Crossing the Line (A Sinner and Saint Novel Book 1)

by Lucy Score

  “Can you find me a flashlight, Angel? Check in that desk over there,” he said, pointing.

  Waverly scrambled up and dug through the drawers before triumphantly returning with a small flashlight.

  “Good girl,” he told her. “Sylvia, open your eyes.”

  She grumbled but slowly pried her mascara glued eyes open. “What?” she grumbled with iffy enunciation.

  Xavier shined the light in first one eye and then the other. “Do you know what day it is, Sylvia?”

  She squinted against the light, winced. “The first day of the rest of my life since my husband is a cheating swine.”

  Xavier looked wryly at Waverly. “Looks like a mild concussion, but I think she’ll be okay.”

  Nestor hustled through the open deck door. He cut a swarthy figure in a pair of gym shorts and a gold chain around his thick neck. When he caught sight of Sylvia, he said something in rapid Greek that Xavier took for a long-winded, Mediterranean version of “fuck.”

  “I did a walk through in here at two this morning,” he explained. “Both of them were in their rooms.”

  Xavier shook his head. “I don’t think she was here too long. She probably came down for something around three or four,” he estimated.

  Nestor approached and Xavier had him take Sylvia’s feet. Together they lifted her from the floor to the sofa that Waverly quickly covered with a colorful throw. It would be easier replacing a blanket than an entire Fendi Casa silk sofa. Sylvia brought her hand to her head and winced. She focused in on Waverly and held out her other hand. “Darling, my pills, please? I’ve got a terrible headache.”

  “Hmm. I’ll bet,” Waverly said without sympathy. She dampened a towel from the bar and patted it to her mother’s forehead gently cleaning away the dried blood. “She should probably see a doctor,” she said quietly to Xavier.

  He nodded and pulled Nestor aside. When they returned, Nestor approached Sylvia. “Miss Sylvia, I’m going to help you to your cabin, okay?” he asked in thickly accented English.

  “Oh, darling. Don’t trouble yourself. I’m perfectly comfortable… here…” She glanced around to determine where exactly here was. “Oh. Well, perhaps I should go to my cabin.”

  “You just hang on tight, and I’ll get you there,” Nestor promised. He scooped her up and carried her toward the elevator.

  Waverly ignored the departure and set about filling an ice bucket with warm soapy water from the bar sink.

  “What are you doing?” Xavier asked.

  “Cleaning up,” she said without looking at him. She grabbed a neat stack of white bar towels and carried everything over to the first mess.

  She was shut down as she began what was clearly a ritual to her, and it pissed him off. It wasn’t a daughter’s job to clean up the sick and the blood of a parent who refused to get help. But it was someone’s job.

  “Angel,” he waited until she lifted her gaze to look at him. “I need to speak with your father. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we can pack.”

  She gave him a brief nod and turned back to her work. There was no hint of the happiness that had lit those eyes last night. Now they were empty.

  By the time Xavier arrived at Robert’s lower level stateroom, he was good and pissed. He pounded out a knock on the door and continued until a sleepy and confused Robert answered.

  “What’s going on?” he muttered groggily.

  He wore rumpled silk pajamas, and there was an open bottle of scotch on his nightstand.

  “Do you know where your daughter is?” Xavier’s voice snapped out like a whip.

  “Not at the moment. I thought she was with you? Someone said you went ashore last night?”

  Xavier resisted the urge to plant his hand on Robert’s face and give him a good shove back into the room. “Your daughter is upstairs in the salon cleaning up puddles of vomit and blood that your wife left seeping into the very nice carpets after she hit her head and passed out.”

  “Is she alright?”

  “None of you are alright.” Xavier let go of the reins. “Somehow you all think it’s Waverly’s job to clean up after the piss poor job you and your wife do of existing. She’s twenty years old, and you have her scrubbing vomit like an underpaid maid.”

  “Now listen here—” Robert began to get his back up, but Xavier wasn’t even close to done.

