And call Rye.
Had Justin told him to stay away?
“Fuck that shit,” Cynthia exclaimed, startling Grace and Laurel simultaneously. Their friend slammed the driver’s side door before pressing the ignition button to rev the quiet engine to life. “You need friends, wine, and the ability to vent. We all know that orange isn’t your color.”
“Orange really isn’t my color.”
Grace couldn’t help but smile at Cynthia’s attempt to inject some wry humor into the moment. Guilt had surfaced while she’d been sitting in a prison cell thinking about a future where orange was the only color choice available in the daily wardrobe for prisoners in general population.
Of course, she’d been in her street clothes the entire time today. The inmates who were there for more than a day wore orange to signify medium risk offenders. She couldn’t imagine that Big Bertha would have looked good in orange, either.
“Laurel, you better have a cup of coffee waiting for me in hell when I get there, because I’m so joining you after today.”
“Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going by myself—pun totally intended.” Laurel took the envelope that Grace had been holding and set it down on the seat. Her friend scooted toward the middle to be closer and offer comfort. As much as Grace loved her friends, it was Rye who she needed most in this moment. “And Cynthia is way worse than the two of us, so she’ll actually have the key to the executive washroom.”
“Hey, you don’t see me stumbling onto dead bodies or potentially having a limited wardrobe choice.”
Cynthia had a point.
Laurel had been the one to find Brad Manon’s dead body in his office. She’d even fessed up that all she could think about in that horrible moment was her crumbling future and the fact that she wouldn’t get the partnership she’d worked so hard for over these last few years.
Honestly, it was human nature to ponder how a situation could personally affect a person. Grace had said so herself, but it was a little hard to take one’s own advice in moments like these. A little black humor went a long way to relieve stress, though.
And today had been beyond stressful, to say the least.
Cynthia finally shifted the car into drive and pulled out into the light traffic.
It was hard to ignore that Laurel’s grim discovery had led Grace to this moment. In a weird turn of events, Grace had been on the phone with Laurel at the exact moment she’d walked into Brad’s office, only to find him dead with his throat slit from ear to ear.
At first, Grace had thought Laurel had walked in on some sick joke. But as their conversation had worn on and the horror became more prevalent in her friend’s tone, there had been no other alternative but for Grace to accept that her friend had walked in on the real thing. All of that had culminated into today’s horrific event.
Truthfully, all she could think of at the time of her arrest was that her life was over. It didn’t matter that their boss had been murdered, that his friends were mourning, or that the company was most likely going to close. A job was a job, and she’d had plenty of offers to lull her away from Manon Investments in the past.
But spending the rest of her life behind bars in an orange jumpsuit?
That was just plain wrong on so many, many levels.
And none of that had taken into account that she could lose Rye from her life all over again because of the choices she’d made…which somehow always ended up being on the wrong end of the decision stick.
The only thing she was consistently good at was her job in settling trades for Manon Investments, as well as cultivating business relationships with the staff employed at the prime brokerage firm. She’d made a name for herself in those circles, and she didn’t intend to lose her career because someone attempted to frame her for murder.
“By the way, Rye wanted you to know that he’ll be arriving at your apartment sometime in the middle of the night. His plane got stuck in the Midwest due to some nasty weather.” Cynthia brought the car to a stop at a red light, glancing at Grace in the rearview mirror. “We’ll stay with you until he arrives.”
Now would have been a really good time to come clean about Rye and their past relationship. Her friends deserved to know the truth, but she also didn’t want them to think less of her.
Grace had become really close with Laurel and Cynthia after they’d all been hired by Brad, but those valued friendships had built slowly over the years. Never in that time frame had it seemed like a good time to tell them that her stepbrother had been arrested for insider trading or that he’d been the sole reason Rye Marshall had almost ended up in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Had Grace confided in her friends, she would have also had to admit her role in that misfortune. And she wasn’t quite ready to do that, even though she and Rye were making up for lost time.
Truthfully, he had her so tied up in a mess of emotional knots that she wasn’t sure what to think of him or their rekindled relationship on any given day. She should have stayed far away from him, knowing full well that the past never stayed buried among friends.
Today’s events had been horrific. Beyond humiliating. And it brought back memories of a time that she’d rather forget. One thing was for certain, she would put on her best outfit tomorrow before walking through the glass doors of Manon Investments with her head held high. Rye had done it years ago, and she could do the same tomorrow.
“Hey,” Laurel said softly, grabbing Grace’s hand to show support. “It’s over. You’re in the free and clear.”
“Am I?” Grace wasn’t so sure, especially given that the police still didn’t know about the information she’d withheld during her initial interview. “I told the police that I was with Rye the night of the murder. I lied. I gave Rye an alibi instead of telling the police the truth—that I was alone during those few hours they believe Brad was killed.”
