by Cate Beauman
Did it get any better than this? “Ms. Terrell…” He picked up his espresso, sipping.
“Some folks are saying she stole, but a few others have suggested she took the money to flee an abusive situation.”
He set the cup down in its saucer with a smack. “That’s ridiculous. I loved Sophie very much. I would never hurt a hair on her beautiful head.”
“There are rumors floating around that there is photographic evidence to the contrary.”
Pictures? He wanted to pull at his already loosened tie as sweat beaded, running down his back at the idea, but he laced his fingers once again. “I can tell you that couldn’t possibly be true, because as I said before, I would never hurt the woman I had planned to spend the rest of my life with. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Were you served papers Monday morning, Mr. Winthrop? Did Mrs. McCabe file a temporary restraining order against you?”
The viper had done her homework. “I’m all finished here.” He buzzed Marlene.
“Is it true you’ve been suspended from the local art council and the National Art Council is considering doing the same?”
How the hell did she know all of this? He pressed the buzzer again. “Marlene, I’m going to need you to show Ms. Terrell out.”
“What about today, Mr. Winthrop? Were you served papers by the state police an hour ago for harassing Mrs. McCabe?”
Marlene opened the door.
“Show her off the property. I expect you gone, Ms. Terrell.”
“You didn’t answer my questions.”
“How could I possibly harass Sophie if I’m here in Maine and she’s in California? Now please leave.”
Ms. Terrell gathered her items, holding his gaze, leaving with Marlene following behind. He waited for the door to shut, then stood, watching Toni get into her vehicle.
“Bitch.” He remembered the stir she’d caused with her article on Abigail Quinn earlier this year. She had the potential to be as much of a problem as Sophie. He turned away from the window, pulling at his tie, thinking of the pictures she’d mentioned. There were no photographs of Sophie other than the ones he’d allowed her to be in. There couldn’t be.
Sitting again, he stared at the ball of paper he’d thrown, trying to dismiss the idea of photographic documentation as foolish gossip, but he couldn’t banish the trickle of worry. How the hell could Sophie have taken pictures? She didn’t own a camera, and she was either always at home or work. Where would she have… Dylan Matthers. “Shit.” He picked up his phone, buzzing Marlene.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to be disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon. Not by anyone.”
“Certainly.”
He stood, opening his door a crack, peeking out while Marlene typed on her computer with her back to him. Locking his door, he left his office, taking the rear staircase, moving out the back entrance into the thick of trees at the edge of the building, making his way through the forest toward the other side of town. He was going to get to the bottom of this potential fiasco before the day was out. If there were pictures of Sophie’s bruises, Dylan Matthers was going to hand them over.
Forty minutes later, hot and sweaty in his black suit, he swatted at the branches of another pine tree as he studied the vile apartment complex he’d watched Dylan come out of several weeks ago. Most of the vehicles were gone from the parking lot and no one appeared to be looking out their windows. With the coast clear, he slipped around the corner closest to the putrid dumpster and into the building’s front door, looking for the black bike Dylan rode to the mall the day he’d followed her to work, but it wasn’t there.
Glancing around, he moved to the row of mailboxes, spotting D. Matthers—3B, and hurried up the two flights of stairs, peering over his shoulder from time to time. He knocked on her door but no one answered. Wiggling the knob, he shook his head when it opened.
“Idiot,” he murmured as he walked into the tiny efficiency apartment, looking at the unmade bed, closet-sized bathroom, and messy galley kitchen that made up Dylan’s home, keeping his eyes open for a camera. There was no sign of one on the counters or small table or anywhere else in the disheveled space, so he moved to the dresser drawers, pawing through the clothes, then the closet, finally finding the Nokia buried under the papers on the cheap TV stand. He powered it on, flipping through the images, finding nothing but shots of the woman with her friends at some campout. He scanned the place again, spotting the laptop on her mattress half hidden under a mound of blankets, and booted it up, swearing when he came to the password-protected screen. Crouching down, he entered her name, then her birth date, trying to gain access with no luck. “Damn it.”
Footsteps started up the creaky steps and he stood, his gaze flying to the door as someone stopped in front of it, turning the knob. He rushed toward the bathroom, snagging the knife on the counter along the way, waiting for her to enter.
Dylan stepped in, swiping her long black hair off her shoulder as she closed the door with the sole of her sneaker and tossed her purse to the bed, gasping when he stepped out to greet her. “What are you doing here?”
“I want the pictures.”
Her gaze darted to the computer as she swallowed. “What pictures?”
He narrowed his eyes, knowing Toni had been right. “Where are the pictures?”
She took a step backward, inching her way to the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any pictures.”
He stepped closer and grabbed her arm, anticipating her attempt to flee. “I know you took them,” he bluffed. “I’ve heard all about it.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t.”
He held up the knife. “Yes, you did.”
“Oh god.” Her breath heaved in and out as she eyed the blade. “I don’t—I don’t have them.”
“How many are there?”
“A few—several,” she corrected.
“Get them for me now.”
“I really don’t have them,” she shuddered out, trembling.
