“I’ll kill him,” Jacobs snarls.
“I’ve already done it.” She snaps.
“Are you hurt? Where are you?”
“Fuck you, Jacobs. How did you find me?”
“You stole from me, Ellie. Did you really think I wouldn’t have a way finding it? When have I ever been that careless, sweetheart?”
She goes still, and then, softly. “You bastard.”
“Tell me where you are.” He orders. “Let me bring you in before this gets even more out of hand. I can fix this.”
She shakes her head. A million miles away. With Charlie sobbing silently in the backseat, and alone on a quiet stretch of road, she realizes it. “You can’t fix this, Jacobs. It’s too much. We can’t go back to before—not after tonight.”
He’s quiet and finally, she hangs up. Steering with her knees, she pops open the back of the battery.
It’s there. A small silver disk on the battery. She would laugh, except she can’t imagine laughing. Not after tonight. Not while she’s still listening to Charlie sob in the back.
She peels the tracker of the phone and rolls down the window, letting it drop into the night. A few miles later, she drops the phone. Then she rolls the window back up and turns on the radio to cover Charlie’s sobs.
Chapter 23
They’ve criss-crossed Arizona. Charlie hasn’t complained or even give an opinion. What EJ thinks is for the best—well, she doesn’t actually care what EJ thinks is for the best, just now.
They stop every night at a cheap hotel and EJ chatters about the news and the weather and the music and whatever else she thinks will keep Charlie’s mind occupied, while Charlie strips out of her sweat crusted clothes, pulls on soft sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt before crawling into bed with a bottle of wine.
Once, she managed to drink enough wine that she didn’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
The first time it happened, right after Santa Fe, her screaming brought the hotel manager banging on their door and EJ cussing him out before they were tossed out.
Even Hotel Murder had its standards, apparently.
Charlie leans her head on the window, watching yet another stretch of Arizona desert falling past the door. It’s been over a week since that night.
“Where are we?”
EJ, driving silently, jerks the wheel, hard enough that Charlie’s head slaps lightly against the door. She hisses, and EJ steadies the car before eyeing Charlie warily. Her voice is rough and scratchy, and for the first time, she realizes she can’t remember the last time she spoke.
It’s been days.
Since that night? She shivers, and that empty pit of blank space yawns open in front of her.
She likes that pit. It’s cold and dark and it’s deliciously numb.
“Outside Flagstaff,” EJ says, snapping her back to the moment.
Charlie frowns at her. Flagstaff. “We were here two days ago.”
EJ refocuses on the road. Charlie stares at her for a moment, and when no explanation is forthcoming, she reaches out and nudges her knee. “EJ. What the hell are we still doing in Arizona?”
“You weren’t ready for Vegas,” she says softly. “And I didn’t know what to do.”
“So we’ve been driving around Arizona aimlessly for the past week?” Charlie asks, blinking.
EJ huffs, a quiet little noise of tired displeasure.
"I didn't have a lot of options," she says.
There is one, immediate and so tempting it almost draws a whimper from her. She shoves down the well of longing and straightens in her seat. "We had a plan."
Go to Vegas. Wait for her guy to make the IDs while they quietly cleaned out Jacobs’ bank accounts. And then run.
If she hadn't fallen apart, they would be in Ireland now, tucked into a cozy castle in the middle of fucking nowhere and safe from the crazy bastard chasing them. Safe and free. A tiny noise is clawing at the back of her throat, begging to break free, a sob she can’t indulge in.
“You could have dropped me off in Phoenix at a hotel. Called Daddy. He would have come to get me—I’d have been alone less than twelve hours and you’d be safe and in your castle.
EJ blinks. Then yanks hard on the wheel, hitting the gravel shoulder way too fast. The tail of the Nova fishtails, tires throwing up grit and dust and Charlie screams as they spin a little and she punches the brake, tossing them into a wilder spin as she brings the car to a jarring stop.
EJ is out of the car almost before it stops moving. Charlie blinks as she explodes out of the car, all frantic, angry motion that is almost alarming in EJ.
