by J. R. Ward
She went into the closet and came back out. "There was this other Eagles hat right there."
"Yeah, but I wanted you to think I was cute."
Lizzie put her arms around his neck and leaned in to him. "I always think you're cute. And sexy."
As his hands moved down onto her waist, he growled. "Nowisnotthetime. Nowisnotthetime . . ."
"What?"
He kissed her deeply, holding her against his body even with the hats in his hands. And then he cursed and stepped back. "Jeff's waiting."
"Well, come on, then! Let's go."
It felt good to laugh, to be free, to see him look for once like the whole weight of the world wasn't on his shoulders. And yes, okay, maybe now he was sexually frustrated, but even that was kind of cheerful in a way.
"So what's going on?" she asked as they went out into the corridor.
"Well, I'm just back from corporate headquarters, and . . ."
By the time they bottomed out in the foyer, she was doing a jaw drop. "So you're making some progress. And you're chairman of the board?"
"You're with a man who actually has a job. For the first time in his life."
As he put his palms up for high fives, she smacked 'em a good one. "You know, I loved you even when you were just a poker player."
"The technical term is card shark. And yes, I realize it isn't a paying gig"--he held a finger up--"but it's going to involve a lot of work. And I even have an office downtown. Or here. Or whatever."
"And now you're a spy, too."
"Double-oh Baldwine." They walked over to his old roommate who was waiting by the door. "And here is the Jeff to my Mutt in crime. Or, well, not crime, exactly. Fiscal responsibility."
Lizzie gave Jeff a quick hug. "So what are we doing, boys?"
Minutes later, they were crammed into the front seat of her Toyota truck, heading down Easterly's hill on the staff road, all with the hats on. She was behind the wheel with Lane stuck in the middle on the hump, his head almost hitting the ceiling.
"Go to the bottom and hide around the last greenhouse facing out," Lane said. "And hurry. It's quarter of five already."
"Who are we waiting for?"
Jeff spoke up from the far side. "If I'm right, the upstairs maid. Tiphanii."
"What?" She twisted around. "You guys think she's stealing the Charmin or something?"
"Not even close--"
"Wait, that's her car!" Lizzie nodded to the rearview. "Behind us."
"She's leaving early," Lane said with a curse. "Can I dock her fourteen minutes of pay?"
"As someone who knows your financial situation?" Jeff nodded. "Yes, you really should."
Lizzie shook her head. "Let me get this straight. You're going to all this trouble just to see if she's working till five?"
"Keep going," Lane said. "And we'll see which way she turns. We need to follow her."
"Any idea where she's going?" Lizzie came up to River Road. "Wait, I know what to do."
Heading to the right, she took her sweet time accelerating--which with four hundred extra pounds of man in the cab was not just a strategy.
Lizzie whistled under her breath. "Perfect, she's going to the left! Hold on, gentlemen."
As the boys braced themselves, she sped up as quickly as she could, shot down a dirt lane and pulled a road cartwheel, the rear of the truck skidding around as she punched the brakes and wrenched the wheel. Someone got nailed a good one and cursed, but she was too busy shooting back out to River Road--so that Tiphanii's little Saturn was now in the lead.
By the time they hit the light by the Shell station at Dorn Avenue, two cars had come between them. Tiphanii took a left and headed up the four-laner . . . and then stayed on it across Broadsboro Lane to Hilltop, the Halloween road, where the houses went all out during October. Over the railroad tracks and a right on Franklin, which was home to all kinds of little shops and cafes that were locally owned.
When Tiphanii parallel-parked four blocks up, Lizzie went by her, the three of them staring out the front windshield like absolutely nothing was doing--with their hats down low.
A trio of bobbleheads without the bobbling.
At the next light, she pitched an abrupt left through an orange signal and hurried down the alley behind the restaurants and shops. When she thought she'd gone far enough, she punched the brakes and lucked out by finding a spot right there.
"Let's do this," she clipped as she canned the engine and popped her door. "And get ready to say hi to the dogs."
