by Aimee Laine
“Well, shit. Now we need the location of the real one and the fake.”
“Exactly. You stepped right into his trap.” Ian’s cell buzzed, reminding Tripp about his message.
He pressed for voice mail, while Ian attended to his call, and noted two messages.
Missy’s came first. “Thanks for breakfast, bro. I’m on my way out with loads of sketches. Cannot wait to show you. Something by Friday. Just tell me if you don’t want me to send them to the chickie down south. I suspect not. Chat at ya later.”
Tripp smiled at his sister’s voice, forwarded to the next.
“Mr. Fox, this is Carol Rhodes from Sliver in Savannah.” Her drawl brought sounds of the south to Tripp. “I’ve got a design for you. I’ll send you a quick photo via text, but if you don’t receive it, just give me a call back. If you love it, and I think you will, call me, and we’ll negotiate.”
Tripp switched to his texts, saw the ‘3’, which indicated the number of new messages. The image of a diamond, with two small sapphires on either side, set in a white gold he expected would be Platinum, stared back at him. In the second photo, the angle showed she added small points of silver, or some other metal, so when turned, it resembled their star.
“Wow,” Ian said from over Tripp’s shoulder.
He shut the phone down, pocketing it.
“You having something made for the southern belle?”
“None of your business.”
Ian held his hands up. “Not sayin’ a thing, except, well … fucking congratulations.” Ian forced Tripp into a man-hug with a pat on the back.
Tripp couldn’t help the smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay … back to our regularly scheduled program. That was one of my contacts. I’ve had to put feelers out everywhere on this.”
“And?”
Ian hedged by way of a foot against the wall and a slap to the surface. “Jill just showed up at Daddy’s office with ‘the look of a devil’, apparently.”
“What exactly does that look like?”
“Not sure, but if someone described Lexi that way, I’d run.”
They both turned at a knock on the door.
“Well, I think our unfriendly neighborhood stalker has arrived.” Tripp made his way to the door. “Come on in, Isabelle.”
“You were expecting me?”
“Of course.”
She waltzed in with an air of superiority, knowledge and confidence. “Seems you’ve been a bad, bad boy.”
“I wouldn’t say so.” Tripp eyed Ian over her shoulder as she craned her neck walking around and through the apartment.
“Mr. Sloan disagrees. His daughter has decided she doesn’t want you to marry her because, as she claims, you’re a cheat.”
“He is n—” Ian started but Tripp stopped him with a hand in the air.
“So, anyway.” Isabelle crossed her arms. “This doesn’t negate our prior agreement. Miss Sloan made quite the arrangements for this upcoming wedding, which is now not going to happen.”
Tripp held in his groan while Ian’s eyes rolled back into his head and mimed a noose around his neck.
“He’ll accept compensation for all said paid-for activities … with interest.”
“How much?”
“Five million with a ten percent up charge per week.”
“Are you shitting me?” Ian’s chest heaved.
“I don’t make jokes, Mr. Sands.” Isabelle strolled to the window and back.
Tripp waved Ian back. “This is blackmail.”
“Oh, no, this is what we in the industry call creative payback. Of course, you could change your mind. You do still have until Friday, and Mr. Sloan’s word, at least, is quite binding.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
She shrugged. “Well, then, I will give you an account into which to transfer the funds.”
“And if I don’t?”
The corners of her mouth curved up in a sneer. “I’m sure you already know what comes next.” She mimed the closing of cell doors.
“I’ll be in touch,” Tripp said.
“I’ll tell him.” Isabelle stepped back. “Oh, and in the meantime, watch your back or, well, your arm.”
Tripp waved her toward the door. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re busy here.”
“Did she just say what I think she said?” Ian asked as the door shut behind Isabelle and her entourage.
“Guess we’ve been enlightened as to who’s behind this.” Tripp pointed to his shoulder.
Ian shook his head in a motion of disbelief Tripp recognized well. “You are not going to pay that man.” Ian punched the top of the bar. “Especially not after that.”
“No, I’m not. And now he’s fucking with me. Time to turn the tables.”
• • •
The couple across from Lexi sat together, their hands entwined as they gushed over what they’d heard about her, how great an agent she had been for friends and how they just couldn’t work with anyone else. As they talked, she tuned them out, bringing to mind passages from Marge’s journal instead.
Who are Mara’s real parents?
Did Marge really steal her?
If Tripp and I use our gifts to earn money, why didn’t George and Marge? Or did they?
Did Mara know she was a stolen baby or learn about it at some point?
Is she still alive?
“Lexi?” Emma stood at the door, an envelope in hand.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to interrupt, folks,” Emma said. “I need you for just a minute.”
Lexi excused herself, flipping her notes over while the two chatted with each other.
Emma tugged her to their small break room. “Did you need saving? I can hear them going on and on.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, well, this came via courier, and … I think you should take a look.”
With a tentative tug, Lexi took the envelope. “What is it?”
“Just open it, but keep your emotions in check.”
