Hustler

by Jane Henry

  “That’s what I said too, the first time I saw them.” I grinned. “But Walker, our computer guy, he misses nothing. Check out the little daisy at the bottom of the vase,” I suggested.

  He obediently looked at the pictures in time order, then scowled “The flowers are perfect here.” He pointed one stubby finger to the first image. “Then it looks like one daisy fell off the stem,” he said, pointing to the next image. “But a minute later, it’s back as it was?” He pointed at the final image, then looked up at me. “That’s… impossible.

  I nodded. “Totally impossible. In fact, it’s evidence that this feed was tampered with. And, according to Walker, it was a fucking sloppy job, too.” I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks heat as I repeated the expletive, something I tried not to do in front of clients. “It means that someone looped the feed for a few minutes at that time. The camera wasn’t recording who came in or, more importantly, who might have left. And it also means that the security in your condo could have been tampered with, as well.”

  He blinked in shock. “Does that mean…?”

  “It means that Walker did more digging, on exactly what was happening in your apartment the night of the murder.” I pulled another sheet of paper from the stack and placed it down in front of him. “Max, why did you tell me you were watching videos the night of the murder?”

  He glanced down at the paper, which showed a time-stamped chat conversation between Max and a woman who called herself SexxxyGlenda. The conversation had gone on for half an hour, with hardly a minute in between messages, and had included them trading images so lewd they’d be seared on my brain until the end of time.

  Still, they were a freakin’ alibi.

  “I don’t know her real name,” Max blurted. “I was just chatting with her over text. I mentioned it to the police when they were investigating, and the detective just laughed at me. He said it proved nothing.” He looked sad. “Would it have made a difference?”

  I sighed. “Alone, that might not have. Combined with the camera tampering, it makes a pretty compelling case that you’ve been framed. At least, that’s how I hope the judge will see it when I file my motion to get you out of here.” I tapped the remaining papers in my folder. “I have everything here for you to sign.”

  “Oh my God,” he whispered. “You can do that?”

  “I can,” I promised him. “I will.”

  “I’m leaving town,” he vowed, dragging his hands through his hair after he’d signed the forms and thrown the pen back down on the table. “As soon as I get out of this place, I’m going somewhere new. Starting over. And I don’t care if I never work as an attorney again. I don’t care if I have to live in a shack on the beach. I’m not taking my freedom for granted again. I’m not taking life for granted again.” He looked at me and shook his head. “I did things I’m not proud of. I prioritized the wrong things. The wrong people. I divorced my first wife, Erica, six years ago. Stupidest thing I ever did, and I’m going to tell her so, the second I get a breath of fresh air in my lungs. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to get a man to grow up... even when he’s fifty-three.” He gave me a self-deprecating smile. “But it’s never too late, right?”

  “Never,” I agreed, thinking of the tragedies that had made Ethan change his life, and the crazy twists and turns that had led us back together after all these years. “My mom always says, ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope.’” And, I added to myself, when you truly love someone, there’s nothing you can’t come back from.

  A few minutes later, I packed up my papers as the guard took Max back to his cell, hopefully for the last time, and as I was escorted out of the building and headed for the car that would be waiting for me, I felt none of the usual anxiety and helplessness I usually felt when I left my clients behind. The bleakness of Bonneville couldn’t touch me when I knew Ethan was waiting for me at home, Luis was starting his new life, and the Bianchis were enjoying the last few days of their reign of terror, whether they knew it or not.

  I grabbed my cell phone and tapped Ethan’s name to call him. My good mood was even better when I could share it with him.

  God. I was such a sap for this man. The Haven Wright I’d been last month would have shaken her head and made gagging noises. But I wasn’t ashamed of it in the slightest. I’d bear the title with pride, the same way I carried Ethan’s marks on my ass.

  I felt my lips curving into a goofy smile, my feet light against the gray asphalt of the parking lot as the phone began to ring.

  I was so intent on seeing Ethan I never noticed the man who climbed out of the shadows between two parked cars and grabbed the phone out of my hand.