"What?" Jeff asked as he got out. "Dogs?"
Lane gave her a salute when he was free of the cab. "Whatever she says, we're gonna do."
Lizzie led the way through an alley that was barely bigger than her shoulders. Just before she got to the end, she stopped short. "Oh, my God, there she is."
Across Franklin Ave., Tiphanii got out of her beater and jogged through the traffic. In the shadows, Lizzie leaned forward a little so she could see where the woman was heading.
"Knew it. She's going into Blue Dog. Come on."
Lizzie jumped out into the pedestrians who were chilling their way down the sidewalk, and a mere fifteen feet later, she bent over an English bulldog who, she learned by the collar's tag, was named Bicks. Meanwhile, Tiphanii was just inside the cafe, right in front of its plate-glass window.
She was shaking hands with a tall African-American woman.
"That's the reporter I met with," Lane said as he and Jeff clustered around Bicks. All three of them waved back at Bicks's apparent owner, who was smiling and nodding at them from inside the consignment shop next door. "And yup, she's giving her something. Some papers."
Jeff nodded. "Bingo."
"What's the paperwork?" Lizzie asked.
Jeff spoke in hushed tones as he shifted over to pet a mutt named Jolene. "It's a false report I left out for her last night. There's a copier down the hall in the second-story study. All she had to do was sneak out, make the xeroxes, and put the document back where she found it. Work of two minutes."
"She spent the night?" Lizzie said. "With you?"
"Ah . . ."
Lizzie laughed. "I'm asking as part of our assignment here, not because I'm judging."
As the guy blushed, she was reminded of how much she liked him.
"Okay, yes, she did," he said, pushing up his glasses. "That was the plan. And we need that information to hit the airways, thank you very much."
Lane leaned in and kissed her. "Good work getting us here, and now if you'll excuse me for a minute."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to go say hi to that reporter. LaKeesha and I are old friends after she grilled me for two hours. And listen, she hasn't done anything wrong. It's not her fault that a source has come to her with information they found somewhere--and what better way to further develop our relationship than to tell her about all the shake-ups and our promotions. Jeff, I'm going to set up a meeting between the two of you for seven o'clock tonight. I don't want her first impression of you to be when you look like a hobo. You need a shave and a fresh suit before you represent my company to the press. Oh, and it's time to fire Tiphanii with two i's at the end. Just not in front of my good buddy the reporter."
"Let me take care of that," Lizzie said.
"That would be a huge help."
After he kissed her again, he straightened to his full height and walked into the cafe.
Through the big glass window, Lizzie watched the two women turn to him and Tiphanii stumble back. But Lane was all smiles, shaking hands, talking. The reporter looked at him intently--and then Lane turned to the young woman.
He was totally in control of himself, and she could just imagine his level voice, excusing the maid, leaving her on the hot seat.
He's doing it, Lizzie thought with pride.
Her future husband was . . . becoming a leader. A family head. A man, instead of a playboy.
A moment later, Tiphanii came out, but she didn't get far as Jeff stepped in her pa
th. Lizzie thought she might better give them privacy, but as Bicks the bulldog and Jolene stared at the drama, she figured what the heck, so would she.
"Ah . . ." The maid was as red as a tomato. "Jeff. So, um, this is not what it looks like--"
"Oh, come on." The guy shook his head. "Stop. I'll have more respect for you if you don't try to pretend."
"And I'm sorry, Tiphanii," Lizzie said, "but your services are no longer required at Easterly. I'm terminating you effective immediately, and if you're smart, you'll just walk away."
The woman's face changed, growing ugly. "I know things. And not just about the finances. I know a lot of things about what goes on in that house. I'm not the kind of enemy that family needs right now."
"There's a nondisclosure clause in your contract," Lizzie snapped. "I'm aware of this because there's one in mine, too."
"You think I care about that." Tiphanii moved a very expensive bag up onto her shoulder. "You haven't heard the last from me."