Keeping an eye on Emma, Lexi released the clasp. “Who’s it from?”
“The courier didn’t say.”
From within the yellow rectangle, half a dozen black and white photographs fell. Lexi shuffled through them. The first … Tripp at the beach with her. The second … him with Jill somewhere she didn’t recognize. Another of him, unconscious at his car after he’d been shot. She scanned the rest—a complement of photographs of their time together, with the last of him walking into a building in what she presumed to be New York.
“What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know,” Emma said.
Lexi reached for her cell. Realizing she’d stuck it in her bag, she went through each photograph again. “Did it come with a note? A letter? Anything?”
Emma shook her head.
“What’s this supposed to tell me? He’s been followed?”
“Wouldn’t that be impossible? I mean, how can anyone catch him like this?”
“He wasn’t doing anything worthy of putting up his guard. Everything I do with my gift is deliberate, so I don’t worry about someone seeing me. Tripp, though, treads along more dangerous ground. He’s got a presence, and people watch him. Unless he needs to keep himself under wraps, he doesn’t.”
“Otherwise, he’d be invisible all the time?”
“Exactly. When he’s not playing the game, so to speak, he’s a target just like anyone else. And I’m sure his reputation precedes him.”
“So why has someone been watching him? And why send the photos to you?”
“I have an idea why.” Lexi’s irritation buzzed through her body. “Can you finish up with these guys? They’ll want the White’s house on Devin Street.” She needed time alone and a wall or other punchable object.
“Yeah, sure. What’re you going to do?”
“I’ve got a phone call to make. When you finish with those two in my office, come find me.”
• • •
; Tripp’s cell vibrated against his thigh. He smiled at the caller ID before saying “Hey, gorgeous.”
“What the hell is going on?”
He staggered back at her response.
“I got an envelope in the mail today with photographs of you, you and me, you and Jill, and even one of you half dead from the bullet you got at the beach.”
“What the fuck?” He ran a hand over his head. “Who’d they come from? No, wait, don’t answer.” He motioned for Ian to come closer. “Hang on a sec, Lexi, I’m putting you on speaker.” With a hand over the mouthpiece, he said, “She’s a little pissed,” and pressed the button. “Okay, Lexi, you’re on. I think I know where those came from and why.”
“Going to enlighten me? Especially given I’m in a couple of them?”
Ian’s head managed half a shake. “Maybe if we team up on this, it would be better.”
“Team up on what?” Lexi asked.
“How about you come to New York tomorrow? Think you could? I mean, Emma can handle the office, right?” Tripp asked.
“She could, but if I go to New York, she’ll want to come, and that’s totally fine by me. What’s not fine is you not telling me what’s going on.”
Ian gave him a go-ahead wave.
“Jill’s father gave me a marriage ultimatum—”
“Like marry my daughter, or I’ll shoot you with my shotgun? I thought stuff like that only happened here in the south.”
“Something like it. Anyway, my plan was to get her to finally acknowledge our relationship was over by kicking me to the curb. That … I managed—”
“You said you were already disengaged, Tripp.”
He cringed. “Like I said before, she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I worked it today so she would make the decision for us.”
“How?”
Tripp looked to Ian who opened his eyes wide. “Does it matter?”
Lexi remained silent.
Shit. Tripp ran a hand through his hair. “I told her I found someone else, but she doesn’t know it’s you.” Even though her father clearly does.
“Then why did these pictures show up at my office?”
“Okay, so maybe someone knows—”
“Someone being her father?”
Ian mouthed ‘admit’.
Tripp opted to hedge. “Probably.”
“And how much do they understand … about me?”
“None.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I never explained my gift to Jill. Her father only knows I can extricate shit. I only did one job for him.”
“Why the photos, then? Why send them to me?”
“I got the ultimatum in Savannah, before you were attacked. I’m guessing this was a backup plan.” Tripp looked to Ian again, got yet another go ahead. “But, Lexi, listen … I have a way to get around all of this. I want to undo what I did and—”
“Let me guess, to undo, you must re-find, and you haven’t a clue as to the location of whatever it is.”
Tripp smiled at Ian, who gave him the thumbs up. “Sort of. Multiple copies exist. We need to find the original.”
“A sculpture, then? A painting?”
“Yes. Do you think you can handle it when there are more than one of the same?”
“Are you asking for my help?” Her tone had softened since he’d first answered his phone.
“Yes, Lexi, I am. It’s the only way to get him off my back. If I can make this happen, we’ll be set.”
“You may be. Send a photo of the objective in question. Via email, please.” She clicked off.
Tripp held the phone out like a piece of hot volcanic rock.
“Whoa,” Ian said. “That did not go as well as I expected.”
• • •
Lexi sat against her headboard, a printed copy of the painting in hand. She closed her eyes as the late afternoon sun warmed her room—in the house she owned and shared with Emma. Both were her constants.
A sigh broke through as thoughts of Tripp invaded her mind—a man who tempted her to break her moral code. From the moment they met, he’d forced her outside her comfort zone.
Her cell vibrated again.
