t hide it. It was in the safe. It…” He curses suddenly. “That goddamned sneaky bitch.”
My hands won’t stop shaking. “Who?”
“My wife.” He swears again, bitterness darkening his eyes. “My lawyers would have given Dinah the codes to the safe after my death.” His fingers tighten, crumpling up the paper. “She must have seen this and—no, it would’ve had to be Brooke.” He looks around the room, visibly shaken up. “She stayed here. She was the one who hid it. She must’ve stolen it from Dinah.”
“I don’t care who hid the letter!” I shout. “All I care about is whether or not it’s true!” My breathing goes unsteady. “Is it true?”
“No.” He pauses. “Yes.”
Hysterical laughter spills out of my mouth. “Well, which is it? Yes or no?”
“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “It’s true.”
Disgust and anger shoot through me. Oh my God. I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. This letter changes everything I knew about Steve, Callum, the Royals. If it really is true, Dinah had every right to be furious with Maria. To hate her, even.
“Let me read the rest of it,” I order.
Steve takes a step back, but I grab the paper from his hand before he can move it out of my reach. The corner tears off and remains between Steve’s limp fingers.
“Ella,” he starts weakly.
But I’m too busy reading.
Dear Steve,
I can’t live with these lies any longer. They’re tearing me apart. Each look from Callum weighs on my heart. This isn’t the life I imagined for myself and not one that I can continue to pursue.
My sons are the light of my life, but even they don’t shine bright enough to erase the darkness in my soul. The stains of our actions will always be there. I don’t know what to do.
If I confess, our families will be torn apart. Callum will leave me; your friendship will be severed.
If I keep quiet, I will not live. I swear to you. I can’t go on.
Why did you
take advantage of me? You knew my weakness! You knew and exploited it.
I no longer believe that Callum has been unfaithful, or even if he has, I must learn to live with it. We can’t continue like this, Steve, hiding the truth from Callum.
I need to tell him. I have to. Otherwise I won’t be able to live with myself.
But while I can’t live without Callum, I don’t know that I can bear to be without you, either. You do things to me, bring me alive in ways I didn’t think were possible. Every night when I close my eyes, I see your face, feel your touch.
When that other woman is near, I burn with anger. Why would you marry her? She’s beneath you. Knowing that you go from me to her disgusts me. You ask me to leave Callum, but I don’t trust you, either, Steve. I don’t believe you. I don’t believe in anyone any longer.
There’s no choice for me. All of them have been taken from me. Don’t try to stop me.
Maria
Once I’m finished, I let the letter drop to the carpet at my feet. This is so…crazy. How could Steve do that to Callum? How could Maria?
“I need to tell Reed,” I blurt out.
Steve lunges forward before I can get my phone off the nightstand. “No,” he begs. “You can’t tell him. You’ll tear them up. Those boys worship their mother.”
“So did you, apparently,” I say bitterly. “How could you do that? How could you!”
“Ella—”
Fear and hope and despair swirl around me, sucking all the air out of the room and making it hard to breathe or think. “You slept with Callum’s wife,” I accuse.
Steve’s jaw clenches for a moment, his face haggard, and then he nods abruptly. He can’t even bring himself to say it out loud.
“Why?”
“I always loved her,” he admits in a hoarse voice. “And, in her way, she loved me.”
“That’s not what this letter says.”
