Wyatt chuckles. “Now,” he says, with a suggestive leer, “shall we head to the bedroom and do something more fun?”
55
Piper
Lovemaking between the three of us is often intense and explosive. Tonight, it’s quieter and more contemplative. When we touch each other, it’s with tenderness. There’s still desire; there’s always desire, but as we make love, our connection seems to deepen.
When Wyatt goes down on me, I feel one with him. When I suck Owen’s cock, it feels essential. When I’m lying back on the bed, moaning with need as their hands and mouths touch me everywhere, I feel cherished.
I once told Owen and Wyatt that I didn’t enter this relationship because I wanted a threesome. It was because I wanted them, both of them, and I couldn’t separate my need and choose just one man.
The feeling that the three of us are meant to be together amplifies with each passing day. At the start, I thought that a threesome was something strange and different. Now, it feels right.
As I shudder out my climax, Owen’s face contorts with his release. Wyatt comes a minute later, and we lie there, legs and arms all tangled up in each other, breathing hard as we slowly return to earth.
And I realize something. I’ve been nervous about telling my parents about my relationship, but there’s no need to be fearful. No matter how my parents react, it isn’t going to change the outcome. I can’t imagine life without Owen and Wyatt.
56
Piper
The world needs anger. The world often continues to allow evil because it isn't angry enough.
Bede Jarrett
Owen doesn’t like this plan. Wyatt’s not thrilled about it either, but I’m absolutely set on helping them. We’re in this together.
Besides, as I’ve pointed out to Owen and Wyatt, my bodyguard Tomas is never going to be more than five paces from me, and he’s carrying a gun. I won’t be in danger.
At ten-thirty, we set off to Emerson’s. As we get closer, we separate, as planned. Owen and Wyatt duck into the alleyway that runs behind the pub, and I march ahead, my spine straight. Tomas hovers just out of sight.
With each step I take, I get angrier. Max Emerson is an asshole. I understand the desire to win, but I’d never stoop to this level. Gaming the public vote portion of the contest by hiring people to show up at my restaurant and send back food? When I see him, I’m going to punch him.
I march up to the pub door and try to push it open. It’s locked, so I take out some of my frustration by banging on it with my fists, as hard as I can. In less than a minute, the door swings open and a big, beefy blond man steps out. “Hey,” he says indignantly, looking down at me. “What’s the matter with you? Do you want to break the door down?”
“Yes,” I snap. “As a matter of fact, I do.” I deliberately try to push past him. “Where the fuck is Max Emerson? I want to see him.”
I only swear when I’m very, very angry. I’m furious now. Maybe I won’t punch Max Emerson. Maybe I’ll knee him in the groin.
“Mr. Emerson isn’t expecting anyone,” the blond hulk says.
“You think I care about that?” I snarl at him. “Let me in. I need to see Max Emerson, and I need to kick his ass.”
Drawn to the commotion, two more men appear. I bite back my grin. Good. Wyatt’s arranged for someone to watch Emerson’s all morning. They’ve reported that there are only four people in the pub, the three guards and Max Emerson himself. All I need to do is draw out Max and the way will be cleared for Owen and Wyatt to get what they need.
“You’re going to kick his ass?” One of the newcomers, a guy with greasy black hair, gives me a scoffing look. “Really, honey? Shouldn’t you pick on someone your own size?”
I show him my middle finger. “Either you find Max Emerson,” I tell him, giving him my best glare, the one I’ve learned from my mother, “or I’m pushing my way in and finding him myself.”
My scowl is remarkably effective. All three of them draw back instinctively. “I’ll fetch Mr. Emerson,” the blond guy says, hurrying off.
“Piper Jackson.” Max Emerson shows up in less than a minute, his lips curled into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be at your restaurant? Oh wait, there’s no reason for you to be there. You’ve been knocked out of Can You Take The Heat?.”
“You asshole,” I yell at him. “How dare you send your goons to my restaurant?”
He smirks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Piper.” His voice is mocking. “Did your diners not like the food last night?” He throws his head back and laughs. “Did they send the food back to the kitchen?”
His gaze hardens. “When you talk to your precious partners, Owen Lamb and Wyatt Lawless, do tell them I sent my regards.”
I give him a steady look. “You cheated.”
“If you can’t take the heat, Piper,” he says, “get out of the kitchen.”
How long has he been talking to me? Long enough for Owen and Wyatt to get what they need? My phone buzzes in my pocket. That’s our pre-arranged signal. They’re done.
“This isn’t over, Max.” I step right up to him, my expression cold. “You will regret crossing me.”
He laughs in my face. “Go home, Piper. You’re done here.”
I can’t take the heat? Max Emerson has no idea what’s about to hit him.
57
Wyatt
It always seems impossible until it's done.
Nelson Mandela
“Disqualified.”
Two days later, Piper’s is back in the contest, and Emerson’s is out.
Max Emerson’s computer was chock-full of information. The NYPD was exceedingly interested in the illegal gambling activity at Emerson’s, and is getting ready to indict Max Emerson, John Page, and a dozen other people.
