The Face of Scandal

by Helena Maeve

  “Nah, I’ll go for the espresso.” Barefoot on the tile floor, she liberated a dainty cup from the dishwasher and slotted an aluminum capsule into the machine like she had seen Ward and Dylan do when they were in a hurry. Imitation, she told herself as she slid an arm around Ward’s midriff, was the sincerest form of flattery. “You’re up early… Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Early meeting.”

  “Not so early you couldn’t make pancakes, though,” Hazel noted. The batter had already begun to crisp in the pan. Ward had woken up early enough to combine the ingredients, dress himself and shower—none of which had woken Hazel from her not-so-pleasant morning dreams.

  He didn’t try to deny it. He slipped out of her arms to maneuver around the cramped kitchen under the guise of putting ingredients back where they belonged. The gurgling of the espresso machine dulled the thud and sigh of cupboard doors.

  “Ward,” Hazel started, confusion giving way to worry. If we misunderstood…

  “Thought I smelled something good!” Dylan emerged from the bedroom, gray linen armor already on, ready to wage battle.

  Hazel’s breath caught. We fucked up. We shouldn’t have jumped him like that. Dylan, oh crap.

  The magnitude of their screw-up threatened to crush her. She hunted for the words to warn him, but her vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate and Ward was clutching the spatula like a lifeline, as if he didn’t want to be here.

  “Hey, babe,” Dylan said. He kissed Hazel’s temple as he had dozens of times before, then released her and marched up to Ward to do the same.

  Ward sucked in a breath, visibly quaking, but didn’t pull away. The spatula didn’t become a makeshift weapon in his fist.

  Under the guise of fetching the milk from the fridge, Dylan kept a hand on Ward’s flank, grounding him. “You sleep okay?”

  Her cell’s familiar ringtone drowned out Ward’s answer. Although the battery had been flickering in and out of order for weeks, it had chosen to work this morning.

  Hazel swore, darting away. She had dropped her handbag by the door last night. Dylan must have picked it up and stowed it on the side table with all her other discards.

  “Someone trying to sell you insurance?” he guessed.

  “No, it’s…” Caller ID didn’t lie, but Hazel still frowned at the phone, bemused. “It’s my lawyer.” Ward’s lawyer, actually, but tasked with helping to keep Hazel out of prison. “Hello?”

  Seven in the morning was early even for the most devoted legal counsel in the business—and, sure, hers was paid enough to work round-the-clock, but no one expected them to. There was no need, no hurry. The court date was almost a week away. Hazel’s throat seized as she braced for word of explanation. She wasn’t the only one.

  In the kitchen, Ward had given up on the pancakes. Dylan stood, clutching the milk carton in one hand, a look of nervous apprehension on his face.

  “All right. Thanks…” Hazel hung up as if in a trance.

  “If they’ve moved up the court date,” Ward started, always ready to be the first one on the grenade.

  Hazel shook her head. “He dropped the charges.”

  “What?”

  “Malcolm dropped the charges.” She should have been elated, relieved, but all Hazel could think of was, why?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Volvo groaned and clanged over potholed roads as Hazel peered through the windshield. She hadn’t been to his part of LA before and the city grid was making her life inexplicably difficult. She’d found her way to Olympic Boulevard just fine, but after that the previously square streets became wobbly lines and Hazel couldn’t find the turn that her phone insisted she was meant to take.

  At least traffic’s not too bad.

  She glanced at the dashboard clock. Ten past. She had been smart to give herself a little leeway and left the loft a whole half hour earlier than she needed to.

  “Nervous?” Dylan had asked when she called him from the car.

  “Terrified.”

  Between the hospital bill, the night classes and her lawyerly expenses—the figures obtained after a few grueling arguments with Ward—Hazel had been able to total her debt at somewhere in the region of five thousand dollars. She was lucky that her lenders didn’t charge interest, but that didn’t mean she could rest easy when it came to her finances.

  “First job I’m interviewing for since…forever, really. And this time I don’t have some fairy godfather watching out for me.”

