Blue Shoes #3: New Adult Erotic Romance
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BLUE SHOES
Volume 3
JJ KNIGHT
www.jjknight.com
Copyright © 2014 by JJ Knight
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, fan-made graphics, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
JJ Knight
www.jjknight.com
Chapter One
I thought it would be easier to talk to Dylan in the elevator, now that nobody else is around and staring, but it’s not. There’s a tension in the air, and a force field all around him.
The phones are both in my purse, and I’m still holding the map. I have no idea what’s happening with our relationship, but I will find out about my hacked phone. That’s a start.
Dylan leans over, looks down at the map and says, “It’s a long drive. I really can go on my own, without you.”
I hold my chin up high. “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Who said I wanted to get rid of you?”
“What am I supposed to think? You haven’t exactly been nice to me.”
He turns away and stares up at the floor numbers above the elevator doors. “Jess, up until a few minutes ago, I thought this was all you. I have text messages from your phone, telling me you hate me and it’s over.”
“How could you believe that?”
He doesn’t look at me. I can see the muscles in his cheek ripple as he clenches his jaw.
“Because you should hate me,” he says. “I know I do.”
The elevator dings and the doors open on the parking floor.
He hates himself? But why? I don’t even know how to ask him something like that. And even if I did, I’d be afraid to hear the answer.
He leads me over to his car. He must have gone to the house since I was there, because the bright blue Maserati GranTurismo is parked here, taking up three spots.
I stop walking and my jaw drops open. “Three spots, Dylan? Really? You park your car across three spots?”
He chuckles. “I have to maintain my bad boy image.”
For a moment, our relationship feels almost normal. I’ve missed this—me teasing him about his car and driving habits. I stare at his handsome face as he glances around the underground parking level, always on the lookout for paparazzi.
I’ve missed him so much, and the idea that he was broken-hearted… that he believed those messages were from me… it brings tears to my eyes. I was angry, but I never wanted to destroy him. I just wanted us to be closer and more honest.
Now I have a million things I want to say, but it’s all too much, so I say nothing. We have a long drive ahead of us. We walk toward the car together, not holding hands, but close enough that we could. I blink away the tears quickly, before he can see them.
He walks me to the passenger side and opens the door for me.
I slide in carefully, but the car is low to the ground, and my skirt rides up.
Dylan’s eyes lock on my bare legs while his lips curl into a smile. “You look pretty hot for a detective. Is that how you get your information? You charm it out of people?”
I push my fake glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You don’t know the half of it.”
We smile at each other for a moment. Maybe this is how we build a bridge over the chasm of hurt between us. Maybe we just ignore it and flirt with each other, starting over at the beginning.
“I can see you as a detective,” he says. “You’re very determined, when you want something.”
“Thanks, I think.”
He pulls his gaze away from my face and sweeps down my body.
“You’re hard to resist,” he says. “Very charming.”
“You know who’s hard to resist? That girl. Ryanna. She’s even more charming than me. Did you know she, um, kissed me?”
“Sounds like a good story.” His eyes are still on my bare legs.
“I’m not joking. She did kiss me, and… I just wanted to say that I understand. I can see how any person, girl or guy, would be almost powerless to resist her.”
He jerks his head away. “Jess, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
He doesn’t explain. After a pause, he says gruffly, “We’ve got a long drive ahead.”
He shuts the door, not-so-subtly ending the discussion of Ryanna. I sit in the quiet of his car, alone for a moment. What did he mean by don’t?
Don’t bring it up?
Or don’t make excuses for him?
He slides into the driver’s side and starts the engine. He gives me a flirtatious look as he taps the gas to make the motor roar. Thoughts of Ryanna disappear completely. I don’t even care about her anymore.
I’m falling under his spell.
His lips are so beautiful, even if he hasn’t shaved or slept properly in days.
As good as it feels to have him looking at me, there’s no way I’m going to get physical with him before we have anything figured out.
Unless he kisses me.
If he kisses me, I might not be able to stick to the plan.
If he touches me with his beautiful hands, I’ll come undone.
With his lips on my neck, I’ll forget all the things we need to talk about.
Even when he looks at me, I feel myself falling.
All I want to do is climb across the small console between our seats and lose myself in him. All I want to do is kiss him, and have him promise me everything’s going to be all right.
I’ll have to be on guard.
Chapter Two
It’s a beautiful day for a drive up the coast.
In California, it’s always a beautiful day for anything.
I have a ton of questions I want to ask Dylan, about how the album is going, and where he’s been staying, since he hasn’t been at the house.
But now that I’m here with him, I feel shy and awkward.
I feel like we’re on a date, getting to know each other.