  “No, you listen. You let that girl go live her life. Stop using her to babysit the wife you should be taking care of or divorcing. Make a fucking decision. Send her to rehab or call a divorce lawyer. Either way, leave Waverly out of it. She deserves better than being slapped around by a drunk and ignored by a man who’s trying to fuck himself to relevance.”

  Robert opened his mouth and took a breath as if he were going to argue and then deflated like a balloon. He wiped a hand over his face. Exhaustion that went beyond interrupted sleep was evident in the way he held his shoulders.

  “I don’t know how to be who they want me to be.”

  “Be who they need you to be, not who they want you to be. Protect them, listen to them, support them.”

  “What if it’s too late?”

  “I can’t speak for you and Sylvia, but your daughter could use a good man to lean on these days. You can start by taking some responsibility off of her shoulders.” Xavier turned to leave. He wasn’t going to let Waverly stay on this boat another five minutes. There was only so much a person could witness before the damage was permanent.

  “You love her, don’t you?” Robert asked quietly.

  Xavier turned around but said nothing. He had no answer for the man or himself.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I can see it… now that I’m paying attention,” Robert said with a sad smile. “It looks like she’s already got a good man that she can lean on.”

  “There’s always room for another,” Xavier told him.

  Xavier returned to the salon. Waverly was still scrubbing at the rug in the same spot. He crouched down next to her. “Come on, Angel. Let’s go.”

  She shook her head, kept scrubbing. “I can’t just leave this here like this. Someone has to clean it up.” She lifted her gaze to him, and he saw the anguish in those beautiful sad eyes.

  “It’s not your mess to clean up,” Xavier said softly. He tugged the soiled towel from her hand. She let him pull her to her feet.

  Waverly crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the room. She looked lost without her purpose.

  “Someone has to,” she said again.

  “I will.” Robert stepped tentatively into the room. “I’m going to clean this up, and then I’m going to talk to your mother.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Dad—” Waverly began.

  “I need to,” he said quietly. He shot a glance at Xavier, and Xavier nodded.

  “Robert, I’m taking Waverly to London today.”

  Robert’s face fell briefly. “Of course,” he nodded. “I understand. I… uh,” he cleared his throat. “I have some things that I need to take care of here.”

  “Dad, really, I can—”

  But Robert shook his head and put his hands on her shoulders. “No, Waverly. It’s long past time that I stepped up. Let me do this.”

  She took a shaky breath and Xavier put his hand on her back to steady her. Finally, she nodded at her father. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. You too, Xavier. Have a safe trip, and be careful with my daughter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Waverly and Kate met in a squealing hug in the foyer of Waverly’s London hotel suite. “I missed you! How was your trip with your family?” Waverly demanded once the squealing had quelled.

  Xavier enjoyed watching them chat animatedly as they moved into the suite’s living room with its view of Kensington Gardens. Waverly may have never told anyone she loved them, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it. With Kate, with Mari, even Louie the fashionista chef, Waverl
y’s feelings were obvious.

  The girls flopped down on the stuffy couch while Kate filled Waverly in on her trip to Boca for what sounded like a disastrous family reunion. Xavier checked his watch. He had a briefing with hotel security downstairs in a conference room in five.

  “Can I trust you ladies not to do anything incredibly stupid for half an hour while I go downstairs?” he asked.

  Waverly beamed at him. “If you hand me that room service menu on your way out, I’ll order enough food to keep us all here for a week,” she promised.

  He handed over the leather bound menu and let his fingers linger on hers a little longer than necessary. If they’d been alone, he would have tilted her head back and kissed her senseless. But instead he just winked at her. He’d make sure to make it up to her when they were alone tonight.

  Waverly seemed to sense his train of thought and flushed under his gaze.

  “I’ll be back soon. Good to have you back, Kate.”

  Kate grinned, “I missed you too, X-Man.”