  Dylan huffed out a laugh. “You don’t need anyone’s help, Hazel. You’re a badass, remember?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I love you,” Dylan told her, his voice ringing out far too clear over the booming engine to pretend she hadn’t heard.

  It was one way to spur her to end the call and help her focus on the task at hand. Hazel switched on her hazard lights and did another pass. There, between two parked cars, she spotted the turn she’d missed the first couple of times. She had no excuse now.

  The interview was on.

  Hazel squeezed through the gap and into a narrow alley that turned out to feed directly into an underground garage. “Getting out of here must be fun,” she muttered to herself as she negotiated the ramp.

  The Volvo creaked as it bounced over neon yellow speed bumps. It hadn’t been the same since it was impounded. Hazel had wondered if workers at the lot had fiddled with the inner workings of her car, but she didn’t want to waste money getting it checked out. The next time it broke down, she would have to give it up, maybe sell it to a second-hand dealership.

  She stashed the thought aside for now.

  A silver BMW had entered the underground garage behind her and she had to get out of the way before the driver started flashing his lights at her. As if she wasn’t nervous enough.

  Clumsily, Hazel slid the Volvo into the first empty spot she found, groaning when the driver’s side door only opened about a quarter wide. Making do was her new normal, though, so Hazel sucked in a breath and shuffled out. This was Do or Die. She didn’t have time to worry about angle parking.

  The BMW drove a few feet away and came to a smooth stop, engine still running.

  Hazel nervously smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt as she waited for the elevator to touch down. She busied herself with digging through the vague memories for every detail she’d been able to find out about her would-be new employer. They only needed someone part-time and the benefits weren’t great, but the phone interview two days earlier had boosted Hazel’s confidence.

  She had been able to say, in all earnestness, that she didn’t have a criminal record.

  The elevator doors opened with a polite chime. Hazel caught her own reflection in the mirror that spanned the far wall. She looked professional in a pair of khaki slacks and a white blazer. Her broad-heeled dress shoes were a far cry from the comforts of her beloved Mary Janes, but they did the job.

  She drummed her heels against the floor of the elevator cabin. Surely an HR manager seeing her for the first time wouldn’t immediately assume she’d been flipping burgers until three weeks earlier. They better not. Hazel had no experience in catering and didn’t know how fast she could pick up the trade. Her ongoing studies meant the learning curve ahead was as steep as it was difficult to navigate, but this was the first company to answer her application. Hazel was determined to give it her best shot.

  Just as the elevator doors began to slide shut, she glimpsed movement in the parking lot. The owner of the BMW had finally decided to leave his shiny two-door coupe behind.

  Hazel tipped her head up, more reflex than curiosity, and found herself staring across thirty, forty feet of sleek black and gray hoods, straight into Malcolm’s pale eyes.

  * * * *

  She had no memory of the interview. Between stepping into the office and being led out by the smiling, gracious young woman who might be her boss if the other candidates on the roster weren’t up to snuff, Hazel’s mind was a blank. She found herself back in the waiting room, pul
se ticking in her temple like the timer on a bomb.

  I’m being paranoid. He can’t be here. He let me off the hook.

  That rationale was hard to swallow. If the past months had proved anything, it was that Malcolm never gave up. He had kept tabs on her for years, his patience seemingly infinite, only to lose her to Sadie’s gaffe.

  “Can I help you?” The man behind the front desk smiled at her politely. “Miss? Are you okay?”

  Hazel considered her answer. Yes, I need an ambulance would help her avoid Malcolm—or his ghost—but also incur further expenses. No, but there’s a man who wants to do me harm in the building would probably end any chance she had of working here.

  No one wanted a new employee with issues.

  She returned his smile. “Thanks, no. I’m all right. Say…are there cameras in the parking downstairs?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Excellent.” Heart hammering against her ribs, Hazel started toward the elevator.

  Malcolm wouldn’t expose himself. That meant he’d keep his distance, maybe follow her to the loft. He wants me to know he’s watching. Her insides churned at the thought that this had been going on since she was released from hospital, maybe even earlier. It would be like Malcolm to make her dance on a string for his amusement.