Maisie Hayes, on the other hand, honed in on the emails exchanged between Max Emerson and John Page. The messages showed the two of them plotting to get Emerson’s to win Can You Take The Heat?. When Maisie read the communication between the two of them, she was furious, and she acted immediately.
John Page has been fired as a judge, and Emerson’s has been thrown out of the contest.
And Piper’s is in the finals.
The producer was gleeful about the drama. I’ve no doubt that when the show finally airs to the public, this will serve as a big reveal. “I bet we’ll get a huge ratings boost,” he said to me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. It took effort not to punch him.
“What’s going on with your father?” Piper asks me, once the dust settles. “We’ve been so busy with the contest that I’ve hardly had time to ask you.”
I shrug. “He’s disappeared. He hasn’t been back at the apartment he was staying at in two weeks. Stone Bradley’s looking for him.”
“Have you made any decisions?” she asks. “Are you going to pay him?”
“I don’t know.” The twenty-one days I had to form a plan has shrunk to seven. It’s Monday today. On Saturday, Piper will compete in the final round of Can You Take The Heat?. And on Sunday, I’ll have to either give into my father’s blackmail, or let the pictures of my mother’s house go public.
She frowns. “I hate the idea that your father might win,” she says. “The bad guys shouldn’t succeed. It’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Piper,” I reply philosophically. “I don’t like it either, but I don’t want my mother hurt. Even though she says she’s prepared for the gossip that’d break out when the photos are leaked to the tabloids, I don’t think she is. All her life, she’s kept her illness hidden from her friends and co-workers. I can’t out her. If it costs three million dollars to keep her secret, then so be it.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” she concedes, frowning. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“You’re not the only one, baby.”
It’s the night before the final round of Can You Take The Heat?. The three of us are having a late dinner when my phone rings. Stone Bradley’s number shows
up on the display and I pick up the call. “Hello?”
“Mr. Lawless,” Stone’s voice is crisp. “You asked me to let you know as soon as we located your father.”
I sit up. “You know where he is?”
“He signed a short term lease on a studio in Harlem, and he moved in today.” He reels off an address. “He’s at a neighborhood bar right now. Do you want me to put a tail on him?”
“Yes.” If I’d had my father watched right from the start, he’d have never been able to ambush me at Piper’s. He’d have never been able to approach my mother without my knowledge. I’m not going to make this mistake twice. Not when the final round is tomorrow. Who knows what Jack Lawless could decide to do after a few drinks?
I hang up and stare into space. In less than twenty-four hours, the contest will be in full swing. A few hours after that, I’ll meet my father and give him three million dollars, whether I like it or not.
Owen clears his throat. “Are you okay, Wyatt?” he asks me.
“I guess so. Stone called to tell me he’s located my father. He’s in an apartment in Harlem.”
I turn to ask Piper if she needs more wine, only to see her staring at me as if I’ve grown a third head. “What’s the matter?”
“Whatever you do on Sunday,” she says slowly, “I want you to do by choice. If you want to give your father some money, you should do it. But not this way. Not because he’s forcing you to.” Her eyes gleam with anger. “You’re calmer about this than I am, Wyatt. I’m furious. And you know what I’ve just realized?”
“What?”
“Owen knows how to break into places. I know how to be a good distraction, and you know how to do computer stuff.”
Owen straightens. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
Piper nods resolutely. “We’re going to break into this apartment in Harlem and we’re going to steal the photos.”
I’ve got to stop this nonsense before either of them get more excited. “Piper, the final round of Can You Take The Heat? is tomorrow. Our focus should be on the contest, not my dad’s bullshit.”
She shakes her head. “You’re wrong. You both helped me when I had no hope. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve given me the most precious gift of all. You made me believe in myself. I used to lie awake at night, worrying myself sick about money. You guys gave me peace of mind, and Wyatt, it’s time I returned the favor. Please. Let’s get the photos back.”
“There’s a flaw in this plan,” Owen cuts in. “It’s a set of photos. Wyatt’s father could have emailed it to himself, he could have uploaded it on the internet, he could have posted them on Facebook. We could delete them from his computer, but there will be copies.”
Something nags at me. I struggle to remember what my mother told me. “No, there won’t be,” I correct him as the memory returns. “My mother told me he used an SLR camera. He’s old-school. He doesn’t believe in digital cameras.”
“Excellent.” Piper jumps to her feet, looking excited. “Let’s go steal your photos, Wyatt.”
We flag down a cab and the three of us squeeze into the back seat. I try to protest, but neither of them is listening to reason. “It killed me to give Mendez Max Emerson’s computer files,” Owen says grimly. “I felt like I was rewarding bad behavior. Mendez lied to me and I had to help him so that Emerson’s would get disqualified. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let your father get away with blackmail, Wyatt. Not if I can prevent it.”
“I agree,” Piper says. There’s a stubborn look on her face, and I sigh when I see it. There’s not the slightest chance she’s going to change her mind.
The cab pulls up outside the building. We do a casual walk-by. The first thing we see is the desk in the center of the lobby, with a security guard seated behind it. “I see he’s already spending my three million dollars,” I remark wryly.