Slowly, Charlie climbs out of the car, wincing as her limbs stretch and regain feeling.
How long has she been fucking sitting like that? Curled against the door, her head on her knees, staring unseeing out the window.
A flare of disgust hits her so hard she almost can’t breathe. And it’s too much, too much to think about right now. So she stares at EJ, pacing along the side of the road, covered in a fine coat of dust, and swearing steadily.
“What the actual fuck, EJ?” Charlie says, pitching her voice louder than her friend’s ranting.
“I can’t believe you’d suggest that. Are you fucking kidding me?” EJ snaps, glaring at her. “Do you really think I’d do that to you?”
“I think you had a plan and I fucked it all up. I wouldn’t have blamed you at all.”
And she might have thanked her. She hates—even now—the idea of being the pretty polite doll her father expects. But there, she was untouchable.
In Charleston, she was a known quantity, and everyone there knew Travis Brooks would never have tolerated anyone hurting his baby girl.
Her stomach lurches. Except Tre had.
“You know better. You’re a lot of things, Charlie, but stupid has never been one of them,” EJ says, and exhaustion coats her voice, startling Charlie.
“Explain.”
“I wouldn’t leave you. How could you fucking think, after everything we’ve been through, that I would leave you?”
There’s something deep and raw in her voice that pulls Charlie from all of the shit in her head, and grounds her in the moment.
“EJ.”
“No,” EJ says, cutting her off sharply and shaking her head. “That’s all kinds of fucked, Charlie. I’ve been at your side for every single fucking thing you’ve asked. And you think I’d cut and run now?”
“This was never about me,” Charlie says.
EJ recoils, her face pale. She’s grungy, her short hair greasy and flat from a hat, her shorts rumpled from driving—she looks like hell, and the disgust is back. How has she missed this? How lost in her own head has she been that she’s forgotten EJ.
“What the hell are you talking about?” EJ whispers.
“You’re doing this because of whatever twisted shit is between you and Jacobs. I’m just along for the ride. But you’d be fine without me. Better.”
“You are the reason I’m here,” she says, her voice shaking. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve run from Jacobs and my mother?”
It’s the same question Jacobs had asked, and it chills her in the Arizona sun. She squints against the sun.
“Twelve. Since I turned eighteen. I’ve left twelve times. And I always come home. Jacobs snaps his fingers, sends Marco to fetch me, and I come. Because that’s what I was supposed to do. Who I’m supposed to be—a pretty little doll for him to prop up and see smile.”
“EJ, we’re fighting the inevitable,” Charlie says.
“No.” It’s whispered, but it’s forceful. Heavy with conviction and hope that startles Charlie because she didn't think her cynical, cold friend could sound that fierce and stubbornly hopeful. She quiets and EJ shakes her head, “We decide. They don’t get to control our lives forever. It doesn’t matter what they want—all our lives, we’ve been what they want us to be and miserable. Aren’t you ready to be what you want?”
Charlie stares at the
grit of the road, leaning against the Nova.
“Why did you call me that night?”
“Because that’s what you do. When shit falls apart, you call the person you know you can count on. The one who can fix it, or if they can’t, can hold you up while everything crumbles.”
EJ’s head tilts. “And you still think I’d walk away?”
“No,” she says honestly. “I think you should. You’d be better off if you did. But desertion isn’t really your style. If it was, you’d have gotten clear of Jacobs a long time ago.”
EJ laughs, a tight little noise that worries her. Charlie straightens away from the car and smirks at her friend. “So. We’re in this together. What do you say we finish it and get the hell outta dodge?”
“Dear god, yes,” EJ says, and Charlie laughs. It feels strange and it hurts, a little, but in a good way. In the way that says she’s going to be okay, in the end.
“Great. I’ll drive. You look like hell.”
Chapter 24
She naps for a few hours, and at first, it’s restless. A week and more of worrying about Charlie constantly has made it very hard to relax and trust that she wouldn’t fall apart while driving down I-8.
