The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “But you work for him.”

  “For now,” I said, questioning my judgment for believing Dillon could be innocent of the charges. “It’s just too much to deal with.”

  “So you heard Dillon scold one of his employees. Well, call me guilty,” she said, holding up a hand. “Anyone who runs a business has had difficult conversations with their employees. And then afterward, you think about it a little more and you realize half the crap you said might have been over the top. I’ve been there. It’s because we care too much about this little thing that we helped grow from a seed into a thriving business.”

  I shook my head.

  “What are you thinking but not saying?”

  “You don’t get it.” I picked up my phone to check if Stan had replied to my text that included the picture of the truck and its partial plate. I’d purposely kept my message succinct, telling him it was connected to the Dillon Burchfield case, but that I’d give him more details later.

  “Okay, Ivy,” she said, sitting on the coffee table across from me. She was wearing a powder-blue summer dress with spaghetti straps that accentuated the top part of her figure. Then again, what didn’t accentuate her figure? “There’s something I’m missing. Please explain it to me.”

  “I told you what he said, but maybe I didn’t describe Emma’s reaction very well.”

  “The little girl heard him?’

  I nodded. “I could see her heart tear in two right before my eyes. The same look I saw a week earlier at the truck stop. She’s been put through hell, and I don’t think anyone is noticing.”

  She pursed her full lips. “I’m sorry if I’m being selfish. I really feel for the little girl.”

  “It’s so frustrating because I can’t do anything about it. Her dad could be a rapist, her mom is crazy and locked up some place. I can’t abandon her now, but at the same time, part of me believes Dillon is bad news.”

  She put a hand on my knee. “Did this bring up some bad memories about…”

  “Milton Weber. Say his name please. He’s real, not a figment of my imagination.”

  “I’m glad you said it, Ivy. He’s not on my top ten list either, after what he tried to do to me. I will forever be indebted to my dog for saving me. But, honestly, I’m worried about you.”

  I tilted my head.

  “Look at you,” she said, flinging her hand my way, which rattled her jeweled bracelet.

  I did a quick once-over of myself. No makeup. Large, holey T-shirt. Baggy shorts that I normally wear when it’s that time of the month. I looked down at my feet and saw stretched athletic socks sagging down my ankles. “Your point?”

  “You’re letting this crap eat you up. Once I leave, you’re going to pull a blanket over your head, hold your new 9mm toy against your chest, and wait for what you think is inevitable—Milton knocking on your door for one final visit. Once you finally wake up from this depressed state, you’ll be in your sixties wondering what happened to the last three decades of your pathetic life.”

  I looked away as emotion tugged at me. I tried diverting my thoughts to something mundane, like Zorro over at his bowl, lapping up water. Anything to push reality out of my thoughts. But I couldn’t hide it longer than a few seconds. I began to feel my bottom lip quiver.

  “Come here, you.” She pulled me up and gave me a big hug.

  I released an exhausted, stuttered breath as she held my shoulders at arm’s length. “I don’t mean to put more pressure on you. Just think about what I said, and we can talk tomorrow.”

  “What are you saying?” I said with a sniffle.

  “I guess I’ll go solo for tonight,” she said, scooting away from the couch as she balanced herself on her towering platforms.

  I blinked my eyes, and the replay of Dillon’s mean-spirited rebuke flashed through my mind. My initial reaction was to want to protect Emma. That was a natural response, but it had only diverted my attention away from the crippling feeling inside my body. My survival instinct had kicked in, even if I hadn’t recognized it.

  The first shot to my gut, though, were his words. Actually, it was his tone when he’d said, “Do your fucking job, or you’ll regret it.” The hate in his voice was palpable; it was something I’d heard so many times growing up. It was more than just “being mean.” Yet, when I really thought about it without being influenced by my emotional swings, I realized it was fear that created all of these reactions, or lack of action.