Calls, messages and texts had arrived since their earlier discussion, but Lexi ignored them all in favor of a good sulk.
The window with the orange light called her to dance within it, to twirl like a small child, not sit mired in her own self-pity, wishing her life could go back to the simplicity it once held.
The front door to the house opened and slammed shut, and Emma appeared in the middle of the doorframe, where she leaned into the wood and narrowed her eyes. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Emma’s I-don’t-believe-you face, complete with scowl, popped right onto her features. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Lexi breathed a laugh. “Tripp says the same thing about me.” She faked a smile.
“Going to tell me about the phone call or calls?”
“He wants me to find a painting he stole, so he can steal it back.”
“Wouldn’t that be anti-productive?”
Lexi went on and described the entire conversation to her sister, including the part about Jill and her role, whether a direct one or not.
“Well, that’s not stealing,” Emma said when Lexi finished.
“Be serious. That’s breaking my rule twice. It’s double stealing.” Lexi rolled her eyes as if her statement should have been obvious.
Emma moved to the far corner of the bed. “Couldn’t it also be righting a wrong?”
Lexi had thought so, too, but the idea hadn’t yet stuck in such a way she could accept it.
On a deep sigh, Emma started again. “It’s not stealing if it’s returning—at least, in my opinion. He wants to right a wrong and needs you to help him do it.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“But I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re in here cuddling up with your blankie.”
Lexi snorted a laugh.
“Jill’s still in the picture, and that burns you up, doesn’t it?”
The combined one–two package of Jill and Lexi’s ethical boundary lines had pushed her over her own personal mental edge. “Yeah. It’s not just that, though. It’s all of it together.”
“You’ve already made a decision, haven’t you?”
Lexi head-bobbed her yes. “I think so.”
“Help him or not?”
“I’m going to let him help himself.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell him where I think the paintings are, but that’s it.”
“Then what?” Emma’s crossed arms reflected Lexi’s train of thought: serious.
A small shrug shook Lexi’s shoulders. “Then nothing. There is no more—”
Emma pushed off and marched around the bed to Lexi’s side. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“What?” Lexi flinched at the contrary tone and the hands that grabbed her wrist.
“I’m not letting you give up on him. No. No. No, no, no, no. God, Lex … you two are perfect for each other. After this is over, you get his ass back down here, and the two of you work your way through this.”
Lexi shrugged. “I didn’t say give up.”
With an exaggerated swing to her arms, Emma flung them into the air and let them fall back down. “Honey … you didn’t have to.”
22
Tripp grabbed his phone in anticipation of a call, but none arrived. He dropped onto his couch, standing back up at the knock on the door. It opened before he had a chance to take a step toward it.
“It’s us.” Ian and his brother walked in.
“Hey, Michael.” Tripp fell onto the sofa again, slouching into the cushions.
Ian took the other side. “Still nothing from Lexi?”
Tripp shook his head. “Nah.”
“Hey, man, this stuff is sweet.” Michael held up a NY Giants jersey, his usual attire of jeans and yet another team jersey projecting his youthfulness.
Tri
pp spun his finger in a circle. “It’s signed on the back.”
“Awesome.”
“Ian said you’re getting rid of everything in boxes. Why?” Thirteen years Ian’s junior, Michael still lived in the fantasy world of college, with one final year before he would finish.
“I’m moving to North Carolina.”
“No way. Out of New York?”
Tripp nodded.
“Well, he thinks he is. Bought a house and all,” Ian said. “But now his girl’s not calling him back.”
“They do that at your age?”
Ian laughed while Tripp offered a small chuckle.
“Want a beer?” Sitting still no longer suited him. At the very least, the drink would provide a distraction from his thoughts.
Lexi hadn’t called in two days. He wondered at her avoidance, even asked Ian to check in with Emma, which he did, only to hear Lexi would be in touch when she found the painting. He figured the search for the real one would take her longer than most, but after forty eight hours, concern weighed heavy on his shoulders.
“Your phone’s buzzin’,” Ian said.
Tripp threw the fridge door shut, raced into the living room and jumped the coffee table in a bid to get to it. Lexi’s number registered on the screen. He blew out a breath.
“Tripp Fox.”
“Hi.” Her voice, soft and calm, penetrated his defenses.
Tripp backed out onto his balcony, wanting a small measure of privacy. “Hi to you, too. Everything okay?”
“I think I have your painting’s location.”
“You think?”
“This one hasn’t been easy for me.” The beautiful tone he loved hearing faltered.
Tripp leaned against the railing, letting the cool air calm his nerves. He’d been right. Multiple replicas made it more difficult. Yet, he didn’t think that one problem alone caused the uncertainty in her voice.
“You know I appreciate your help, right?”
“I do, yes.”
Tripp picked up gratitude and annoyance in the two words. “You could come with me on this if you wanted.” He kicked at the metal brace on his balcony.
“No, I don’t think so. It’ll be easy for you.”
“Easy?” He huffed a laugh. “No. Doable.”