“Detective Nielsen has no idea that you lied about that night.” Cynthia refocused her gaze back on the wet asphalt in front of her. “Some anonymous informant called the police with a tip that the murder weapon was in your vehicle. And it was. The detective made a hasty arrest, due to the public scrutiny on such a prominent figure in the financial industry. Now that it’s been proven someone tried to set you up, the media’s attention will be diverted to someone else. No one needs to know that you gave Rye Marshall an alibi for the night Brad was killed. You’ll both be fine.”
“You seem to be leaving out a very important detail that has nothing to do with me looking washed out in an orange jumpsuit,” Grace reminded them, staring out the window and wishing she were on a warm sandy beach somewhere without a care in the world with one of those cute umbrella drinks in hand. Unfortunately, she was driving away from the police station in the cold, wet rain with a grey cloud following her every move. She wasn’t so sure it was dissipating any time soon, either. “Someone did try to frame me for murder, which means there is an individual out there who knows that I didn’t have a real alibi for that night.”
CHAPTER TWO
Rye Marshall walked through the airport with only one destination in mind—reaching the woman who was bound and determined to be the reason he was buried six feet under sooner rather than later.
Grace was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, but her obstinate nature would likely end with her heart-shaped ass in jail. She was damned lucky she wasn’t still behind bars, given the situation and her previous reaction.
Now?
Grace Dorrance might have just placed herself in the crosshairs of a killer.
Justin Monroe had filled him in on the latest findings after he’d taken his phone off airplane mode. The suspect had purposefully planted evidence to compel the police to believe that Grace had been the one who’d killed a man in cold blood. Well, that sick and twisted asshole was about to learn that Rye hadn’t gotten where he was at this point in his life by playing fair.
Rye had almost convinced himself that Grace’s original fabricated alibi abo
ut the two of them being together the night Brad was killed could still hold water. After all, the damage had already been done by the time he’d reached her apartment that night to find her gone.
For him to have corrected the story she’d told Detective Nielsen would have resulted in revealing Grace’s deceit, thereby pushing her to the top of the suspect list. And that was something he refused to do…until tonight.
He had no choice now but to come forward and hope that Justin Monroe could work his same old magic with the police. All of this could have easily been erased had the responsible party not chosen Grace to be his or her patsy.
Her primary instinct had been to protect him from becoming a suspect himself. Everything she’d accomplished with her little stunt had been for naught, especially after the police found the knife with Brad’s blood on it planted inside her vehicle. Thankfully, there was now proof of that via video.
“Yes, I can meet you at the station at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” Rye nodded to the familiar driver who’d opened the back door of the black town car before sliding into the backseat. His lower back muscles protested being cooped up once more, having been on an airplane for way too many hours in the last twenty-four, but this last leg of the trip would deliver him to his ultimate destination—Grace’s front door. “We need to get this sorted out as quickly as possible, and with no further charges brought against Grace or myself for being untruthful in our original statements regarding the night Manon was killed. You said yourself that the killer had to have known that Grace didn’t have an alibi or else the individual responsible would have chosen someone else to frame for the murder.”
“I did my best to convince Grace to come clean after her arrest, but she refused to recant her story,” Justin explained, the frustration in his voice coming across the line loud and clear. “It was by sheer happenstance that the owners of the garage put up another camera, albeit a cheap piece of shit, so that they could run various diagnostic tests on the current CCTV system. The police’s IT department have been all over the building’s owner and his employees. Bottom line? Grace lucked out.”
“I’m heading to her place now.” Rye had already conveyed to the driver the address of his destination over the phone when he’d initially booked the transportation. Honestly, he wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation ahead of him, but this entire mess needed to be swept into the trash. It had taken him over a year to interject himself back into Grace’s life. There was no way in hell he was allowing any outside forces to come between them now, no matter who they were or what they were willing to do to accomplish that goal. He’d had enough trouble convincing Grace that they had a future without the added nightmare of a murder trial hanging over their collective heads. “I’ll explain to her what’s taking place tomorrow morning. I take it her presence is required?”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t ask me that question,” Justin said with a laugh, understanding just how difficult it was going to be to get Grace to go along with the current plan. “Good luck, man. You’re going to need it with her bull-headed determination.”
Rye lowered his cell phone, thinking he was going to need a hell of a lot more than good luck. He’d been relying solely on the sexual attraction between him and Grace to take their relationship further than just ex-lovers, but his fascination with her had gone far beyond the physical. He wanted her back in his life—with strings, knots, and whatever else the fuck that came along with the usual metaphors. He had a lot of ground to make up for, but this sideshow into the subsequent murder of one of his competitors had brought his plans to a grinding halt.
It wasn’t that Rye didn’t mourn an individual who had been a competitive opponent in the financial industry. Any loss of life was a tragedy, especially someone close to Grace. Family, friends, and colleagues would grieve, though the world wouldn’t cease to spin on its axis. Those individuals surrounding Brad Manon’s life would continue to move forward, paving another road in an opposite direction that was no longer affected by the choices he would have made.
