Blake picked up the phone. “That was quick.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Blake gripped the receiver and waited.
“That website’s a doozy alright. Enough to get him an express ticket back to where he came from.”
“So you got what you needed. Proof he posted that shit?”
“That’s our problem.” Ron blew a heavy grunt through his nose. “That URL’s registered to you.”
“Me? How’d the son of a bitch manage that?”
“It wasn’t hard. Got his hands on your credit card information, email address, the basic personal info, and signed you up.”
“You shut it down yet?”
“Not completely, but enough of the links are broken, nobody can get to what they’re looking for. Davey’s working on it. He’ll have it down tonight.”
Blake eased his strangle hold on the phone, enough to get circulation back in his fingers.
“I’m working on the money trail,” Ron said. “We might be able to nail him that way.”
“Money trail?”
“Forty-nine ninety-five to view video, nineteen ninety-five for still shots.”
“A lot of customers?” Blake closed his eyes. Haylie would come apart if she ever found out a single image had been sold.
“More than a few,” Ron admitted. “Some sick fucks in this world.”
“See if he’s got any other sites set up in my name, or hers, or anybody else you can think of. If you find any, tear them down first and ask questions later.”
“You got it. Call your credit card companies, get new cards, and get a copy of your credit report. If we can’t pin identity theft on him, and the bar association gets wind of this, you’re going to have a headache on your hands.”
“Anything else?” Blake’s lungs burned with pent-up fury and every muscle in his body ached to tear Carl Monroe apart limb by limb.
“He’s trying to provoke you,” Ron said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Blake fell back in his chair. “Got any advice I can follow?”
“Keep Haylie close and give me a little time. Assholes like this want attention too bad to stay under the radar. He’ll give us everything we need.”
“Maybe we should just call the police,” Blake said.
“Ordinarily, I’d agree. But if Haylie’s right, and I think she might be, he’ll go after somebody close to her. The cops don’t get in a hurry ’til blood’s been shed. It’s easier for now, if we only have one person to worry about. We’ll call Harper County’s finest when we can hand Carl Monroe over on a silver platter.”
* * * *
Haylie pulled up in front of the modest brick house she’d grown up in and parked in the street beneath the broad limbs of an old oak. Two cats scattered off the porch and the curtain in the front window fell quietly back in place.
She looked around quickly, and hurried up to the steps. The old screen door springs responded with a screeching groan, and from the living room came the sound of the television.
She slapped her palm against the front door. “Mom, it’s me. Open up.”
For the next few minutes, the television was the only answer.
“If you don’t let me in, I’m sending over an ambulance and the police,” Haylie yelled.
The television went silent and her mother’s footsteps moved slowly toward the door. Haylie waited while the locks turned and the door opened a couple of inches.
“Get out of here, before he comes back,” Maureen said through the crack, her face shadowed in the darkness of the room.
“What’d he do to you?”
“He got mad I went to see you without him. Just lost his temper. I’m fine.”
“Let me see.” Haylie pushed against the door. Maureen reluctantly stepped aside. As the afternoon light filled the drapery drawn room, she gasped at the sight of her mother’s face. One eye had swollen shut and a gash ran from her hairline to her temple. Too overwhelmed with anger and hate and guilt and love to respond with words, she took her mother in her arms and rocked her gently.
Maureen’s arms hung limp at her sides. “Don’t make a fuss.”
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Did you black out?”
“Maybe for a minute.”
“Come on,” Haylie said, taking her by the arm.
Maureen jerked away. “No.” Her voice was firm even as her eyes filled with tears.
“You can ride to the hospital with me, or in an ambulance. Your choice.”
Maureen’s fingers went to her head and trembled along the perimeters of the wound.
“You need stitches. You may have a concussion.” Haylie fought to keep her voice calm, to not scream at her mother for protecting the man who’d done this to her.
“I passed out in the kitchen,” Maureen said slowly. “Hit my head on the table when I fell.”
It took Haylie a minute to understand. “No,” she said. “You tell them what happened. Don’t lie for him.”
Maureen lifted her chin in defiance. “That’s what happened. He wasn’t even here. If he had been, he would’ve taken me to the hospital himself.”
Fury and pity swirled together in the pit of Haylie’s stomach, blending together so seamlessly she couldn’t tell one from the other. It was different when she refused to turn him over to police herself. She never once kept silent to protect her father. She only protected the people she cared about, the people who needed her to be strong. She had protected her mother.
“No, Mom.” She crossed the room and picked up the phone next to the sofa. “We’re going to tell them the truth. If you can’t, I will.”
The fallout wouldn’t be pretty, but Haylie didn’t dwell on the possible repercussions as she called for an officer and an ambulance to be sent to her mother’s address. He couldn’t hurt her mother anymore or make her life miserable or threaten any of the Belles. He’d be back in jail before he could hurt anyone else.
“They won’t catch him,” Maureen said from where she stood by the door as Haylie placed the phone in the cradle. “He won’t ever go back.”
Maureen’s struggle ripped across her battered features. She had never before betrayed the man she married. Not once. And before Haylie could figure out why she would betray him now, tears filled her mother’s eyes.