“Who does?”
“They were on a thumb drive.”
“Does Sophie have them?”
“Yes. Yes, she has them, but she probably threw them away.”
He sent her a humorless smile. “I think we both know that’s not true. What type of thumb drive?”
She licked her lips, still staring at the knife. “Uh, black.”
“Black?”
“Yes. It’s a black thumb drive. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Keep your mouth shut and I won’t.”
She nodded frantically.
“I know all about you, Dylan. I know where your mother and father live, where your sister and nephew are. You remember that.”
A tear fell down her cheek. “I will.”
He grabbed a towel off the floor and wiped the knife, then twisted the doorknob with the cheap fabric, looking into the hall. “Don’t forget your family’s safety rests in your hands.”
“I won’t.”
Risking another moment, he stared at her, watching her tremble, almost certain she was afraid enough to do as he said. He hustled down the stairs and back out into the woods the way he came, swearing. Sophie had pictures. It was only a matter of time before she leaked them to the press. He yanked his cell phone from his pocket, ready to call the airlines and book a flight to Manhattan but thought better of it, dialing a different number instead.
“Yeah.”
“It’s me. I have a job for you.”
“It’ll cost you.”
He rolled his eyes. “So you always say. I need you to go to Los Angeles and find a thumb drive. It has pictures of Sophie, my ex fiancé. She has a shop on Rodeo Drive, McCabe Jewelry. You’ll probably find it there. It’s black.”
“That’s easy enough.”
“I’m not finished. I want you to take care of Johnston Sanders.” The last thing he needed right now was the small-time thief he’d hired to play a few pranks on Sophie going to
the cops or press with his story.
“How do you want him done?”
“However you want. Just make him disappear, and make sure it doesn’t lead back to me.”
“You got it.”
“And I want her done too.”
“Who?”
“Sophie. Make it look like an accident. You’ll find plenty of pictures of her on the internet. Her last name’s McCabe.”
“Your tally’s racking up.”
“You just be sure to make it look like she met unfortunate circumstances. I’ve already got cops and some bitch reporter up my ass.” And it was bound to get worse if he didn’t deal with this now.
“I’ll head out to LA tomorrow.”
“Leave tonight. I expect something fast.”
“I think half a million should have us both resting easy.”
He paused mid-step. “Five hundred thousand?”
“Two bodies and a hunt for evidence. Sounds like a fair price to me.”
He knew this man could and would deliver. “Fine. Just get it done.”
“I want half delivered to my associate here in the city. I’ll text you the address after you get yourself a new phone.”
“I’ll have one within the hour, and I’ll be on the first flight I can get to New York.”
“Then I’ll have a body count in less than forty-eight, providing I get confirmation you’ve paid up.”
“Let me know when it’s done.” He hung up, dialing the airlines next. Sophie should have been smart and kept herself hidden. He’d always told her she would die if she left. Now he would show her he’d meant it.
Chapter Thirty
Sophie sat cross-legged on her couch, doodling ideas for a bracelet in the sketchpad on her lap. She paused for a forkful of chicken, broccoli, and peapods from the to-go container at her side, glancing at the deadbolt she’d locked into place on the door, then returned her attention to the gift she was planning for Abby.
She scrutinized her potential new project, frowning at the twists of hammered silver and placement of bold red crystal beads, trying to figure out what on Earth she’d been thinking. Sighing, she slashed an “x” through the drawing and ripped it from the tablet, letting her latest attempt sail to the floor. Nothing she’d drawn tonight looked right. No matter how many times she put her pencil to paper, she couldn’t translate the visions in her brain onto the sketchpad.
She rested her head against the back of the couch—her only piece of furniture—looking around her drab surroundings: curtain-less windows, bare hardwood floors, no lamps, tables, or flowers, not even freshly painted walls. The space was cozy enough and certainly had potential, but it didn’t feel like home—not that she’d made any attempt to make it so over the last two and a half weeks.
She moved to twist the wedding band around her finger, dropping her hand, remembering the simple piece of silver was no longer there. Today had been the day. This morning she’d pulled off the ring, wiping at the steady stream of tears running down her cheeks as she put it away and hurried downstairs to work.
She’d caught herself more than a dozen times, trying to fiddle with the ring while she helped customers or sat in the backroom creating new product, which made taking it off all the more right. She and Stone were over. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the night she said goodbye on the cliffs.
She looked out the window into the bright lights of Beverly Hills, wondering what he was doing, pressing her palm to her heart, missing him terribly. Maybe he was with Amber at Smitty’s shooting pool, or perhaps he had taken her to the mountain with the view. She closed her eyes, shaking her head, wanting to banish the idea of him bringing anyone to their place. “Why does this have to be so hard?”
Murphy looked up from his bed by her side, wagging his tail with a lazy flop.
“I can’t keep doing this.” She stood in a rush. “Let’s get out of here, Murph. Let’s go pick out a bedroom set.” She scooped up the heavy puppy almost half as big as her, nuzzling his soft ears. “Maybe we should find a coffee table too, and a couple of plants. Let’s make this place our home.”