Owen assesses the layout of the building. “The elevators are behind a locked glass door. I’m assuming that residents have keys, and the security guard buzzes guests in.”
Piper straightens her shoulders. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” she says. “I’ll go in and tell the security guard that I’m looking for my uncle, and I’ll convince him to let me in.”
Her blouse shows a generous amount of cleavage. “By flashing him your boobs?” I growl.
She ignores my comment. “You guys just walk in like you own the place.” She gives me a mocking look. “You’re good at that. And I’ll hold the door open for you.”
Strangely, though this plan has a lot of potential to fall apart, it works exactly as we hope. The security guard lets Piper in after ogling her breasts. We stride in behind her, our timing perfect. I hold my breath, waiting for the guard to challenge us, but he’s gone back to fiddling with his phone.
We enter the elevator. “Do you know the apartment number he’s in?” Owen asks.
“Thirteen-forty-two.”
Owen hits the button for the thirteenth floor, and the doors slide shut. “Are you going to be able to pick the lock?” Piper asks him.
He nods. “I’m rusty, but this is an old building in Harlem. Unless your father’s installed new locks, getting in should be a piece of cake.”
Sure enough, Owen has no trouble opening the door. We enter, our eyes darting around the small studio.
A half-dozen moving boxes are stacked up haphazardly in the middle of the room. There’s an unmade bed against the far wall, and a small bedside table next to it. The room doesn’t have any furniture.
“There.” Piper points to an opened suitcase on the bed. “That’s the camera, isn’t it?”
I move inside and grab it. “He might have got the film developed,” Owen says. “Look around for prints.”
“Here.” Piper holds up a bright yellow envelope with two flaps, one holding a set of photos, the other containing the negatives.
I take it from her and flip through the photos quickly. It’s my mother’s house alright. The sink overflows with dishes. The dining room table is completely covered with clothes and piles of books and newspapers. When I see the chaos, my throat starts to close. I shove the photos back in the envelope. “Yes, this is it.”
Owen does a quick and efficient search of the room, making sure there isn’t another copy of the pictures. Nothing turns up. “No computer?” Piper asks.
“He doesn’t seem to own one.”
“Okay.” We’ve been here for five minutes. It’s time to go. “We’re pushing our luck. Let’s leave.”
We head downstairs without incident and hail a cab. When we’re safely away from the apartment, Piper starts to giggle. Owen shakes his head with a grin, and even I have to chuckle. “I can’t believe we did that,” I tell them.
“I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner,” Owen replies.
“We didn’t know where my father was,” I remind him. “Not until this evening.”
Piper just smiles happily and squeezes my hand. I’m about to pull her toward me and kiss her when all of our phones beep at the same time. “What the heck?” I swear, looking at the display. It’s an automated message from the cameras we installed.
It’s an intruder alert.
Someone is trying to break into Piper’s.
Owen exchanges a hard look with me. It’s past closing time at the restaurant. The place should be empty. And the timing, one day before the Can You Take The Heat? finals, that can’t be an accident.
We’re facing yet another act of sabotage.
I lean forward and tap at the glass partition to catch the attention of the cab driver. “Change of plans,” I tell him. “Take us to Hell’s Kitchen instead.”
58
Piper
Let no such man be trusted.
William Shakespeare
The cab races toward my restaurant. Our phones beep again; the intruders have triggered the motion detectors inside the kitchen. “They’re inside.”
The kitchen cameras have been set up to stream to our phon
es. We watch three people enter my restaurant, but they’re wearing hoodies and I can’t make out who they are.
“What’s he holding?” Owen wonders, his eyes glued to his phone.
“Who?” I stare harder at my screen and notice what Owen’s seen. One of the intruders is taller and broader than the other two, and he’s carrying a case in his hand.
“How far away are we?” There’s a note of fear in my voice. What if they destroy my freezer or my range? We’ll be hard pressed to get a replacement in time for the contest tomorrow.
“Five minutes,” Wyatt replies, sounding absolutely livid. “And when we get there, I’m going to make these clowns regret that they ever decided to break into your restaurant.”
In four minutes, we pull up at the back door. Wyatt hands the cab driver a hundred and doesn’t wait for change. Owen’s already jumped out and is running full tilt toward the door. Though he growls something about danger, I’m hot on his heels.
I don’t care about my safety. I’m done with this nonsense. First the over-salted gravy, then Max Emerson’s stunt. I’m tired of the unending acts of sabotage. Like Wyatt, I want to kick some ass.
Owen unlocks the door and charges in, only to come to a dead halt. I almost slam into his back, then I look up to see what’s caused him to stop.
There are three people in my kitchen. One of them is opening a metal cage containing wriggling white mice. That’s not why I freeze. It’s because I recognize the intruders.
My father’s just let the mice out. My mother stands behind him, her expression nervous as the animals escape confinement and make a mad dash for freedom. And Kimmie leans against a counter, watching the proceedings with a peculiar look of satisfaction on her face.
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