“He said this is nothing compared to what he’s going to do to you.” Maureen’s body quaked hard with the admission, and her hands fell trembling to her sides. Haylie guided her to the sofa.
“I’m not afraid of him.” She folded her mother’s bloodstained hands in hers. “He can’t ever hurt me worse than he already did.”
* * * *
“Judge just issued a warrant for the arrest of Carl Monroe.” Ron’s voice wasn’t filled with half the cockiness it should have been.
Blake grinned into his cell phone and kicked his feet up on the stack of case files on his coffee table. “You work faster than a shot of tequila. How’d you nail him?”
“I didn’t. He’s wanted for domestic battery.”
Blake leaned forward, dropping his feet to the floor. “Battery on who?”
“His wife. Worked her over pretty bad, according to my sources.”
Blake ran his hand through his hair. He shouldn’t feel relieved, but he couldn’t help it. Haylie hadn’t been involved.
“I wouldn’t expect him to get picked up anytime soon,” Ron continued. “He’ll run. He’s got nothing to lose.”
“I can’t believe she turned him in.” He’d heard enough of Haylie’s conversation with her mother to understand where the woman’s loyalties lay. Maybe things looked different to her on the receiving end. All that mattered was the bastard had written his own ticket back to jail, and Haylie wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.
“Haylie’s name is on the report,” Ron said with a heavy sigh. “If he wasn’t already planning to come after her, he will once he figures out she cal
led the police.”
Chapter 10
“You’re like static cling,” Haylie said as Blake wrapped his arms around her and almost made her drop the earring she was putting in her ear. “I can’t get rid of you.”
He stepped back and turned her in a slow twirl. “What do you expect when you look like this?”
With tonight’s cocktail auction to worry about and Blake and Grady constantly underfoot for the past two days, she hadn’t had much time to fret about her father. Her mother wouldn’t accept her phone calls, but Ina Peters called every night with an update. Maureen was recovering and wanting desperately for her husband to come home.
No one had heard so much as a whisper from Carl Monroe. Maybe he had taken the chance to get out of Dodge while he still held a shred of freedom. Or maybe he lurked in the shadows outside her door. Haylie shook off the thought. He wasn’t stupid enough to get that close with Blake and Grady glued to her side.
“You look amazing yourself,” she said as she adjusted Blake’s collar and ran her hands down the pressed lapels of his black tuxedo.
He caught her wrists and pulled her close. “As much as I like this dress, I’m dying to take it off you.”
“You’re going to have to wait. I need it to rake in the dough tonight.”
His lips trailed her neck. “How much money do you need to raise?”
“Truck loads.” She sighed, trying to focus while his tongue sent flames all the way to her toes. “A hundred grand would get us through the year, but I’ll take what I can get. If enough business owners lend support tonight, others will jump onboard soon. That’s the plan anyway.” She disentangled herself and moved to the mirror.
Blake moved her hair off her shoulder and kissed her neck again, then turned her slowly, hands on her waist, fingers gliding over the blue silk of her dress. The fire in her body didn’t compare to what he’d done to her heart. Her feelings for him went beyond sexual. It stretched into terrain she didn’t think she’d ever navigate again. “We’ll be late,” she murmured.
“They can’t start without you.”
* * * *
“Wow,” Ashlyn whispered in Haylie’s ear, her eyes glued on Grady as he stood behind the microphone and had the entire room of social piranhas hanging on his every word. “He’s a natural.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Amanda said, taking the barstool across from them.
“No apologies necessary.” Haylie let out a low whistle and gave Amanda’s date the once over.
Amanda leaned forward as the gorgeous devil she brought with her stopped a waiter to place a drink order. “Research, he’s a fitness model.”
“If Blake ever leaves me, I’m going to start writing romances,” Haylie whispered back.
Ashlyn nodded toward Grady. “Don’t change a thing. What you do is amazing.”
Haylie’s heart swelled. Grady did make her proud. He carefully detailed all the ways the organization would benefit driven young people like himself. He mentioned making mistakes and the importance of Haylie’s guidance in his life. He didn’t go into detail, or mention his arrest and the upcoming trial, but even if he had she had no doubt he would have kept every one of them on his side anyway. His polish and finesse despite his rough beginnings was commendable. He was young and bright, and the future was written in his eyes. But Grady wasn’t a one-man show. Kara had warmed the crowd up better than anyone could have. Her voice and talent for radio combined with a face and body made for television drew every eye and ear in the place.
Haylie couldn’t help but smile. Her friends were her rock. Without them, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Grady stepped down to a round of applause and Kara picked up the mike again. “Alright, folks. You’ve been freeloading long enough.” She paused while laughter filled the room. “Happy hour has ended. Now you’re going to pay through your teeth for every drop of alcohol you consume. Who’s buying the first round? Only five hundred dollars, for you and one of your closest friends.” She paused to wink at a graying gentlemen sitting at the closest bar height table. “And yes, I’ll be your friend, Mr. Gentry.”