But eventually, the hum of the tires and Charlie’s soft, off-key singing to the radio lull her into a sense of calm and sleep ropes her, pulling her down hard. When she wakes, night is falling across the desert, a sight she’s come to love and loathe over the past week, and she straightens in her seat. Charlie glances at her as she switches lanes to slide around a slow moving tanker.
They pass a road sign and she glances at Charlie. "We left Arizona," she says, her voice startled.
"Couldn’t stay there forever," Charlie says, almost amused.
EJ studies her as she drives.
The past week has been hell. Every time she saw a cop car, she tensed, sure that they would turn around, blues flashing. Every night was spent with a bottle and Charlie almost catatonic. She's lost weight she didn't have to lose and black circles are under her eyes. She looks haunted. Devastated.
But now she's different. Not just alert and interacting. She looks determined.
Somewhere along the way, broken is mending. Still fragile. But mending.
"Can you call your guy?" Charlie asks, killing the silence with the question and a look that says she's aware EJ is analyzing her and she's not happy about it.
EJ smirks. "Yeah. We need to stop for the night soon and buy a phone."
Charlie glances at her. "What happened to Jacobs' burner?"
"He was tracking us with it. That's how Marco and his mad dog found us."
Charlie's grip on the wheel tightens but she doesn't say anything.
"Where are we?"
"Yuma. We're about five hours from Vegas."
EJ straightens. "Do you want to stop for the night or push on?"
Charlie wrinkles her nose, "Stop. I'm not showing up in Vegas looking like trailer trash that hasn't heard of a shower."
EJ laughs and if it's a little too giddy with relief, neither girl comments on it.
*
The shower helps. It doesn't make everything better, but it makes her clean and that makes her feel like herself. EJ leaves while she's in the shower, shouting that she'll be back soon. She dresses and dries her hair and then sits on the bed, her legs pulled up to her chest. Thoughts are beginning to crowd close and it occurs to her that she is, blisteringly, sober. When the hell did that happen?
She rubs her eyes and lets out a breath. Her hand twitches toward the phone and she almost picks it up.
The door swings open with a muffled curse and EJ spills into the room in a mess of bags. Charlie watches as she tosses everything on the bed.
"Did you knock over a computer store?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.
EJ snorts and unearths a bottle of wine. Charlie takes it and goes about opening it.
"We're getting out of the country. Frenchie is expecting us tomorrow afternoon. But here's the thing..." EJ pauses and studies her. Charlie resists the urge to squirm under the appraisal, and pours two plastic cups of wine. She extends one silently to EJ and raises an eyebrow in question.
“We have the account numbers for every account Jacobs has. And I’m going to clean him out. Then we vanish.”
Charlie shakes her head. “It’s not enough.”
EJ goes still and Charlie smiles. “All in, EJ.”
She looks vaguely sick, but Charlie doesn’t back down. If anything, her expression gets harder, fierce and demanding.
“Charlie,” she whispers.
All in. Charlie walked away from everything—her life, her family, even her college sweetheart.
Now it’s her turn.
All in.
She takes a shuddering breath, and picks up the phone. Dials silently, from memory, her finger shaking just a little. Charlie doesn’t comment on it, and she doesn’t comment on the tears that are thick in her friend’s voice when she says, “Jacobs. We need to talk.”
Part 4:
The High
Las Vegas Police Department. Interrogation Room B.
Detective Blackmon: Your room—
Charlotte Brooks: Not mine.
Blackmon: The room secured with a credit card in your name. Tell me about the dead body we found there.
Brooks: I’m not sure what I can say. I told you—that’s not my room. We weren’t even staying in that hotel.
Blackmon: We?
Brooks: (silence)
Blackmon: Look, if you could be straight with me, we could move this along, ma’am. Who is we?
Brooks: Don’t be cute, Detective. You know I was traveling with EJ. I didn’t ever deny that. Now. Moving along. Not my room. Never been there.
Blackmon: Do you want to also sell me on the story that you weren’t in the Ceaser?