  “Nice and easy, Ms. Wright,” he said, and I looked up to see a man smiling down at me, like he and I were old friends reunited. He was tall and thin, with a pointy nose and sharp-honed cheeks. His hair was shaved tightly against the sides of his head and only slightly longer on top, and his eyes were absolutely chilling. They were blue, but unlike Ethan’s eyes that had reminded me of endless warmth even when I’d tried to convince myself I hated him, this man’s eyes were cold. Soulless.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. I didn’t expect an answer, and in any case, the furious pounding of my heart told me that whoever he was, he was a Bianchi henchman.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he told me blithely, dropping my cell phone into his pocket. “Because right now, you’re going to smile and walk with me to my car.”

  “Like hell I will,” I told him, my eyes roaming around the mostly empty parking lot. Ethan had insisted on sending me to the prison with a car and driver today, even though we’d assumed the possibility of a threat against me was minimal. The driver had waited for me. Or at least, he was supposed to have waited.

  “Looking for your car?” the pointy-faced man asked without losing his grin. “He got called away on a family emergency.” He pursed his lips and shook his head with exaggerated sadness. “So hard to get good help, isn’t it?”

  My stomach lurched. The driver was gone. He’d taken my phone. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  “I don’t know what you want with me! I have hardly any money,” I blurted.

  The man laughed out loud. “What I need from you is more valuable than money. I need information. I want to know exactly what your former client Luis Rivera told you about his crime. I want to know what he told you about Eli Warner’s death.” He pressed his hand to my side, and I felt something hard dig into my rib through the material of my suit jacket. A fucking gun. “Now. As I said. You’re coming with me.”

  My mind wheeled through my choices, which were few, and the possible dangers, which were legion. I could attempt to fight him off and be killed. Or go with him… and be killed. And all I could think was that either way, Ethan would lose someone else he cared about.

  He didn’t wait for me to reply but began dragging me further into the lot with one arm wrapped around my waist and the other jamming the hidden gun into my side, when suddenly a red sedan pulled into the lot. The man slowed as the car parked not far from us. He shifted his body slightly to further conceal the gun as a tall man in a guard uniform stepped out of the sedan.

  “Say a word and I’ll kill both you and him,” the man warned me, and I swallowed.

  “Hey!” the guard called out with a friendly grin. “I didn’t think you were working today, Hunter!”

  I fought the urge to vomit as my fear blossomed into terror. The man holding me was Hunter? The guard who worked directly for the Bianchis? The man who likely had something to do with Eli Warner’s death?

  “You know me, James,” Hunter replied easily. “Just love this place so much I can’t stay away.”

  “Sure, sure,” James said, grinning. He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for an introduction. I felt the gun jab painfully into my flesh and tried to hold back a wince.

  “Haven,” I told him. “Haven Wright. I’m an attorney. For several of your prisoners.”

  “Oh?” James frowned, glancing between H
unter and I like he was trying to fathom why Hunter and I were standing so freakin close together. He shrugged. “Well, I’ll let you know if I need an attorney at any point then, ma’am. Anyway. Listen, Hunter, I have the golf clubs you lent me,” he said, heading for the trunk of his sedan. “If Cindy’s dad was basing his approval of our marriage on my putting ability, dude, I would be screwed, but I appreciate the loan.”

  “Not now,” Hunter said quickly. “You’ve gotta get inside and we’re in a hurry.”

  “Nah, won’t take a second,” James said affably, fitting the key in the lock. “I don’t need to be inside for a few and the damn things are rattling around in my trunk.”

  “Keep the clubs, James,” Hunter insisted. He nudged me in the side with the gun and I gasped as I took a stumbling step past James, toward a group of parked cars. “Practice your swing.”

  “Hunter? Man, are you okay?” James called from behind us.

  “Never better,” Hunter said, and his hand on my waist tightened so hard I squeaked in protest, but he didn’t relax his hold. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Walk faster.”