  --------

  He left them with a stern order to behave themselves and Kate fanned herself.

  “What was that?” she demanded as soon as the suite door clicked closed.

  “What was what?” Waverly asked, all innocence.

  “You guys are so molten I can’t believe I still have my eyebrows,” Kate announced.

  Waverly laughed. “Oh, please. He handed me a menu not a marriage proposal.”

  “It was the way he handed you the menu. All lingery and smoldery. You guys are doing it!” Kate’s voice was a squeal now. “Tell me everything, starting with penis size.”

  “Oh, my God! Why are you so excited?” Waverly wanted to know.

  Kate clapped her hands and bounced on the cushion. “I can finally use your celebrity couple moniker. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Xaverly!”

  Waverly pulled a pillow over her face. “Kate, how long has it been since you’ve had sex?” Waverly demanded.

  “Five months, two weeks, and four days. Why?”

  “Well that explains why you’re starved for details.”

  “Tell your sex-starved friend everything.”

  “You know that I don’t orgasm and tell,” Waverly chided Kate.

  Kate heaved a disappointed sigh. “How about if I make a few educated guesses, and you can nod when I’m on the right track?”

  Waverly gave a royal nod of acquiescence, and Kate clapped her hands. “Oh, goodie! Let’s start with the most important stat. Average number of orgasms per twenty-four hour period. I’m going to guess three.”

  Waverly laughed, but didn’t nod.

  “Higher or lower?”

  Waverly raised an eyebrow. “Definitely higher. In fact, double it.”

  Kate’s head flopped back on the flat top of the sofa. “I so hate you right now.”

  “Xavier’s amazingly attentive in areas beyond personal security,” Waverly teased.

  “Okay, this game isn’t fun anymore,” Kate groaned. “But seriously, Wave. I’m really happy for you. He has your back, like really has it. Not just physical protection, but he’ll stand up for you, he’ll challenge you.”

  Waverly bit her lip. Her tangle of feelings for Xavier went deeper than just physical. But they were complicated… and terrifying. Every time he walked into a room, she became hyper aware of his presence. She was drawn to him, orienting herself near him. Everything that passed between them, a smile, a look, a question—it all had layers of meaning… and heat. And when he touched her? The world ceased to exist. It was just him and the feelings he drew from her, the pleasure he fed her.

  Was that a relationship? Was that love? Or was it the mind-clouding perfume of lust?

  There was something between them. Something that strengthened and solidified more each day. Could she see a future with Xavier? If Stanford and normal were no longer an option, could she be happy where she was if she had Xavier?

  “Earth to Wave.” Kate snapped her fingers in front of Waverly’s face.

  Waverly flushed. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I was saying that maybe I’ll meet some sexy British guy in line for the throne while we’re here.”

  Waverly patted her friend’s leg. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s order some food and catch up on all the gossip from home.”

  Over afternoon tea they caught up. Kate’s sources told her the explosions at the premiere had the unintended side effect of creating quite the stir around the movie. Theaters around the country had sold out on opening night and continued to sell out prime show times. The Dedication was getting buzz that studios dreamed of.

  “This could be the movie,” Kate told her. “The one that lets you pick your projects and name your price from here on out.”

  Waverly sighed. She still didn’t feel the rush of pride and excitement. “My mother must be over the moon. All her dreams are coming true,” she said wryly.

  “Speaking of, she’s on her way to rehab now… or whenever tonight is back home.”

  “Mmm,” Waverly made a non-committal noise. This would be her mother’s third stint in rehab. She’d already used up all her hope on the first two stays.

  “Xavier made the arrangements. It’s some schmancy private place in Northern California that’s part spa, part rehab. Very hush-hush, very hoity-toity.”

  “Sounds right up her alley,” Waverly said. “What’s the publicity plan?”