As she strode off into traffic, Lizzie shook her head. "That went well."
"Maybe she'll get run over as she crosses--nope, made it. Pity." When Lizzie shot him a look, the guy put up a palm. "I'm from New York. What do you want from me."
FORTY
Half an hour later, Lane was feeling pretty damn good about things as he and Lizzie and Jeff headed back to Easterly in her truck. LaKeesha was dying to meet the new CEO, and the fact that Lizzie had handled Tiphanii? Fantastic.
The bliss didn't last, though. As they crested the rise to the mansion's front door, there was an unmarked police car and a CMP SUV parked in the courtyard.
Merrimack got out of the former before Lizzie even stopped her truck.
"Shit," Lane muttered. "I've got to deal with this."
"I love you," Lizzie said as Jeff got out so Lane could do the same.
"I love you, too." He leaned back in. "I was hoping we could go to Indiana tonight."
"I'm happy to be here or there. Whatever works."
For a moment, he stared into her eyes, drawing strength from her support. And then he kissed her, closed the door and jacked his slacks up.
When he turned around, he had his poker face on. "I am so happy to see you again, Detective."
Merrimack smiled in that way he did and offered his palm as he approached. "Are you?"
"You here for dinner? And who's your friend?"
A plainclothes guy who had pencil neck written all over him shuffled up. "Pete Childe. I'm an investigator."
"And I've got some paperwork for you, Mr. Baldwine," Merrimack said.
"You know Jeff Stern." Lane stepped back for the introduction. "Now, let's check out your grocery list. You remember the eggs and butter?"
As Jeff walked back into the house, Lane passed his eyes over the warrant, even though he didn't know what one was supposed to look like. But come on, it was essentially a coupon for legally trespassing, and there were seals and signatures.
And the thing stated expressly that it was limited to security footage for a period covering the day before through the day after his father's death.
"So I'm not sure you're aware of this," Merrimack said as Lane got to the last page. "But your front door was wide open. I knocked and knocked. Eventually, a maid came down. I also called you a number of times."
"Phone's in the car." Lane walked over to the Porsche and got the thing out of the console. "So, let's get this done, shall we?"
"Lead on."
Lane took the detective and Pete around the side of the mansion and out to the back--and it was the longest walk of his life. Under his poker face, beneath his composure, he was screaming like he was standing at the side of the road as two cars came tearing toward each other on black ice--and yet no matter how loud he yelled, the drivers couldn't, or wouldn't, heed his warning.
But in the back of his mind, since the moment he'd sent Merrimack away, he'd known this reckoning had been coming.
At the business center's rear door, he entered the code and escorted them inside.
"The security for the whole estate is run out of the computers here." He went left down the corridor to where the utilities rooms were. "This is where the motherboard, or whatever you call it, is."
Stopping in front of a steel door that had no signage on it, he entered another code, and after a clunking sound indicated the dead bolt was free, he opened the heavy panel wide.
As the automatic overhead lights came on, he meant to keep talking. Keep moving. But a sudden mental connection shorted him out.
"Mr. Baldwine?"
He shook himself and looked back at the detective. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Is something wrong?"
"Ah, no." He stepped to the side, getting out of the way and indicating the workstation with its bank of monitors and keyboards and rolling chairs. "Have at it."
Pete went Captain Kirk at the set-up, sitting behind the collection of technology like he knew what any of it meant. "So I'll need access to the footage. Can you get me in?"
Lane shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry?"
"I need a log-in and a password to the network."
"I don't have that."
Merrimack smiled like he'd expected this. "You better get us one. Now."
"Give me a moment, will you?"
Stepping back out into the hall, he went a distance away and palmed his phone. As he stared at the glossy screen, all he could do was shake his head.
Because now he knew what his brother had been doing during the visitation. Damn it.
Taking a deep breath, Lane dialed the Red & Black caretaker's cottage. One ring . . . two rings . . . three rings . . .
"Hello?"
As Edward's voice came over the line, Lane closed his eyes. "Edward."
