She tapped her fingers against her temple, as if she could coax out the way to find the names of the inhabitants. In seconds, she had it, because she had friends everywhere in this city, including in the county records office—her friend Jenna’s aunt worked there.
Ringing Jenna, even though it was early on a Saturday morning, she gave her only the barest details, adding that discretion was key.
“I’ll see what she can do,” Jenna said, and five hellishly long minutes later, she called back to say her aunt would be home shortly from a hike and would log into her work computer to check the records for those addresses. “Give me an hour.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Sophie said, then tried valiantly to keep herself occupied.
But fifteen minutes of checking and double-checking that her shoes, jewelry, lingerie, and evening dress were ready for tonight did nothing to cool her mind.
A deep obsession kicked in, telling her to do something.
To understand.
To look.
To see.
She tried to shove all those urges away, and simply exist in this state of waiting. Maybe some tea would help. Maybe she should bake something. Maybe another long shower would keep her focus off of waiting for Jenna’s call.
But something insistent was knocking around in her skull, telling her not to sit still.
Her mind was a pinball machine, whirring and whizzing with crazy silver flippers, sending dozens of balls in new directions. She weighed her options. She could stay here and wait. Or she could conduct some recon on her own.
Twenty minutes later, she drove along James Street, her sunglasses on, as if that would hide her from the kids playing in driveways, the men and women walking dogs, the average, every-day feel of this suburban stretch of street that had been riddled with crime years ago. Following the path of addresses in her hand, she drove past the two homes from the pattern.
Two clean, neat, modern standard-order suburban family abodes.
They gave no clue as to why on earth Dora hid these addresses in a pattern many years ago. She gritted her teeth, wishing she truly understood what she’d uncovered.
Her phone rang.
She nearly jumped out of the driver’s seat, then settled herself when she saw Jenna’s name.
Swiping the screen, she turned her phone on speaker, then pulled over near a park and cut the engine.
“Hey girl,” Jenna said. “I’ve got what you’re looking for.”
“Tell me,” she said breathlessly.
“So, eighteen years ago, one was owned by a family named Stefano,” Jenna said, and Sophie cringed, squeezing her eyes shut at that name—the name she knew belonged to the shooter. “The second was a rental. Owned by a guy named Carlos Nelson at the time. But he didn’t live there. He rented it to his two cousins, T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson.”
“T.J. and Kenny Nelson,” Sophie repeated, as if she could decode the names by saying them out loud.
But they meant nothing to her.
Of course they meant nothing to her. She wasn’t investigating a crime. She wasn’t the detective. She wasn’t the victim’s family.
She was, however, the woman stuck between the two.
After she said goodbye to Jenna, she didn’t move. She stayed behind the wheel of her parked car, staring ahead at the swing-set, the world around her fading as she realized that she had the names of the two men John could be looking for in the murder of Ryan’s father nearly twenty years ago.
Ryan had no idea he’d been holding onto evidence all these years. He’d thought his mother had given him a memento, a symbol of her hopes and dreams for safekeeping. Instead she’d asked him to hide something that was clearly evidence, and managed to do it without anyone being the wiser.
Her insides roiled. Her head pounded with frustration and so much aching sadness. But underneath that storm of emotions was another one, rising up. Excitement. She had something in her hands that might help solve the murder.
The trouble was she was stuck, and Sophie understood precisely why she’d been so consumed with the need to keep herself busy for the last hour.
She didn’t know who to tell first.
Her head told her John. Her heart said she should call the man who’d given her the clue he didn’t even know he had.
She tossed her phone in the backseat and headed home.
Chapter Thirty-Three
She wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been all night. Ryan wanted to figure out why, and to make it better if he could.
“Is it that guy?”
Sophie knit her brows and shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“Is that why you’re so tense tonight?”
He squeezed her shoulder, then travelled to her neck, gently massaging. “The guy who wanted to set you up with his grandson. The reason you invited me in the first place,” he reminded her, as he tried to work the knots of tension from her neck and shoulders. “Is he why you’re so tense?”
“No.” She shook her head quickly. Then she nodded just as vigorously. “I mean yes. That must be it. Or it’s just that I want this whole event to go well.”
“It’s going great,” he reassured her as they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the guests mingling and chatting, enjoying hors d’oeuvres that fancy waiters and waitresses offered on trays as they circled. The huge ballroom glittered in the glow of boat-sized chandeliers. A four-piece orchestra played soft classical music from the stage as guests filtered in. “Or do you want me to make you feel better? Sneak into the fancy bathroom for a quickie?” he suggested in a low voice.
She seized up and spun around. “No. I can’t do that,” she said sharply.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey. Don’t bite. I’ve just never seen you so nervous. I want to help. I know this event is important to you.”
She breathed erratically then waved her hand in front of her face as if she felt faint. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”
But she didn’t finish her sentence.
He eyed her up and down as if he could somehow figure out what was wrong with his normally polished, poised, and outgoing Sophie. She handled crowds with aplomb. She was unflappable, so it was odd to see her off her game.