Rye understood that firsthand.
“Sir?” Frank caught Rye’s attention in the rearview mirror before opening the driver’s side door. “We’re here. Will you be taking your suitcase with you or would you prefer that I deliver it to your residence?”
Rye normally would have chosen that latter option, but he’d been awake going on twenty-one hours. In less than seven, he and Grace were due at the police station. He would need a shower, a fresh shave, and a clean change of clothes.
“I’ll be needing my suitcase here. Thank you, Frank.”
Rye opened his door and met his usual driver at the back of the town car. Frank had already popped the trunk and had the case in hand.
“Seven-thirty, sir?”
“Yes.” Rye had already been in touch with Cynthia, one of Grace’s best friends. She’d recounted the day’s events in minute detail, down to the fact that Grace’s vehicle had been left at the office. Both he and Grace would both need a ride to the station before parting ways for their workday. “Actually, make it seven-forty. You still like those lattes with the espresso shots?”
“Yes, sir,” Frank replied with a smile, his veneers glistening underneath the street light. The man had to be in his late sixties. He was a very successful business owner, owning several town cars and employing numerous business-oriented drivers. Professionals for professionals was their business model. Retirement hadn’t set in as well as his grey hair had, so he’d chosen to drive around a select few of his clients whom he respected and enjoyed spending time with. Well, that respect was mutual. “Double.”
Rye had spent a handful of nights at Grace’s place in the past couple of months, but not many more than that. It had taken him quite a bit of time to wedge himself back into her life, not that she’d put up too much resistance. They both understood it was time to let the past stay buried. In that time, she’d shared with him her love of the café next to her apartment building. The place had the best croissants this side of Minneapolis, and the coffee was pretty damned good, too.
“Goodnight, Frank.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
It didn’t take Rye long to get inside the building. The usual security guard was working her assigned nightshift. Her name was Cheryl Sullivan, and she was damned protective of her tenants. Rye had made sure he’d gotten on her good side and stayed there early on.
Unfortunately, Cheryl wasn’t deterrent enough to protect against whoever had the steel balls to implicate Grace in a murder investigation. He’d had no choice but to call in reinforcements from a security firm, but he’d been guaranteed that Grace wouldn’t notice their presence.
At least, for now.
“How are you doing tonight, Cheryl?”
“I’m good, Mr. Marshall. I’m sorry to hear about Ms. Dorrance’s problems. A couple of her friends brought her home around seven o’clock this evening. They ordered takeout from one of the local Chinese restaurants, but I haven’t seen any movement since then. I hope that she’s alright after the horrible day I’m sure she had.”
“And the media?” Rye had expected at least one or two of the news crews to be outside of the building. Had something else happened on the case to garner their attention? “Has there been any trouble with the reporters?”
Rye had also scanned the street for any sign of the security agents he’d hired to keep an eye on Grace from a distance. He’d seen neither them nor the media out front of the building. He been told the agents would be discreet until he’d had a chance to speak with Grace, but his fingers itched to call the agency’s owner for reassurance. Crest Security Agency had been highly recommended and came at top-shelf price, but this special matter was regarding Grace.
Nothing was too good for her.
“There were three vans from the local stations parked outside for hours, but they left before ten-thirty,” Cheryl divulged, leaning back in the black chair as her protective gaze darted over the black and white screens in fr
ont of her. She then refocused her attention on him. “I’m assuming they needed to cover something else for the eleven o’clock news, but I can give you a courtesy call before I end my shift to let you know if they return at any point.”
“I’d appreciate that. You might notice another private security detail. They’re on my dime. If they stand out, let me know that, as well.” Rye might have to divert Frank to the attached parking garage if the media crews returned before seven-thirty tomorrow morning. The last thing Grace needed was to have it publicly outed that they were seeing one another, thus giving the media ammunition to target both of them this time around. Their pasts could very well be dug up as well, and that wasn’t something Grace needed on top of all the other stress she was dealing with lately. “You have a good night, Cheryl.”
Rye made his way to the elevator bank, shifting the suitcase into his left hand as he pressed the button that contained the black arrow pointing up. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d done so in order to spend the entire night, but he relished every one of them thus far. He wasn’t as optimistic about this evening’s promise.
He’d already accepted that Grace Dorrance was going to be his eventual downfall.
They had met back in college, both of them young, naïve, and hungry for one another in a way that no other woman had been able to measure up to since. Those years had been the best of his life. Had anyone asked back then what their future held, he would have unequivocally said successful careers, marriage, and a small horde of crumb crunchers.
All of that had changed the moment Rye had hired Grace’s stepbrother to work for him at Marshall Securities, back in the infancy of his hedge fund. Everything had crumbled to the ground the moment Brandon Walsh had been accused of insider trading, bringing the firm to its knees figuratively.
It had taken years to rebuild the firm’s reputation, and even more so to restore his own standing in the community.
Motive Page 2