  Maybe Zahera was right. I was slowly crawling back into my cocoon, allowing the person I perceived as a threat, Dillon, to have control over me, just like with Milton. All of those early years of abuse and neglect had come back to haunt me once again, turning my life upside down.

  I thought more about Emma, how she had still been clinging to her dad when I left. Even with his baggage and criminal charges, Dillon seemed like a doting, loving father. But based upon what I’d heard, could I really trust that he would do right by his daughter…to put her safety and well-being above whatever crazy shit was going on in his life?

  I sensed that I stood at a fork in the road. One that might define the rest of Emma’s life. One that might define mine.

  Do it for Emma. Do it for yourself, dammit. Don’t allow a raving bully to control your thoughts and your actions.

  Pushing up to a standing position, I spoke before I talked myself out of it. “If you pick out my dress, I’ll go.”

  She squealed, and then had the time of her life helping me get ready.

  14

  Champagne spilled over the edges of a tower of glasses, making plopping and gurgling sounds. A pump somewhere in the elaborate setup sent the champagne back up to the top, and the process was repeated.

  “You’re either catatonic or you’re deep in thought,” Zahera said, pulling up to my side.

  “I’ve never seen a champagne fountain before. It’s kind of cool.”

  Zahera glanced at the hordes of people moving around us and giggled “You crack me up Ivy. It’s like I’m watching one of those pet videos on Facebook.”

  I laughed and turned to see Saul standing near the pool, talking to two young ladies. He held up his drink and smiled. I forced a return smile.

  “You still have a thing for him, don’t you?”

  “A thing?”

  “A crush.”

  “That’s for little girls. I’m a grown-ass woman. He must have thought I was some naïve teenager back when he was giving me half-truths.”

  Zahera put her arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “I love it when you get riled up. All of your passion comes out.”

  I looked at her and arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

  “He’s a guy; he’s got some, uh…natural obstacles to overcome. But you’ve kept him at bay for months now. Don’t you think it’s time you gave him a second chance?”

  One of the ladies he was speaking with—a woman who looked like she was a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys—doubled over in laughter. In doing so, she gave half the free world the ultimate boob shot.

  Zahera gestured with her chin. “You see that? He didn’t even look.”

  “He looked.”

  “He didn’t look.”

  “He’s just good at hiding it.” I turned away and looked at the votive candles floating in the pool. The back property was surrounded by pines and towering oaks. Not exactly a hallmark of the area—Dillon must have paid to have them brought in. A few seconds later, I glanced back at Saul and his two eager beavers. “I don’t know…maybe I’ll turn into a nun and just bypass the whole guy thing.”

  Zahera twisted her lips. “You need a drink, girl. You have seriously lost your marbles. Guys are generally gross, inconsiderate, and think way too highly of themselves. That’s a known fact. But if you find the right one, the top one percent, then...”

  I waved a hand in front of her face. “Have you forgotten? You’ve struck out twice.” I was referring to her two divorces.

  “Biggest regrets of my life. But back then, I did
n’t know the real Zahera. It’s different now. I’m ready to share my life with the right person.”

  I tried to imagine a guy who wouldn’t be intimidated by Zahera’s success, let alone the constant gawking by every guy who walked past her. “And here I thought you’d sworn off marriage and were just looking to add to your trophy case.”

  She nodded, then locked eyes with a guy who was wearing a tuxedo. He smiled back while adjusting the clasp on one of his cufflinks. “It’s nice to have an assortment of trophies,” Zahera said.

  “You sure you don’t mean conquests?” I winked at her.

  “It’s just smart to try something on before you buy it. To find that one-percenter, it takes a lot of hard work.”

  A waiter walked by, holding a tray of champagne glasses. Zahera plucked two off the tray while he was in midstride and handed me one.

  “Here’s to the one-percenters,” she said, clinking my glass.

  I took a sip. “This doesn’t even taste like real champagne.”

  “You don’t know what real champagne tastes like. This is the stuff that costs two hundred dollars a bottle.”