On the surface, she was as impeccable as always. She looked extraordinary tonight in a violet dress that hugged her curves, a teardrop necklace that nestled between her breasts, and sheer black stockings that he’d peeked at earlier, when he’d tugged up her skirt in the town car on the ride over to see how far up they went—all the way to the lace tops at her thighs. God, there was little better on a woman than thigh-high stockings. Her blonde hair was twisted high on her head, with loose curls framing her face.
He parked his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, beautiful. Everything here is perfect, including you,” he said, then turned her around to let her soak in the room and all the guests—the glitterati of the city mingling and talking. Many of Ryan’s clients were here, from casino owners to his new White Box clients. He recognized plenty of familiar faces, too, from the mayor, to a popular magician, to a big-time high roller. Even his brother Colin was here, though he was busy chatting with a pretty brunette at the bar. Sophie’s brother John was somewhere among the guests. Ryan had said a quick hello earlier, and it hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d expected it to be. Maybe John didn’t hate him.
Sophie bit her lip, then words seemed to tumble out, laced with guilt. “I just feel bad because I couldn’t make the pattern,” she said, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist.
He made a scoffing sound. “That’s what’s upsetting you?”
“I tried,” she said apologetically. “It was too complicated.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s sweet that you even offered.”
“I did try. I tried so hard.” Her voice sounded as if it was about to break. Then suddenly she plastered on a huge smile as an older man with gray hair strode up to them.
“Clyde Graser,” he said to
Ryan, holding out a hand, and Ryan spent the next few minutes chatting with the man who was in some way responsible for this incredible woman and him growing even closer. If Clyde hadn’t pressured Sophie, she might not have asked him to the event tonight. And knowing they had this date had pushed them faster into each other’s arms.
But then, Ryan also believed that he and Sophie were an inevitability. Funny, because he’d never been one to put any stock in fate and love. But he did now, and if this man in front of him played a role in driving him closer to the woman he loved, then he deserved his gratitude, even if it was veiled in the guise of something else.
“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for the community center. It means so much to so many people,” Ryan said.
Then Sophie remarked that it was nearly time to bring Clyde on stage with the center director, so Ryan said goodbye to the two of them.
He turned around to look for Colin, but once again his younger brother was quite busy with the brunette.
* * *
Sure, there were other people here. Quite possibly Colin should talk to them. Maybe even interact with his brother Ryan. But Elle hadn’t slipped away from him yet, so he remained at the bar with her, club soda in his hand, a glass of water in hers.
“Did you get the new ink you were talking about?” she asked.
“I did. I’m close to the ten percent mark now,” Colin said, not looking away from her, because how could he? He hadn’t seen her dressed to the nines before, and she was jaw-droppingly stunning in her evening finery. But then, she was hot-as-sin in the jeans, short-sleeve blouses, and the little flat shoes she wore on the days he saw her at the community center, so he wasn’t surprised. This dress though—he was sure it had been painted onto her lush figure.
He wanted to tear it off.
She laughed. “No way are you that covered in tattoos,” she said, calling him on his fib. She was right—he wasn’t ten percent slathered in ink. He had plenty though, and she was an admitted tattoo junkie. Inked herself, the back of her neck boasted a line of sparrows. He’d kissed those birds a few times. Not enough as far as he was concerned.
“Fine. Maybe not yet. But close.”
“Are you going to show it to me? The new one?”
He raised an eyebrow and shot her a dirty look, then moved his hands to his belt buckle as if he were going to take off his pants.
“Colin!” she hissed under her breath, her eyes widening. She waved her hands frantically as if to stop him.
“What?” he said, deadpan. “It’s on my hip.”
Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily. Maybe she was picturing his hip. Or him unzipping his pants. Or perhaps the image of her lips on his new ink had slid in front of her eyes. Good. He had that image working overtime, too.
“So that’s a no?” he asked, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Even if I told you it matches your favorite one on me?”
She’d seen them all, from the ink that covered his right shoulder and sloped to his elbow, to the art on his pecs—even the illustration that started on his lower back and curved to the top of his ass. Hardly anyone knew he had more than a dozen tattoos. He was a suit-and-tie kind of guy, given his job. But when the suit and tie came off, he was the guy with tattoos.
And “the bad boy,” as Elle called him. That was why she kept him at an arm’s length. Well, not all the time. But enough.
“I do, Colin. But not here.”
He gripped her elbow. “Let’s go somewhere.”
She inhaled sharply and shook her head. “We can’t keep doing that.”
“Why?”
“Because. I’ve told you a million times why.”
He leaned in closer and fingered a strand of her long, soft chestnut hair. “I could do that thing you like so much.”
She jammed a hand against his chest. “You’re incorrigible,” she said, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she curled her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. “You make me crazy. But Sophie is going to introduce me and then I’m going to introduce Clyde, so you can’t do this right now. This flirting thing.” She let go of his shirt, then narrowed her eyes and parked her hands on her hips. “And now you’ve distracted me. So talk about something else, because I don’t want to go up there with my mind on your damn hips.”