  But I wouldn’t. Getting in a car with this man would be certain death. I deliberately slowed my steps, giving James time to get back in the building.

  “I swear to God, you’d better fucking walk,” he spat. “You will not be the first person I’ve killed, and you will not be the last, understand? I’ve killed men I called my friends, Ms. Wright, so believe me when I say that your pretty face won’t even give me a moment’s hesitation.”

  I’ve killed men I called my friends. Did he mean… Eli?

  “They’ll see you,” I whispered. “There are cameras all over this lot, and they’ll see you.”

  He chuckled darkly. “They’ll see what I want them to see. Two old friends, maybe a pair of lovers, strolling to our car. Nothing remarkable about it. Hell, I killed a man inside the fucking prison and got away with it. I’ll get away with this too. Pays to have friends in powerful places.”

  “Eli Warner?” I demanded. “You caused the riot that killed Eli Warner?”

  He stopped short and turned to look at me. “He did talk.” He shook his head. “Fucking Luis. Running his damn mouth and getting people killed. Asshole shoulda learned from his mistakes.”

  I realized that my only chance of escape was to make a break for it now. I stepped forward fast—faster than Hunter had been expecting—and whirled around, so his hand ended up wrapped around my front and the gun was jamming into my other side. James was still standing next to his car, watching us with a concerned frown on his face.

  “Did you need my number?” I called back to him.

  “The fuck are you doing?” Hunter hissed. “Walk!”

  I ignored him, focusing on James. “I can give you my number if you want. Just in case?”

  “He doesn’t need your number,” Hunter said over his shoulder. He forced a chuckle, even as his hand clamped down on my hip and I could feel his gaze searing my face. “We’re guards, not inmates.”

  “Actually,” James called, drawing the word out slowly, like maybe he was making connections. “You never know. Gimme the digits. Just in case.” He grabbed his phone.

  I swallowed and rattled off ten digits I happened to have learned by heart when Ethan had been memorizing our phone numbers before he went to prison. The numbers for the Masters’ Manhattan penthouse. I could only pray that James would call them soon.

  “Got it,” James said. “See you around, guys.” He slammed his trunk closed and walked toward the building.

  Hunter turned me around and forced me toward the car. “You stupid bitch,” he fumed. “I should kill you right now.”

  “But you won’t,” I said confidently. “Not when your bosses expect you to bring me to them.” And now that James wasn’t in danger, I realized I had nothing left to lose.

  Without hesitation, I brought the point of my high heel down on his instep. He hissed in surprise, letting go of my waist. Before he could regain his balance, I elbowed him with all the force I could muster, then turned and ran back towards the relative safety of the prison, praying I could make it in time.

  The sound of squealing rubber made my hair stand on end, as I ran for the door. Someone in a car was coming, and the sound of feet pounding behind me told me Hunter had recovered. He was coming after me. The door was right there, within my grasp, and I reached for the knob when I felt my hair pulled from behind. I screamed and fell backward, and as soon as his arms tightened around me, I heard the car screech to a halt. They had me cornered. A dry sob of desperation caught in my throat and mustering all the courage I could, I turned my body and ignored the pain in my scalp, kicking out to fight back. I’d face whoever would drag me into their car and to Bianchi.

  The grasp on my hair fell away and the man was dragged backward away from me. I fell to the ground on my knees and blinked in surprise at a flash of familiar auburn hair. Ethan. He’d come for me.

  He had Hunter by both arms, restraining him from coming after me. “Haven, get it in the car!” he bellowed as Hunter pulled and fought. I raced to the open door of Ethan’s car, and screamed as Hunter got his arm away and swung toward Ethan. Ethan ducked the blow, then tackled Hunter to the ground, kneeling over him and pinning his wrists to his sides. He held him like that, restrained, and yelled over his shoulder.

  “Hit the alarm, Haven. Now!” It took me a second to realize what he meant, then I grabbed his keys and hit the red panic button on his key ring. A loud, deafening alarm went off, and the door to the prison flew open, armed security guards flooding the parking lot.