Except for the one night together in Italy before things blew up, we’ve been apart for a month. I guess this nervousness might be normal, considering the time that’s passed.
We keep stealing glances over at each other. The sun is streaming in, and the scenery is beautiful. I don’t look forward to dealing with the hacked phones. I wish we could put everything behind us, but a feeling in my gut tells me this is important.
Along with the map and address, Chet gave us the name of his private investigator: Clay Verity.
I like his name. He sounds like someone we can count on.
Dylan turns on the car stereo and asks if I’d like to hear the tracks he’s been laying down. I tell him, “Of course I do. You know I’m your number one fan.”
He smiles, melting some of the force field around himself.
He plays me the songs and talks excitedly about his plans, and guest musicians. Everything sounds great to me. Chet would be crazy to put this album on hold. It’s the perfect mix of familiar and different.
After about two hours, Dylan turns onto a side road, and we drive up to the address on the map.
Since this guy is a technology whiz and a private investigator, I’m expecting a bunker in the woods. The home is actually a modest yellow ho
use with roses blooming in the yard.
My boss has called ahead, so the investigator, Clay Verity, hears the car and comes out to greet us at the front door. He’s a short, stocky man with gray hair and a salt and pepper beard.
When we reach him, he clamps my hand first and gives us a warm smile. His handshake is firm and as friendly as his face, conveying openness and trust. He turns to Dylan and does the same.
“Come in. Come in.” Clay opens the door and waves us inside. “You have no idea how excited my wife is to meet you both. Since I retired, people don’t come over like they used to. She’ll be happy to talk to someone other than me. I think I’m driving her crazy.” He winks at me.
Clay leads us into his living room. There’s a faded red couch and armchair, both comfortable looking in that slightly-worn way. The hardwood floor is covered with a multi-colored rug. A collection of ceramic cats sits on the shelves of a cabinet in the corner, near the TV. Against another wall is a wood desk with a computer. Hanging above it is a picture of a younger Clay Verity posing with some police officers in uniform.
The three of us sit down on the furniture, which is as soft as it looks. I turn and look at the paintings over the sofa—they’re all gorgeous oil paintings of roses, arranged in humble pitchers and simple glass jars.
A woman of about sixty comes through a door on the other side of the room. She has gray hair too, and it curls around her face. She’s carrying a tray of coffee, which smells wonderful. She sets everything on the coffee table and perches on the edge of a chair across from Dylan. As she looks at him, her years melt away and she becomes a teenaged girl.
“It’s really you!” she says. “Dylan Wolf. The rock star.” She gives me a warm grin. “And his beautiful girlfriend.”
Dylan clears his throat. “Fiancée. Jess is more than my girlfriend. She’s my fiancée.”
My heart skips, just like it did when he first asked me to marry him. Is he saying that just for their benefit, or does he mean it? Are we really still engaged? If everything had gone according to plan, we’d be getting married this weekend.
Dylan reaches over for my hand. I think he’s going to hold it, but he’s actually grabbing my left hand, to show off my engagement ring.
Clay and his wife’s eyes light up. She puts her hands to her cheeks. “Of course you’re still engaged. I should have known all those stories they run on the internet are lies.” She leans in to admire the ring, then looks up at me, her eyes twinkling. “You’re even more beautiful than the photos I’ve seen. You’re going to make a stunning bride. When is the date?”
I look at Dylan but he keeps looking straight ahead. I think I see his cheeks reddening.
Clay turns to his wife. “They’re here for business.”
“Of course, of course.” She starts lining up three small mugs and pouring us coffee. “I’ll give you folks some privacy.” She gives us another smile, then gets up and disappears through the door.
“Okay,” Clay says, “so something funny is going on, starting with your phones. Fill me in on what you know. We’ll go from there.”
Dylan gestures to me, then leans back on the couch. “Tell him what you found out, Jess.”
I tell Clay everything that Ryanna told me. There’s an edge to my words when I talk about her making out with Dylan, but I can’t help it. She said he kissed her back, and I can’t shake that idea. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me, but he doesn’t say anything.
When I finish talking, Clay nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like someone has it in for you. And it sounds personal.”
I reach for my coffee and take a sip. My hand is shaking, and the porcelain mug clatters against the saucer. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Dylan growls impatiently and reaches across my legs to grab my purse. He pulls out the two cell phones and tosses them onto the coffee table.
Chet pulls a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, puts them on, and picks up both phones. “And you think these two units have been compromised?”
“I have messages from Jess, that she says she didn’t send.” Dylan turns his head and shoots me a look, like he doesn’t completely believe me.
After all this, he’s still suspicious of me?
As I stare at him in disbelief, my eyes wide, I’m so glad I didn’t kiss him in the car.