  “Hush-hush there, too. Gwendolyn’s going to anonymously release some unused pictures of your mom driving around downtown to keep her visible. She also had me do an impromptu photoshoot around the house yesterday. Sylvia doing yoga, playing piano, sitting by the pool, blah blah blah. I’ll be posting those every couple of days on Instagram to keep up the ‘Sylvia’s not in rehab’ pretense.”

  “Think they’ll hold up?” Waverly asked.

  “They should. And if the natives get restless without a sighting, I dragged out that walking boot she had a few years ago from her skiing mishap and took a couple of pics of her in it. We can go with the whole, ‘Poor Sylvia and her stress fracture’ route.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Kate shot her a sidelong glance. “In addition to the new talking points—stalker, fearful for your life, poor little rich girl—Media Barbie did give me a list of things you can do to help sell the whole thing.”

  “Yeah, I think you can tell Media Barbie that she shouldn’t count on my help this time around,” Waverly sighed.

  “That bad, huh? I figured it must have been a shit storm for Xavier to drag you off of a yacht and go into hiding.”

  “Every time you think it can’t get worse, they both toe over that line just a little further. But that doesn’t mean that I have to be responsible for cleaning it up anymore.”

  Kate dropped her smoked salmon tea sandwich back on her plate. “I’m sorry,” she said through the bite in her mouth.

  “No one’s fault but their own,” Waverly said philosophically. Kate knew not to ask details. Waverly wouldn’t give them, and Kate respected that boundary. There were areas in their friendship that remained off-limits, and it worked for them. “So Agent Travers called me when we got in yesterday.”

  “Still spinning their wheels?” Kate asked.

  “He mentioned the fact that we need Ganim to make another move or the investigation is likely to stall out.”

  “Why was he telling you that?” Kate frowned.

  “I think he was sending me a message.”

  “Oh, boy. Xavier’s not going to like this,” Kate predicted.

  Waverly grinned. “But it’s better than sitting around and hoping for the best. I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines of my own life.”

  “And that’s why you wanted me to bring that sewing project with me.” Kate slapped her forehead.

  “Think you can find a tailor who’ll provide emergency services?”

  “You’re diaboli
cal.”

  --------

  Agent Travers and Xavier were comparing notes regularly these days. Xavier filled him in on precautions for the London premiere in two days. The press junket was tomorrow, and he was confident that no one was getting past the army of security the hotel and studio were ponying up for the event. It was the same with the premiere the following day. A security circus that was mostly for show. There had been no threats made, no contact from Ganim. But by reminding the world that Waverly Sinner was a target, it brought a new level of attention to the movie.

  “Bottom line is—our best bet at bagging this asshole is having him stick his head out of whatever hole he’s hiding in to wave hello to your girl again,” Travers said from the screen of Xavier’s laptop.

  “We’re not using her as bait,” Xavier warned Travers.

  “Yeah, I get that. Let’s just keep that option in our back pocket as a last resort.”

  Xavier knew, if given the chance, the FBI would be waving Waverly all over L.A. like red in front of a rodeo bull. “Any headway on the electronic side of things?” Travers’ team had been trying to track Ganim’s whereabouts through his Facebook account.

  “We left his account active in hopes of snagging some IP addresses, but the sneaky bastard’s using Tor as a browser, which means we’ve got him bouncing all over Turkey and Argentina when we know he was in L.A.”

  “How about the email Plotts sent the investigating officer in El Plano?” Xavier asked.

  Travers shook his head. “We’re backed up here a good couple of months, and forensics wasn’t too keen on bumping some of their big projects for a goose chase.”

  “I’ve got a team ready and waiting,” Xavier reminded him. A team that was better equipped than any overworked FBI electronics forensics examiner.

  Travers nodded. “Let me run it by my supervisor, and see if we can’t get something moving there. I take it you’ve got some suspicions that Plotts didn’t send that email?”

  “Let’s call it a working theory,” Xavier said.

  “Well, a theory’s better than sitting on our asses waiting for something else in downtown L.A. to explode.”