  As the floors flashed by on the LED display, tight groups of two or three worker bees drifting in and out, it dawned on Hazel that this would never stop. While Malcolm was out there, he would always believe he had a claim to her.

  She would never be free.

  The elevator stopped came to a halt on the ground floor. Hazel put out a hand to block the doors open, though there was no one waiting to get in. Her fingers shook. She thought of stalking out, calling a cab. Running back to the loft—running like she’d been doing since that night, in college, when she could take no more.

  Hazel took a step back. Then another. Her shoulder blades brushed the mirror wall.

  Sliding metal knitted together over the last fragment of daylight from the lobby. The elevator pursued its descent.

  As soon as it hit the ground floor, Hazel was out, keys thrust through the gaps between her fingers like brass knuckles. She didn’t allow herself more than a cursory glance over the parking lot. The BMW was still there, but she couldn’t tell if there was anyone behind the wheel.

  Somehow, her hands didn’t shake as she unlocked the driver side door and hopped behind the wheel. Per the Hollywood recipe, her first move was to check the backseat. It came as little surprise to discover that Malcolm hadn’t thought to sneak in while she was busy interviewing. Security cameras would’ve been enough of a deterrent, even if his pride permitted it.

  But he’s still out there.

  Hazel put the car in gear, curled an arm behind the passenger seat and backed up. The Volvo lurched, unused to such rash handling.

  If it didn’t fall apart on her, Hazel would get it seen to by a mechanic. All the rickety pieces would be replaced and the upholstery mended.

  You hear that, you dinky piece of shit? No junkyard for you. Just don’t break down.

  The Volvo creaked, tires squealing as Hazel took an abrupt left turn. Behind her, the silver BMW separated smoothly from the row of parked cars that concealed it. Malcolm wasn’t done playing the cat to her mouse.

  Hazel lurched over the speed bump-pocked ramp that disgorged her into traffic. Sunlight splashed bright over the windshield, blinding her momentarily. She blinked blue-green mandalas from her vision and looked up. The rearview mirror revealed the BMW sliding onto the road at a gentler pace.

  This, too, was part of the game.

  Without taking her eyes off the road, Hazel fumbled for her handbag. Tucked away between lip gloss tubes that had become gelatinous and forgotten tampons, she squeezed her fingers around the familiar rectangle of her cell phone. She propped it against the steering wheel with a short-lived wave of relief.

  The battery had died again. Hazel popped off the plastic lid at the back as she ventured onto Olympic Boulevard. From here, her choices were limited to the Santa Monica Freeway and little else. The busy snarl of city streets was no option. She’d end up stuck at a red light and lose patience. She would make a mistake.

  She had little hope of shaking Malcolm off. He’d only come after her again.

  Hazel gunned the engine. A couple of sharp turns and she was hopping onto the gray ribbon of the freeway with the rest of the early afternoon traffic. It wasn’t much of an achievement. California was nothing if not a maze of highways to get lost in, but her car could only get her so far before it crapped out.

  Think, Whitley.

  She eased off the gas pedal just as the light on her dashboard flicked on. A kick to the chest would’ve made less of an impact. Knowing she could get back to the loft on whatever was left in the tank was all the incentive she needed to turn left on the San Diego Expressway. The flow of cars thickened, commuters pulling away from the city, delivery trucks zooming away to Santa Barbara and beyond.

  If Hazel knew one thing, it was that she couldn’t bring Malcolm to her door. Depending on how long he’d been following her, he probably already knew where to find Ward and Dylan. Hazel’s pulse spiked at the thought. All the more reason to settle this, once and for all.

  The concrete sprawl of the city faded fast in her rearview mirror as green-topped hills rose up to either of side of the expressway. Before she’d moved to California, Hazel had imagined the state to be nothing but palm trees and flatland from Pacific to Death Valley. She’d underestimated just how mountainous the coastline was.