Charles Gentry nodded and summoned the nearest waiter. “A drink for the lady. A scotch for me. And bring my wife a double.”
Laughter skittered about the room.
“We’re not drinking alone, are we?” Kara began making her way through the crowd, working the tables as the band fired up. In her wake people moved to the dance floor as waiters hurried back and forth to the bar.
Haylie said goodnight to Grady and let Blake lead her to the dance floor. He pulled her close, his palm warm on her back, resting just above the silk that dipped to the base of her spine. “You’re doing it, babe. Tonight couldn’t be going better.”
She smiled up at him. She couldn’t argue. Everyone was having a good time, drinks were flowing and the party was just getting started. She was in the midst of one of those moments where the entire world seemed right.
A shiver zipped down her spine, and she turned around expecting to see someone there.
“You cold?” he asked, rubbing the goose bumps that had risen on her skin.
“Just a chill.” She shook off the uneasiness and let him guide her through the music.
After a couple of songs, Kara addressed the crowd again. “I don’t know who’s buying this round, but the price just went up.” She paused for effect then added, “Don’t blame me. Y’all vote republican so you ought to understand inflation. One thousand dollars for you and two of your closest friends.” She lowered her voice to a seductive drawl. “Charlie, are we still friends? Or am I looking for a new man now?” More laughter preceded a chorus of, “I’ll be your friend.”
The generosity ran deep, and by the end of the night as the prices rose higher and the drinks tapered off, Haylie was drunk off satisfaction alone. She was engulfed in a conversation with Charles Gentry’s good natured wife, Mallory, a tireless philanthropist, when a deep voice replaced Kara’s on the microphone. She turned to Blake as he addressed the guests.
“On behalf of the beautiful lady who allowed me to escort her here tonight, Ms. Haylie Monroe, I’d like to thank all of you for drinking like fish.” The crowd responded with their usual joviality. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s time for last call. On a brighter note, the bartender just dug up a bottle of Gran Patron Platinum tequila, and I’d like to invite all my friends… and anybody who has a cousin I kept out of the big house …” He raised his brows and looked around the room, resting here and there on specific individuals to uproarious laughter. “I’d like to invite you to join me in a drink. I’m paying ten thousand dollars for mine, and it’ll cost you the same. Double if your last name is Marshfield.”
Ed Marshfield was quick to comeback. “I’ll pay double when you start driving a Chevrolet.”
“I’ll come by the showroom tomorrow,” Blake responded with a smile. “Now, who’s joining me besides Ed?”
Waiters hurried to deliver the shots around the room as Haylie stared in amazement, first at Blake then at the guests’ response. He had easily raised more money for the foundation in five minutes than had been raised all night.
Kara sidled up next to her with a shot glass in each hand. She passed one to Haylie. “Compliments of the Gentrys.”
Haylie raised her glass. “To the Belles.”
“And to that hot ass devil over there who just kicked this party into high gear,” Kara added, nodding toward Blake.
Haylie raised her glass in Blake’s direction then went to thank him.
She waited at his side for the last of the drinks to be delivered. “I’d like everyone to join me in a toast,” he said. “To the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. A woman with vision, determination, intelligence, and… I could go on all night.” He gave Haylie his most devilish wink. “And when she lets me, I do.” The crowd roared. Blake waited for the laughter to die down. “In all seriousness though, AL.F.A.A. was Ms. Haylie Monroe’s conception and the answer to a lot o
f prayers. Without her and support from all of you, AL.F.A.A. would not be possible. So to Ms. Haylie Monroe, and to all of you.” He raised his glass.
Haylie resisted the urge to shimmy as the liquor burned a trail to her belly. Even expensive tequila was made te kill ya!
She handed her glass to one of the waiters, took Blake’s hand and leaned in to place a kiss below his ear. “Thank you,” she said.
He caught her gaze and trailed his fingers up her bare back. She recognized the look, before he spoke the words. “I love you,” he said.
She pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
Kara stepped up to her side. “Ready to make a grand exit before these people realize how much money they’ve pissed away? Literally, not figuratively.”
* * * *
A row of limousines waited along the curb outside the Hyatt on Mobile bay. Blake handed his valet ticket to a young man in a short waistcoat and tucked Haylie into his side. His warmth against her bare shoulders countered the cool breeze off the water until a black BMW pulled up and their valet stepped out.
“What the hell?” Blake said, dropping his arm from her shoulders. He strode over and knelt in front of his car. Haylie didn’t know how to read the expression carved into his face when he glanced her way.
She started for him, but he reached her first and guided her to the door the valet held open. As soon as the young man closed Haylie’s door, Blake pulled him aside. The two spoke in tones too low for her to hear, even after she put her window down.
Something had happened, and judging from Blake’s reaction it was more than a scratched bumper. She hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the car when it pulled up. There was a vanity plate on the front she hadn’t bothered to read. She’d never read it before either, never even noticed it. She’d never seen Blake pay so much attention to his car either. He kept it clean, but he wasn’t one of those men who kissed his wheels goodnight. He treated his BMW more like transportation than a toy.
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