Brooks: I was gambling, with a date. I’m not sure when that became a crime.
Blackmon: And Miss Munro? Where was she last night?
Brooks: How ‘bout you find her and ask.
Blackmon: I will hold you for impeding an investigation, ma’am. I don’t give a fuck who your daddy is.
Brooks: I like you better when you lose your shit, Detective. You’re almost fuckable.
Blackmon: Is that what the man in your room was? Fuckable?
Brooks: Not my room. Don’t know about the boy.
Blackmon: Tell me about Anthony Jacobs.
Brooks: Why?
Blackmon: Ma’am—
Brooks: Detective, I’ve been really nice and answered your questions. I’ve cooperated with you. But I’m exhausted and I’m hungry and I want to know where the fuck EJ is.
Blackmon: (silence)
Brooks: Why are you looking at me like that?
Blackon: You really don’t know, do you?
Brooks: Know what?
Blackmon: Ma’am, we can’t find Ms. Munro. She’s been classified as missing and a person of interest in the case. But—we found a substantial amount of blood in that hotel room. And Anthony Jacobs was seen at the Palace with Ms. Munro.
Brooks: (Quietly) you’re wrong. I know what you’re saying. But you’re wrong.
Blackmon: Am I? If she’s alive—where is she?
Chapter 25
Frenchie is a whip thin man with a shiny bald head, abnormally tall, with a wide smile and the squeal that makes her flinch just a little.
He pulls her into a tight hug and EJ huffs out a tiny laugh. “Oh my gawd, baby girl. Do you know how long it’s been since I saw you last? What are you even doing here? Why are you standing there like lumps, come in and sit down.” He tugs EJ into the room, and gives Charlie a quick appraising look, then glances at EJ. “Bringing home the pretty ladies now? How does Jacobs feel about that?”
“I didn’t ask,” she says blithely, and he laughs, letting the door close behind him.
Frenchie is a force of nature, and one of the few people in Jacobs world that she trusts not to rat her out as soon as she turns her back. He
might want to suck Jacobs’ dick—and there was that one time in Bora Bora on a dare that happened—but he’s always been loyal to her. Maybe because they were friends before Jacobs discovered how good he was at forging documents.
“Word on the street is the boy is pretty upset you skipped town,” Frenchie says, sliding past Charlie and leading them deeper into the stucco home. It’s brightly lit, cluttered and messy, smelling faintly of incense, weed and baked goods.
EJ makes a small, dismissive noise. “He’d be more pissed you referred to him as ‘the boy’.”
Frenchie smirks at her, and puts a plate of cookies on the table before sitting down across from them. “What do you need?”
“The works, for both of us.” EJ says.
Frenchie’s eyes narrow, and he glances at Charlie. “US citizenship?”
She nods, and he nibbles his lip, before he grabs a cookie. “How much you planning on using it? Is it safety like the last one, or—” he glances at EJ and what he sees there makes his eyes go wide.
“What the hell happened between you and Jacobs, lil sis?”
She stays quiet, almost stubbornly so, and he let’s out a low whistle. “Damn, sugar. I didn’t think anything could tear you and Jacobs apart. Ok. How fast do you need them?”
EJ smiles thinly, and if it’s a little bit scared, Charlie doesn’t comment on it. She just sits quietly at her friend’s side.
“As soon as you can finish them.”
Chapter 26
She’s sitting on the hood of the Nova. Frenchie has been fussing over Charlie for hours, touching up her hair and darkening the color so she looks more natural and less like a fugitive. He’s snapped her picture a dozen or more times, and touched up her make-up to cover the bruises he’s been smart enough not to ask about.
Seeing those bruises hurts almost more than seeing the ones on her thighs. Because she got Charlie into all of this. She dragged Jacobs into it, because she’s always fucking turned to him, consequences be damned. She’s never cared that someone would get hurt, because that someone was never her. But now, it’s Charlie taking the worst of his people’s violence. And it’s infuriating.
Fatal Beauty Page 15