  Bel Air might have had a monopoly on manicured lawns and tailored topiaries that took individual watering by underpaid staff, but the unbridled wilderness was equally awash in emerald. Rocky outcroppings gave way to evergreen brush and pockets of stubborn yarrow against the backdrop of a cloudless blue sky. The slight shimmer of the horizon announced more of the same.

  Up ahead, the road forked around the red cones of a construction crew. The last time Hazel had taken this turn, she’d been calling Sadie’s name into her cell. She’d been terrified.

  Hazel gave her phone battery a shake and slid it back into the plastic case. Fear simmered in her gut now, too, as she took the exit, but she couldn’t afford to fall apart.

  The phone chimed to life as she negotiated another left turn. For a moment, speeding over the highway, she had a glimpse of the vast sprawl of the city to the south. Ash and buckeye obscured her vision as she crossed the bridge and hopped onto Mulholland Drive.

  With its hairpin turns and poor lighting, that windy stretch of road was Sadie’s favorite haunt in all of LA. Hazel had been in the car with her at night and felt the seesaw between adrenaline and sheer panic deep in the marrow of her bones. She recognized its familiar pull as she negotiated the sinuous curve of the asphalt. The silver gleam that faded in and out of sight in her side mirrors told her she wasn’t alone.

  Just a little farther.

  She veered abruptly onto the side of the road when she found the dusty shelf that overlooked the city in all its glory. The Volvo crunched over gravel and dirt, stirring up an orange cloud as it spun to a sudden stop. Hazel willed her heart to drop away from her throat.

  The sight of Malcolm’s BMW pulling up in front cut short the breathing exercises.

  “I must say,” he drawled, stepping out, “this isn’t where I thought we’d end up.”

  Hazel nudged the door shut behind her and rooted her shoes to the clay-brown soil. “Were you hoping for a judge?” She didn’t know how, but her voice didn’t tremble.

  Malcolm waved a hand. “You know me. I always forgive. It’s forgetting I have trouble with.”

  “I noticed.”

  He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Sadie’s been running her mouth.”

  “She might have told me a few things about your little arrangement, yes.” She had said much more than that, but Hazel knew she had nothing to ga
in by forcing Malcolm to acknowledge his crimes. He didn’t do guilt. He was never wrong. Everything he had done would have been for her—he probably thought that made it better. Hazel stepped around the car, a trickle of pebbles dribbling down the overhang. “Why me?”

  Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “I told you. You’re mine.”

  “You’ve had other women.” You have Penny. “I’m not that special, am I?”

  “You were the first.” A shadow flitted over Malcolm’s proud features. He had a mouth made for smiling, but scorn was just as at home on his lips. “As I was yours. That you’d think you can leave what we had to the past would be funny if it wasn’t so absurd.”

  The wind whipped at the folds of his charcoal-gray blazer. Hazel thought of clipped wings and cages, and animals willing to chew off their own legs to escape a trap.

  She shammed a laugh, mindful not to make any sudden moves. “You’ve waited ten years to tell me that?”

  “You fled—”

  “I needed you,” Hazel blurted out. “I needed you and you weren’t there—and when I saw that video. What we did together…” Her eyes stung with bitter tears. “How could you do that to me?”

  Malcolm took a step toward her, the impulse to seize her into his arms clearly alive and well after all this time. “You needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “You ruined my life!”

  “From what Sadie’s told me, you’ve landed on your feet. You have a job—”

  “Had,” Hazel corrected archly. “Was that your idea of taking care of me?”

  Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “You say that as though I shouldn’t have. You’re mine, Hazel. I take care of what is mine.”

  Oh, God. He means it. Bewildered, Hazel didn’t retreat at his approach. Cars sped past, more than there were at night but still too few for witnesses.

  “My family hates me thanks to that stupid video. The whole town is—”

  “A bunch of inbred dimwits who wouldn’t know beauty if it stared them in the face.” Vehemence thickened his accent, cracks showing in the chiseled facade of the Southern gentleman Malcolm pretended to be. “I knew they would judge you. I wanted you to see it for yourself—how small-minded, how limited they all are. You didn’t belong there.”