  I slumped against the side of the car door. We were safe.

  Ten

  Haven shivered in the late-September evening air, the first crunchy leaves of autumn swirling in front of us as I opened the passenger door to our Lexus. She smiled broadly to me as she slid into the seat, and I couldn’t help leaning in and brushing my lips against hers before I pulled away and shut the door with a firm click. Walking to the driver’s side, my steps felt lighter than they had in years.

  The night I’d rescued her at the prison, I’d thought I almost lost her. Walker and Caelan were tracking Hunter, but had lost track right before Haven left Max. My instincts alerted me that shit was going down, and I was already on my way to her when she called. Hunter hadn’t disengaged the call, and I heard fucking everything. I’d seen red knowing he laid hands on my girl. I’d wanted to kill the bastard for touching her.

  But now we had another chance together. I’d let her down once and I’d never let her down again. I’d kept Hunter restrained until Haven explained what happened, and the security cameras confirmed her story. We went home. Hunter was contained.

  Haven was mine.

  When Haven smiled at me, I knew she was smiling because she’d just seen victory, her innocent clients freed from prison while a guilty man, Hunter Utley, had been charged with murder and attempted abduction, among other crimes. Between what James had observed in the parking lot and Hunter’s own confession, which Walker had caught on tape, Hunter was well and truly screwed. I had gotten justice against the man responsible for my brother’s death, and we were closing in on bringing down the entire Bianchi family.

  And I had Haven.

  We were heading to her parents’ house in Barnstable, a little city outside of Hartford. What they didn’t know yet was that their mortgage had been paid off, they’d become the recipients of a serious windfall from a long-lost relative they never knew and never would. Thanks to Walker, a cool sum of money had been wired into their bank account. Though I’d already made amends for the money I’d stolen, I needed to take it a step further. The Wrights were set for life. It was the least I could do.

  I pulled into the busy street teeming with cars, horns blasting and lights flashing, but it all faded into the background when Haven’s hand met mine across the console. We rested our hands like that, in silence, our fingers entwined. I ran a thumb over the curves of her nai
ls.

  “You look so innocent,” I said. “The picture of wholesome goodness, but I know those lavender nails clawed my back this morning when you came.”

  She gasped and tried to pull her hand away, but I held fast and brought her fingers to my lips, kissing them. “And those lips, so soft and sweet, smiling like you’re as pure as the driven snow, uttered the filthiest things I’ve ever heard whispered in my ear.” I made a clucking sound. “You’re a bad girl, Haven. I think when we get to the hotel tonight, I’ll have to punish you to make you behave.”

  She shifted on her seat, and I knew if I touched her, I’d find her wet for me. My own need pulsed low in my gut, and I swallowed hard. We had a ways to go before we made it to the hotel tonight. I had to face her parents first. We had a story in place if they recognized me, though Haven was pretty sure they wouldn’t. They were older now, and I’d met them only a handful of times when I’d dated Haven nearly a decade ago.

  “Babe, are you sure you don’t want me to apologize to your parents?” I really needed to know that this shit was behind us, and that I’d done all I could in the present to make up for what I’d done in the past. In the last two weeks, I’d had Walker track down the names of people I’d conned, and I’d carefully made restitution with the money that was now mine.

  “No,” she said firmly. “The chances of mom and dad knowing it was you are slim to none. For all of our sakes, I’d prefer to keep that in the past, Ethan. I don’t want them having anything but joy and love when they look at the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  I squeezed her hand when her voice trembled. God, I loved her.

  “And anyway,” she continued. “You aren’t the man you once were.”

  I swallowed, and focused hard on driving. “I’m not. But love changes a man, I guess.” Love and pain. Remorse was a bitter pill to swallow but forgiveness and redemption made it better.

  I’d spend the rest of my life being the man I was now. Tad Warner… and every other identity I’d assumed over the years… were buried in my past. I had a new beginning, with Haven. And hell, I’d make every minute count.