"Little brother, how are you?"
"I've been better. The police are here with me at the business center. They have a warrant for the security footage." When there was only silence, he muttered, "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes. And?"
For a split second, he wanted to tell Edward to grab as much cash as he could, find a car, and get the fuck out of town. He wanted to yell. He wanted to curse.
And he wanted the truth.
But he also needed the lie that everything was okay and his brother hadn't traded a figural prison for a literal one, all in the name of revenge.
Lane cleared his throat. "They need to get into the network so they can copy the files."
"Give them my sign-on details."
What the fuck did you do, Edward? Edward, they're going to find out if you tampered with--
"Having any luck, Mr. Baldwine?"
As Merrimack leaned out of the security room, Lane said into his phone, "Text them to me, okay?"
"You called me on a rotary phone, remember?" Edward's voice was as smooth as always as he recited the details. "You got that?"
"Yes."
"They know where to find me if they have any questions. Is that Merrimack with you? He came out and paid me a visit the other day."
"Yes, he's the detective."
There was a short pause. "It's all going to be okay, little brother. Stop worrying."
And then the call was ended on Edward's side.
Lane lowered his phone. "I have what you need."
Merrimack smiled once again. "I had every faith you'd comply with the order. Was that your brother Edward?"
"Yes."
Merrimack nodded. "Nice guy. Sorry to see him in that condition. Did he tell you I've been out to see him?"
"He did."
"You know, he doesn't really look like you."
Lane stepped around the detective to enter the security monitoring room. "He used to."
*
Out in Ogden County, at the Red & Black, Edward hung up the receiver on the wall by the kitchen just as Shelby came through the cottage's main door. She was freshly showered, her hair drying across her shoulders, her jeans clean, her short-sleeved shirt blue and white checked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
He shook his head. "I'm not. But listen, I want to go out for dinner. And I want you to come with me."
When she just blinked at him, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll be more polite. Please. Come eat with me. I would greatly appreciate your company."
"No, it's not that." She patted her shirt. "I'm not dressed for anything fancy."
"Neither am I, and I'm in the mood for good chicken. So we should go to Joella's."
Limping over to the door, he opened the panels wide. "Are you up for it? Six levels of spice, and each one is a taste of heaven--and that isn't blasphemy."
"Do you want to be asking Moe?"
"Nah, I just want you. To come eat with me, that is."
As he indicated the great outdoors, there was a pause . . . and then Shelby went out first. When she passed by him, he breathed in deep and had to smile a little. She smelled like old-fashioned Prell shampoo, and he wondered where she had gotten the stuff. Did they even make it anymore? Maybe it was a leftover of her father's, or perhaps it had been abandoned by the previous occupant of that apartment she stayed in over at Barn B.
Before Edward followed her out, he snagged the cash he'd left on the corner of the bureau the night Sutton had come and he'd mistaken her for--
Stopping that little cascade of memories, he closed the cottage door and looked up to the sky. For a moment, he paused to measure the wide expanse and the gradation of color from the banked ember glow of the sunset at the west to the velvet blue of early night in the east. Inhaling deeply once again, he smelled the sweet grass and the good earth and something vaguely charcoaly as if Moe and Joey were grilling burgers out behind a barn.
The feel of the still air on his skin was a kind of benediction.
Strange that he hadn't appreciated it all. And that had been true even when he had been out in the world.
Back then, he had been so focused on work, the company, the competition.
And afterward, he had been mired in too much pain and too much bitterness.
So many missed opportunities.
"Edward?" Shelby said.
"Coming."
Approaching her truck, he went around and opened her door, and though she seemed unfamiliar with the gesture or the idea she would be driven somewhere, she hopped up into the passenger seat. Then he limped in a circle and got behind the wheel.
Starting the engine, he backed out and headed toward town. At first, there were only a few other vehicles on the road with them and he even had to go around a tractor that was putting along at the shoulder. But soon there were proper cars and even some stoplights.
