by Wild, Cassie
“How would I do that?” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned toward me with his elbows on his side of the bar.
I had him hooked. I had to remind myself to remain still as he closed the gap between us. His breath smelled as though he’d been passing the time by sampling some of the bottles behind the bar.
“I don’t know,” I said, batting my eyes like an idiot. “Maybe you could let me take a look at the receipts from that night?”
He looked skeptical, but I didn’t give up.
“Hey, the credit card numbers themselves aren’t actually on the receipts. It’s not like I’m stealing information. I just wanna see if anybody ran up a big tab that night, that way I’ll know who to look for.” I leaned a little closer to him and gave him a better look down my shirt.
“Well…” he trailed off.
“Come on. I won’t tell anybody how I found out,” I said with a wink. “Help a girl out.”
He frowned, but then pulled out a laptop. “We have all of the receipts scanned in here. What was the date?”
I told him, and tried not to sound too eager. It’d worked. I had to tell Kris that I was just as good at seduction as he was.
“Here,” the bartender said, swinging the laptop around on the bar to face me. “I’m gonna go wash some glasses over there. Whatever you see while I’m gone, I don’t know anything about.” True to his word, he walked away and left me alone to sift through the files.
I started tabbing through the scanned documents. Nothing raised any red flags. The bartender wasn’t lying when he said the place was busy at night. I must have gone through over two hundred receipts, and they were all starting to blur. I figured that this would end up being another dead end.
Then, a name jumped out at me. I nearly rubbed my eyes to be sure I wasn’t seeing things.
Kristian Fields.
Fuck.
I must have said it out loud because the bartender came rushing back, a concerned look on his face.
“Did you find something?”
I was at a loss for words, my eyes glued to the screen. It took me a minute to find the ability to speak. “Maybe…I might have found something. Or someone.” I turned the laptop toward him. “Do you recognize this name?”
He peered at the screen, then scowled. “Oh, him. Yeah, if you sell alcohol in this town, you know that name. He’s never been in while I’m here. A weekend customer, generally.”
“But you know the name?” I asked, my heart sinking. He nodded.
“Oh yeah. He has a reputation for trouble. Some of the customers leave when he comes in because he’s such a nasty drunk. If he didn’t drink the more expensive stuff and plenty of it, I think he would’ve made our no-admittance list.”
“And he comes in here a lot?”
“Yep. Kris Fields is in here every weekend from what I hear, and we’re not the only place he visits over the course of a night, either,” he told me. “There’s no ignoring that guy. He’s a real piece of work.”
I felt sick to my stomach. This wasn’t possible. Had it been Kris all along? Why would he try to help me if he was to blame? Unless he’d completely blacked out and forgotten all about it. From the tab, it was clear he’d had enough to drink to warrant a black out. Maybe he felt guilty?
No, I told myself, there had to be a mistake. “Are you sure these receipts are for the date I’m talking about?” I asked. I scanned the screen. Sure enough, the first Friday in November.
“Wait a minute,” the bartender said suddenly. “I remember that night. I wasn’t here, but I heard a lot about it the next day.”
“What happened?”
“Fields was in here, and he got really drunk. My buddy told me that he refused to serve him any more drinks because Fields was so wasted. So Fields threw a fit. He knocked over a few stools, cursed my buddy out. The bartender called a cab and that made him even madder. He stormed out and flew off in his car.”
I was reeling. This seemed so unlike the Kris I knew. Then again, how well did I really know him?
“Actually…” the bartender added reluctantly. I waited for him to continue. “I heard that he never drove that car again. Nobody has seen him in it since then. A red Porsche, but he’s never driven it since that night. We all guessed he crashed into something.”
“Yes. He crashed it,” I whispered. The word ‘horrified’ didn’t begin to describe how I felt.
The bartender must have seen how devastated I was, and he left me alone. I barely noticed him going.
Kris had been lying to me this entire time. If his car had been wrecked, he must have known something happened. Even if he didn’t remember what he’d done, the evidence was there, and his father clearly knew all about it.
I felt like I was going to throw up.
He’d used me, taken advantage of me. He and his father had played me like a fiddle. I didn’t know why he was pretending to help me, if it was his way of steering me to the wrong conclusions or just some sick twisted game. Either way, he’d had me completely fooled.
He didn’t want me. He never had. I wasn’t sure if I was more disgusted with him for his behavior, or me for falling for it.
I glanced at the clock above the bar. He’d be here any moment, and I had to decide what to do. I took my phone out of my purse.
Chapter 16
Kris
I watched Preslee walk off toward the bar and couldn’t help admiring the view in those tight jeans. She was so small that I’d worried at first about hurting her, but she gave as good as she got, which was just one of the things that I loved about her.
My smile faded as she walked away, my stomach twisting with guilt. I knew the clock was ticking. I needed to tell her the truth, but I felt as though I was stuck in a vicious cycle. Every day that passed – hell, every minute – without her knowing who I was only made things worse. Confessing was becoming more impossible by the day. I was certain that she would hate me for lying. The closer we got, the more unbearable it felt to live without her. I was in too deep.