  “You’re right. I guess I’m a champagne virgin,” I said, taking another sip.

  “Careful there. This stuff is potent. It sneaks up on you.”

  “I’ve always wanted a mom. Volunteering?”

  “Damn, you’re sassy tonight.” She again caught the eye of the James Bond-like man from across the patio, and then she drifted away in his direction without saying another word to me.

  I felt a little conspicuous standing by myself. Everyone else was either paired up or huddled in a larger crowd. Laughter filled the air, just above jazz music coming out of speakers I couldn’t see. My eyes swept through the crowd. They were all pretty people. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman at the polo club. While I was anything but a prostitute, I was out of place.

  Drawn by the smell of chocolate, I found myself by a station where a man was dipping strawberries under melting chocolate.

  “Would the lovely lady like to have a chocolate-covered strawberry?” The man looked like the Cake Boss, but his voice was velvety smooth.

  I looked behind me. Who’s he talking to? Me?

  “Yes, you, in your gorgeous pink dress. Is it designer?”

  I tried to cover up my smirk. “Hardly. I’ll take the strawberry.” I took one bite. “That’s the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in my life.”

  A business card was stuck in my face. “I can do parties, bar mitzvahs, you name it. I specialize in bachelorette parties.” He winked and then cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. “I have a cousin who, you know, does that whole chaps thing.”

  I took his card, trying not to look too weirded out.

  “You know, he’s a stripper. And for the right price, he’ll…” He quickly raised both eyebrows. “They call him Randy the Master Blaster.”

  I choked on my strawberry. “Thank you,” I said, shuffling away from the man.

  I found myself in front of a long table filled with ornate goodie baskets. Then I saw a sign that said Silent Auction. I walked slowly down the line, wondering if there was any way I could afford one of the items. Maybe get a good bargain on something while also helping out a worthwhile cause.

  “Holy shit.” I was staring at a bid for one of the top chefs in the area to come to your home and cook you a meal. The latest bid: three thousand dollars.

  Moving a few feet to my left, I nearly stumbled over someone. I looked up and saw Saul with his head buried in his phone.

  “Get over the sticker shock yet?” he asked as a smile cracked his lips.

  Stop staring at his lips, Ivy.

  I listened to my advice, but then found myself gazing into his syrupy eyes. Bad move. My heart fluttered just a bit.

  “Are you watching a game or something?”

  “No, just this new video about the case.”

  “About Dillon’s criminal charges?” I said quietly.

  He tapped his right ear. I saw an earbud and then noticed the wire connecting to his phone. He pulled another earbud from his front pocket. “You want to listen with me? It’s a brief news report.”

  “Why not?”

  A moment later, he tapped the arrow on the screen. I could see the logo for Channel 4 News in the lower right-hand corner, so I knew it was a local story.

  Emma ran up to me holding pink and blue streamers above her head. I held out my hand, signaling Saul to stop the video, and I pulled out my earbud. “Hey, Emma. Are you having fun running around all of the adults?” I knelt to be at her eye level.

  “Parties are boring. Everyone just smiles at me and doesn’t want to play. Do you want to play?”

  Dillon appeared just behind his daughter. “Emma, sweetie, didn’t I ask you not to bother our guests?”

  “But Daddy, it’s just Ivy Nash. She likes to play with me. Right, Ivy Nash?”

  “You bet I do.”

  “Seriously, Ivy, you’re not on the clock or anything,” Dillon said with a warm smile. He seemed like he was back to the person I’d known before, calm and approachable. It helped alleviate some of my current anxiety, but I wouldn’t forget what I’d heard and seen outside his office either. In fact, if anything, I knew I needed more information on Dillon. I wanted to get access to his office. See if I could find a name or phone number. He continued. “I appreciate you being so nice to Emma, but playing with her is not required. She’s big enough to understand that sometimes adults need to do their own thing. What’s the old adage? Children are to be seen and not heard. Ha, in this day and age, that’s nearly impossible, but she’s a good girl. Right, Emma?”