Clay keeps pressing buttons on the phones, studying them. He is fascinated by the mystery, and not at all interested in our relationship issues. “I’ll have to plug these into my computer,” he says. “I need to download the data without tripping off a warning, then run some diagnostics.”
“How soon until you prove something?” Dylan asks.
I interrupt, “Until he proves what?” I stare right at Dylan, letting him know non-verbally how upset I am. “That I’m not lying to you? Why don’t you believe me? The phones were hacked. Clay should be focused on figuring out who did this to our phones.”
Dylan won’t look at me. “Sure.”
I cross my arms and shift away from him on the couch.
Clay gets up to grab something and returns a minute later with a scratched-up laptop and some cables. To my surprise, he starts doing the diagnostics stuff right in front of us.
As we wait, I think of something else that was weird about my phone. “Clay, could the hacker set up alerts for news stories on my phone?” I tell him about the alerts I was getting on my phone in Rome. That was how I first learned of the video with Dylan kissing Ryanna. I wouldn’t have seen it for days, if ever, if those alerts hadn’t come in. My friends know better than to send me that garbage.
Dylan stiffens when I mention the kissing video, but I keep talking. “And then Dylan was getting alerts about me.”
Clay looks up at me. His face is getting red, and he wipes the gray hair off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Only one of the phones has been compromised,” he says. “The one in the purple case, not the one in the black case.”
His words wash over me. Only my phone was hacked, but Dylan was getting alerts about me kissing that creep in Italy. That means he was actively looking for information about me.
I turn and look at him, but he won’t meet my eyes. I just shake my head. It’s going to be a long drive back to Los Angeles.
I don’t want to be in this room anymore, hearing more about my fiancé spying on me. For all I know, Dylan’s the one who installed spyware on my phone. Maybe it was his doing, and the software just malfunctioned. Or maybe he never got messages from me, and is just claiming he did to excuse his behavior.
The room keeps getting hotter, with less oxygen.
Clay’s wife comes back to check on our coffee and see if we need anything else.
I jump up and walk toward her. She’s wiping her hands on an apron, and she reminds me so much of my grandmother right now, I want to throw myself into her arms.
“Mrs. Verity, you have such beautiful flowers out front,” I say.
“Call me Iris, dear.” She looks over at Dylan, who’s glowering on the couch, and Clay, who’s grumbling at his laptop screen. “Would you like a tour of the gardens?” she asks.
I practically drag her out the front door.
Chapter Three
We get out into the sunshine, and Iris says, “I’ve never trusted those mobile phones, but they are handy.”
I follow her through the garden. It’s nice being outside L.A., and not just because being surrounded by all the trees and nature reminds me of where I grew up. I can breathe out here. There aren’t any paparazzi waiting around the corner. Between them and whoever’s been tampering with my phone, it’s no wonder I keep looking over my shoulder.
Iris shows me her prize flowers, some large roses that she cuts once a week and brings over to a friend, who’s a painter.
“I give my friend the flowers, and she gives them right back in paintings,” Iris says, laughing.
“Those must be the ones I was admiring in your living room. They’re all so beautiful.”
I try to resist her generous offer, but she insists.
Her husband is still working on the data from my phone, so I spend the next few hours puttering around the house and garden with Iris.
Each time we pass through the living room, I can feel Dylan’s eyes on me. I refuse to look at him until he apologizes for calling me a liar. I can sense his frustration growing, and I’m glad. He’s putting himself through hell, but I hope something good comes from him feeling bad. I want him to learn from this, and never shut me out again.
Clay finally declares that he’s done all he can do today, and returns our phones.
I sit on the sofa again and finish my coffee, which is cold now but still sweet.
“There’s a spyware app that runs in the background,” Clay explains. “You won’t notice it, and even if you do, it says it’s for diagnostics so you’ll think nothing of it. These hackers are crafty. But as long as it’s on your phone, they have complete access and control. They could put anything on your phone and you’d never know. I hope you don’t do your banking on this thing.”
I shake my head. “No, I pay my bills using my laptop.”
“Good,” he says. “Not too much damage has been done.”
Hmm, not really. I look over at Dylan.
He asks Clay, “How did she get it on her phone?”
“Could have come in an email attachment or a text you got. Some junk thing that you opened by accident. Even if you deleted it, once you opened it, the virus can do its thing. I told you. Crafty.”
“What now?”
Clay rubs his salt and pepper beard. “Keep it running for now. Best we not let on that we know about them. I’ve installed another level.” He grins and starts talking faster, excited about the technology. “Spyware that spies on the other spyware. Give me a few days and I’ll tell you who’s behind this.” He looks up, his face serious. “That is… if you really want to know.”