Maybe if I’d come clean sooner, I could have gotten away with it, explained and asked for forgiveness. But I’d lost that chance.
I had to tell her tonight, no matter what. I had to man up and accept the consequences. I winced as I thought of how she’d react. Maybe if I got her some answers, it would help smooth things over. I headed for the bank, determined not to take no for an answer. I asked to speak to the bank manager, and was advised to sit by the door and wait. This was strange for me. I was accustomed to waiting to speak to bank presidents, not managers. Normally, we met in a boardroom or on a golf course, not in a random strip mall. It seemed I was learning a lot of new things from Preslee.
The manager of the bank finally came out to greet me, and led me to his office. He was a large guy with a protruding potbelly that strained against his tucked in Oxford shirt. His meaty jowls jiggled when he talked, but his smile was genuinely kind.
“My friend and I have been investigating events which took place last November,” I explained. “See, she was in an accident a few miles down the road – the victim of a hit-and-run. The police haven’t been able to find much information on the person who caused the crash, and I was hoping we could do better.”
“I see,” the manager said slowly in a strong Southern accent. “I’m not sure how I can help, son.”
“I was wondering if it would be possible to find out whether anyone had withdrawn money from your ATM that evening, or if we could somehow access the recordings from the ATM camera in case the person walked past the machine. My theory is that maybe they were at the bar down the way and drove from there to cause the accident. Of course, it’s just a theory, but I thought it might be worth a shot. We’re looking for any help we can get.”
“This is a little out of the ordinary, surely you can understand my reluctance,” the manager told me. I looked at the plaque on his desk. His name was Bob.
“Bob, I realize this is sort of unique, but if you knew this girl and everyth
ing she’s been through, you’d know how important it is. She’s lucky to be alive.” I tried for the sympathy card. “She was comatose for four months. Her long-term memory was wiped out and still hasn’t returned. She lost her job, her apartment., missed out on months of college. Her medical bills haven’t come in yet, but I’m sure you can imagine how outrageous they’re going to be. I mean, four months of treatment…” I whistled.
Bob’s brow furrowed. “Yes,” he agreed. “I can see how that would be quite the burden.”
“So you see,” I told him, “if she could find the person who did this, at least, she could get some justice. She might be able to get a settlement to at least cover medical costs. She has nothing else to fall back on. We’re trying hard to find what the police are unwilling or able to figure out.”
Bob gave this some thought. I could tell I was wearing him down.
“I don’t think it’s illegal, is it? To review the recordings?”
“No,” Bob admitted. “I doubt that it is. It’s a little bit of trouble…but nothin’ compared to the trouble this poor girl has been through. I don’t see a problem. I’ll have to send out for the recordings, but that shouldn’t take long.”
I wrote down the date in question on the back of my business card, and left it for Bob to get in touch with me.
I hoped that Preslee would be as happy with this development as I was. Maybe enough to give me a shot at proving myself to her after I told her the truth. If Preslee rejected me completely, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
I walked into the bar, feeling fairly positive. Maybe this day hadn’t been a total waste.
It was a pretty dark and quiet place, dusty, with a faint sour smell.
Preslee was seated at the bar, staring at her hands, and I took a moment to admire her before heading her way.
“Hey,” I said, sliding onto a stool beside her. “The guy at the bank said that he might be able to get the ATM video for us. Great, right?”
She stared into her iced tea glass. “Yeah. That’s cool.”
Cool? I didn’t think I’d ever heard her use the word ‘cool’ before. Warning bells went off. “Are you okay? Did something happen while I was gone?”
“What could possibly have happened in the last fifteen minutes?” she snapped.
Yeah, there was definitely something wrong here.
“Did you talk to the bartender about that night?” I asked her, noting how she hugged her body tight as if she were cold. What the hell happened? Where did my smiling, flirty girl disappear to? And whose ass did I have to kick for it?
“Yeah, I did,” she mumbled. “He wasn’t working that night.”
“How does he even remember that, off the top of his head?”
She inspected her hands again. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know, Kris. How do you expect anybody to remember something that happened four months ago off the top of their head? Yet somehow you expected the people we talked to today to remember what happened that night. Like it was special to them or something. This didn’t happen to them, it happened to me.”
Ahhh. That was it. I put an arm around her shoulders, and she tensed. “Pres,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry. We pushed really hard today, maybe it’s time to call it a day. We can always come back to it later.”
She nodded, but none of the tension left her. “Yeah, sure. I’d like to hang out for a bit and finish my iced tea, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I told her. “Take your time.”
Just then the door swung open and both Preslee and I turned toward the sound. It was two uniformed police officers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Preslee motion to them to get their attention. I frowned. What was going on?
“Kris Fields?” one of the cops asked, and before I knew it, my hands were being forced behind my back. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what? What’s happening here? Preslee!” But Preslee had gotten up and backed away from where I was now bent over the bar with my hands cuffed behind me.