His lips quirked up. “Fine, fine. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture my brother-in-law gave me of a guy he’s seen around. See if you know him. I think he’s one of the guys from the center who plays hoops,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. He came up empty. “Ah, shit. I left it in my car.”
“Send it to me later, okay?”
“I will,” he said, then added, “Along with a picture of my new ink?”
She shook her head, but under her breath she said yes.
* * *
“Be an artist. Be an athlete. Be a leader,” Clyde said, his voice booming through the mic across the ballroom. “The local community center has a mission to provide all those services to young men and women in our fine city, whether it’s shooting basketballs, learning photography, or even getting a healthy meal for dinner. The center has cooking, parties, poetry, volunteer services, and thanks to the fearless director, Elle Mariano, we have wonderful support and counseling for young people today. I couldn’t be more delighted to be a key supporter of this very fine center and its services. And I am thrilled that so many other local companies have opened their wallets and checkbooks to get on board with us.” Clyde then rattled off the names of other supporters, from Colin’s firm to the newest ones in White Box. When he was through, the crowd clapped and cheered, including Curtis and Charlie, who Ryan had been enjoying a drink with.
“Glad to hear you guys on that list. Impressive to see you get behind the local community,” Ryan said to the two men.
“Thank you. We were glad to help,” Charlie said in a gentlemanly and gracious tone. “As a younger man, I was a bit of a troublemaker. Now that I’m older, I try to stay out of trouble.”
“We were all troublemakers one way or the other, weren’t we?”
“Indeed we were. We try to do better as we grow older and wiser,” he said, like a sage advisor, dispensing wisdom gleaned over the years. “By the way, your security team is doing a spectacular job already with my clubs. I couldn’t be more thrilled to be working with you to help keep my business safe and secure.”
Ryan flashed a smile. Nothing delighted him more in business than a satisfied client and a job well done. “I’m thrilled.”
“Anything you need, you let me know,” Charlie said, then gestured to the stage.
After sharing the details of the fundraising goal – an announcement met with cheers and claps – Clyde passed the speaking baton to Sophie’s brother. John walked to the podium then gave a short speech about the importance of keeping the streets safe, finishing with a call to support the community center. “Places like this can make a big difference. I believe that if we give young people a chance early on to be involved in something other than gangs, crime, and the trouble they can get into on the streets, we’ll have a safe community and a better Las Vegas.”
John said thanks and nodded crisply, and everyone cheered. Ryan soaked in the atmosphere in the ballroom, and the sense that maybe there were enough people who cared about change. Who cared about this city. Who wanted the best for this town they all called home.
He was filled with pride, too, over Sophie’s work, bringing such a motley crew together all in the name of this cause. He only hoped seeing the support from the crowds would lift that knot of tension she’d been carrying all night. Even as she introduced the orchestra and her ex-husband, then asked the guests to find their seats to enjoy some Beethoven, he could tell she wasn’t herself.
He doubted anyone else could, but it was in the small details, from the way she cleared her throat before she spoke to how she briefly fiddled with her hair on stage. Sophie was not a fiddler. Or a throat-clearer.
All t
he more reason for him to tie her up to a chair tonight, or maybe blindfold her for the first time. Yeah, he liked the image of that. He suspected that was just what she needed to clear her mind, and rid her body of all that stress.
Great. Now his dick was hard in his tuxedo pants.
He excused himself from his clients, found his way to his seat, and waited for Sophie to join him and his hard-on.
When she did, he brushed his lips to her neck then whispered something dirty in her ear about what he wanted to do to her later. She shivered slightly.
Slightly.
That was all.
Something was wrong with his Sophie.
* * *
She wanted to vomit.
She wanted to hurl.
To crawl under the covers, pull them over her head, and pretend she’d never offered to make that damn jacket.
She should have baked a pie instead. Made a homemade card with construction paper. Knit a scarf.
That damn dog jacket was tormenting her. Its secrets hounded her. She repeated the names—T.J. Nelson, Kenny Nelson—over and over in her head all day.
Then the other names.
John. Ryan. Ryan. John.
Like a pendulum she swung back and forth, seesawing between the two men. She couldn’t last much longer in this state of suspended secrecy. She hardly knew how Ryan had ever managed to keep things locked inside his head. It was painful. It hurt her skull to have this knowledge that she needed to share sealed in her mind.
Her stomach clenched. Evil butterflies swarmed her belly, the nightmarish, haunting kind.
As the orchestra swelled during the gorgeous piece of music, she clutched her belly. When Holden joined in on the piano, she dropped her head to her knees. Ryan rubbed her back and whispered, “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. She clasped her hand over her mouth then whispered, “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”
She took off.
In the bathroom, she washed her hands over and over, as if that would somehow give her the answer. Instead, it only gave her exceedingly clean hands. When she pushed open the door to leave the restroom, she found Ryan waiting in the hallway. The sounds of Beethoven playing from the ballroom could be faintly heard.
Sinful Desire Page 25