  She nodded and put her arm around her dad’s leg. She didn’t seem scared. In fact, she seemed quite attached to her father.

  Someone called out Dillon’s name. “Hey, I need to continue making the rounds. I hope you enjoy the evening. This cause means a great deal to me, now more than ever, given what happened…” He nudged his head, obviously not wanting to call out the kidnapping incident with Emma’s mother just a week earlier.

  Saul and I both nodded.

  Dillon hadn’t taken more than two steps when he flipped around. “By the way, Ivy, I saw you glancing at that chef-prepared meal in the silent auction. The chef, Allen Rathbun, is absolutely amazing. I highly recommend him.”

  “Well, I, uh…it’s a bit out of my price range.”

  “I was going to say that it’s on me. I’ll top the highest bid. You and Saul are working very hard on my behalf. Why don’t you enjoy a nice quiet evening with Mr. Rathbun cooking a meal for you? Once we get past all of this ugly business. Gotta run.”

  “Thank you,” I said, holding up a hand. I turned and looked at Saul, who shrugged his shoulders. Before he could say anything, Emma tugged on my dress.

  “Daddy doesn’t have to know that you’re playing with me. We can go inside, upstairs. No adults up there.”

  That might be my opportunity to look around Dillon’s office. “I need to watch this video with Saul, and then we can go have some fun.”

  Apparently, Emma’s four-year-old patience wasn’t open to waiting. She fluttered the pink streamer in front of my face. “I’ll even give you the pink one,” she said as if that was an extra enticement.

  “I love pink. It will match my dress.”

  She giggled.

  “Let me do my thing here with Saul. While you’re waiting, do you want to get a chocolate-covered strawberry? They’re extra yummy.”

  She handed me both of her streamers and ran in the direction of the strawberry station.

  As I brought the earbud up to my ear, Saul looked at me. “I guess that chef-prepared meal is kind of cool.”

  “Very expensive. But the money will go to a good cause.”

  “We don’t have to treat it like a date or anything.” He gave me a sheepish look.

  “Dates are for people who are dating. Are we dating?”

  He shook his head. He had sad eyes.r />
  I didn’t want to address this dating topic. “Let’s just watch the video, okay?”

  He tapped the button, and we saw an anchorman sitting at a desk with a picture of Dillon behind him. “A pretrial hearing is scheduled for tomorrow morning in the case against Dillon Burchfield. The San Antonio billionaire most known for his space exploration company, Spatium, has been charged with sexual assault of a minor. We caught his attorney, Herbert Ross, leaving his office earlier today.”

  The video cut to Ross adjusting his glasses, a mic in front of his face. “It goes without saying that Mr. Burchfield is appalled at the criminal justice process. He’s been railroaded like something I haven’t seen while practicing law for the last thirty-two years. These charges are baseless, and frankly, this trial will prove to be nothing more than a waste of taxpayers’ money. But once we share the facts—not just wild assumptions—Mr. Burchfield will be exonerated. Good day.”

  He turned and walked off camera. We pulled out our earbuds, and Saul pocketed his phone, his eyes on me. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “The script. I wrote it.” He smiled like he’d just won the Nobel Prize in Literature. I looked away and noticed Dillon in the middle of a crowd, everyone brown-nosing him, laughing at whatever he was saying. To them, it was just another event to hobnob with people of the same ilk. Were they assuming the charges against Dillon would be dropped? That it was some type of conspiracy against the elite?

  Turning back to Saul, I said, “The whole thing was staged?”

  “That’s how it works, Ivy. You can’t change the system. You just have to know how to work it. I don’t like how Ross treats people, but I’ve learned a lot about everything that surrounds a case, especially with such a well-known person. Public sentiment, or empathy, can have a subtle impact on all the parties involved—the judge, the prosecutor, and, if we get that far, the jurors.”

  Was Saul turning into one of them? “I saw the picture of the victim.”