“You’re under arrest for the assault of Preslee Keats, Mr. Fields.” The cop behind me yanked harder than necessary on the cuffs. “And for whatever else we can get you for.”
“I don’t understand.” I looked at Preslee, pleading for some explanation.
“Don’t bother lying anymore.” She practically spit out the words. “Apparently, you have quite the reputation for being a nasty drunk.”
“What?” My head was spinning as the cop yanked me upright. “What are you talking about?”
“I found proof, Kris. Proof that you were here. Drinking. Then you drove off in that red Porsche of yours.”
Red Porsche? Drinking?
Oh shit. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I felt sick as I finally realized what was happening.
My shoulders slumped. “I’m not Kristian Fields.”
“What did you say?” one of the officers asked.
I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to do this, not this way, but my hand had been forced. I couldn’t even look at Preslee now. I was so ashamed of myself for lying, and I could only imagine how Preslee would react, but it looked like she thought I was the one who’d hit her. No matter how pissed she was at me for what really happened, I couldn’t let her think that.
“Please, take my wallet from my back pocket,” I managed to say.
“Is this some kind of joke?” one of the cops said.
“No, it’s not. Please, just look,” I begged. This was humiliating.
I felt a hand fishing around in my pocket. “My license and credit cards are in there,” I told them. I couldn’t even bear to look at Preslee. “It will tell you that my name is Bedford. Kristopher Bedford.”
“He’s right,” I heard the cop say. “This says Kristopher Bedford, not Kristian Fields.”
I met Preslee’s horrified gaze. “I’m so sorry, Pres,” I said. “I’m not who you thought I was.”
Chapter 17
Preslee
“Kristopher Bedford?” I asked, once I regained the ability to speak. I was nearly frozen with shock. “Who the hell is Kristopher Bedford?”
“I am,” Kris mumbled miserably. “That’s my name. My real name.”
“But…no,” I managed. None of this made sense. I had to sit because my knees suddenly felt like rubber. For a moment, I was sure I’d pass out, and had to remind myself to breathe.
“How can your name be Kristopher Bedford? Let me see that license,” I demanded. The officer handed me the entire wallet, and, sure enough, there was a picture of Kris and the name Kristopher Bedford. His credit cards said the same thing.
My hand shook as I handed the wallet back. “You told me you were Kris Fields. Lawyer. Son of Quaid Fields, the asshole lawyer who...” My voice cracked.
“No, I didn’t. I told you my name was Kris. You filled in the rest yourself.”
I thought back, frantic. Had he? Had he only told me his first name? I had assumed he was Kris Fields because Quaid told me his son’s name was Kris. I went over our first meeting in my mind, the images and words overlapping in my panic. He shook my hand and told me his name was Kris. He invited me for coffee. Never once had he said his last name. He never said he was a lawyer.
He was right. I was mortified and disgusted with myself. I had only assumed. But the look on his face told me that he knew what I’d thought. And he hadn’t corrected me. It hadn’t been an outright lie, but the deceit was just as painful. I had been careless, and now I felt like such an indescribable fool.
“Miss?” one of the cops asked. “What do you want us to do here?”
I’d almost forgotten they were there. I blinked rapidly, sorting through my possible actions.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” I finally answered. “I was under the impression that he was Kris Fields, and I was clearly wrong about that. Please, accept my apologies for bringing you out here on a wild goose chase.”
“Not a problem, ma’am,” the other cop said. He glared at Kri
s. “If you feel that this guy is a threat to you, though, we’d be happy to escort you home.”
I regarded Kris, long and hard. “No, but thank you,” I replied. “He’s no threat to me. He’s nothing to me.” I saw his face fall at my words.
The police officers unlocked the handcuffs and apologized to Kris for having put them on. I heard Kris mumble something about it being his fault in the first place, then assuring them that he was fine. The cops left. Kris and I stared at each other.
The bartender finally spoke up. “You two need to leave,” he said gruffly. “I don’t need any trouble in here. Take your domestic issues someplace else.”
I was so furious, I almost yelled at him, but it wasn’t his fault my life was in shambles. No, I’d made this mess well and good on my own. We’d already caused enough commotion.
I stormed out of the door, unable to look at Kris, much less be within punching distance of him. I pulled out my phone to call a cab.
“Preslee, please.”
I heard him close behind me, but didn’t turn. “Please, let me explain.”
“I don’t want to hear more lies. Just leave,” I said flatly. I was struggling not to cry out of embarrassment, heartache, and cold fury.
“Pres…”
“Don’t call me that.” I spun around to face him. “You don’t get to call me that! You don’t get to call me anything, you lying bastard!”
“I didn’t want to lie to you!”
“But you did!” I hated how my voice shook.
“Preslee, please believe me. When I saw you at Quaid’s office, I knew I had to get to know you. I don’t know what it was, but something about you made me want to help you. I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me if you didn’t think I was helping out with your case.”
“And after that?” I asked. “You’ve had weeks to come clean with me. Why did you keep lying over and over?”