Murphy licked her face.
“Aw, you give the best sloppy kisses.” She slipped on her strappy sandals, grabbed her purse and keys, sick of spending her time weighed down by sorrow and worry. Stone wasn’t wasting his time thinking of her, and Eric would come after her whether she sat behind a bolted door or not.
She put Murphy on his leash and headed downstairs in denim shorts and a pink, sleeveless baby-doll top, opening the side entrance to the warm evening. “It’s so nice out here,” she said to the puppy as they stopped in front of her car parallel parked outside the building. Breathing in deep, she smiled, glancing up at the light in her apartment with a new sense of hope. Moving on was exactly what she needed to do.
Determined to take her first official step as a capable, single woman, she got in, started the car, and made her way through the impossible Friday night traffic, singing along with the radio. She belted out the refrain with Justin Timberlake as the Malcom’s sign caught her attention, then the appliance store where she and Stone had spent an afternoon picking out the large majority of his kitchen, and her light mood plummeted. Stone’s smile flashed through her mind, his face sweaty and his hair tucked beneath a kerchief as they bumped and brushed into each other, laughing while they played basketball. Then she remembered his intense stare as he moved inside of her, touching her face, showing her how it could be while they fell over the edge of ecstasy together.
Shaking her head, blinking, she realized she’d passed the furniture store and was merging on Highway One. “What am I doing, Murph?”
But even as she asked she kept going, eventually turning right, taking the road to Stone’s cliffs. She pulled into her spot in the driveway, gripping the wheel tight, swallowing as she glanced from the basketball court to the empty spot where Stone usually parked his Mustang. Exhaling slowly, she stared at the darkened house she loved, frowning at the dead flowers she’d planted in the pretty pots. The lights should have been on, filling the beautiful picture windows with warmth. Stone’s skillful hands and creative mind had brought this place to life, but tonight the charm was missing. His home seemed lonely and sad. Her gaze wandered to the house key still hanging on her ring, knowing she needed to mail it back. She wouldn’t need it again. She didn’t belong here anymore.
Murphy whined as the ocean breeze ruffled his fur.
“We shouldn’t have come, but I’m glad we did. I needed to do this. I needed to see.” She scratched him behind the ears. “Let’s go pick out our furniture.” She reversed and started down the hill. “Tomorrow we’ll have to decide on paint—something nice and bright for the living room.” Accelerating, she took advantage of the break in traffic and turned, heading away from the cliffs. She glanced back in the rearview mirror, blinking her tears away as her first home in Los Angeles faded in the distance then disappeared.
“Time to move forward,” she murmured as the light ahead turned yellow. She tapped her brake, expecting to slow, but her foot pushed the petal to the floor. Gasping, she tried again, pressing over and over. “My brakes. I don’t have any brakes!” She yanked up the emergency brake next, her heart thundering when she coasted closer to the juncture.
“God. Oh my god.” She jerked the wheel to the right, attempting to avoid the oncoming cars in the intersection to her left, screaming as the screech of tires rung in her ears and headlights blinded her seconds before the car plowed into her side.
~~~~
Stone hit ‘send’ on his reply to Jackson and sat back, glancing at his watch before settling his hands behind his head—nine. It was definitely time to get the hell out of here. He’d been at the office since six thirty this morning.
“Knock, knock.” Amber stood in his doorway in her black skirt and snug white top, showcasing her excellent figure.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She stepped further into his office, her smile warming, holding
a small cardboard box.
“All packed up?”
“Yeah. I’m sure Mia’s looking forward to starting back on Monday now that her mother’s moved in to help with the baby.” She leaned against his desk. “There’s still a bunch of cake in the conference room if you want some. I’d be happy to get you a piece.”
“Nah. I’m all set.” He’d avoided the goodbye cake deal they’d had for Amber earlier in the day, giving her a wide berth. The last thing he needed to do right now was get himself mixed up with the leggy temp. He was frustrated and miserable enough to do something stupid.
“So, I thought maybe… I was wondering if you might want to go shoot some pool.”
Hell no. “I’m actually on my way home.”
“Oh.” She settled her butt on his desktop, not taking the hint. “Well, I heard about you and your wife—”
He sat up, no longer relaxed. “I’m not talking about that.”
“No. Right.” She stood up straight. “I was thinking I could leave my number with you.” She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing her phone number down. “If you ever need to talk—”
“Hey, Stone.” Abby sailed into the room, wearing jeans and some fancy, trendy black top. “Hi, Amber.” She glanced from the sheet of paper with the digits on it to Stone, then Amber. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to talk to Stone.” She backed Amber out of the room, shutting the door before Ethan’s temp could say anything more.
Stone raised his brow in Abby’s direction, leaning back again. “That was rude. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Abby pulled up a chair next to his, facing him as she sat down. “How are you, Stone?”
He’d never been so unhappy—and he’d been pretty low before—but he shrugged anyway. “Fine.”
“Good.” She rested her elbow on the desk. “Now how are you really?
He sat up, recognizing the knowing glint in her eyes. “I’m fine. Just leave it alone.”
