Vincent stood there for a long moment.
He turned and faced Trey. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
A few steps took Trey to his duffel bag. He ripped out the aged folder, the frayed edges barely keeping the pages inside. He returned to the standoff where Edgar and Ally stood in front of a red-faced Vincent.
He pulled out a picture of Nick in dress uniform and held it up, forcing his hand to stay steady. “Look at him. You would have hit me, but Nick pushed me out of the way, shoved me to the side. You left without even slowing down, without stopping to see what you’d done. Without even calling 911.”
Vincent glanced at the image, his cool stare giving no indication it registered. “I don’t remember seeing him. Or you. So as far as I’m concerned, it never happened, unless you’ve got some real proof.” He turned to Edgar. “I’m done here.”
Trey grabbed his arm, pulling on the stained shirt. “I’m not. Do you remember?”
“What do you think?” Vincent snapped back.
Trey held up Nick’s photograph again. “This man. You came right at us, you ran over him and raced off.” He was shouting now, unable to keep his voice down. “You didn’t stop. You didn’t give a damn.”
Ally wrapped her arms around herself, biting her bottom lip.
Edgar’s eyes narrowed as he studied Vincent. The cool bodyguard was gone now, the seasoned veteran watching both men intently.
Trey continued, unable and unwilling to stop.
“You dumped the car and went overseas, your parents keeping you out of the country long enough for the case to go cold. Then you came back with a handler, a man assigned to keep you out of trouble.” He didn’t look at Edgar, knowing his words would hit home.
“But you knew you’d killed someone, right? You must have known you did something wrong when you sobered up and found your car smashed. Your parents did, too, hiding the evidence and snatching you up to go to Europe. Hell, you got the damned tattoos so no one could recognize you by your birthmark. Sure as hell shows you were awake and aware to me.” Trey shook the pictures. “Tell me!”
Vincent brushed them aside with a swipe of his hand. “I got a tattoo because I didn’t want people staring at my arm. Horrible birthmark, and I figured adding some cool swirls would make the ladies like it. And I went overseas because I wanted some fresh air, a chance to party with some new friends.” Vincent gave a snort. “You’re asking me what I did five years ago in New York City?” The hoarse laugh bounced off the walls. “I drank, and I partied, and I passed out a hell of a lot. I don’t remember.” He threw off Trey’s arm and stomped over to Edgar, glaring at the man. “I’m done here.”
Edgar looked at Trey for a second before dropping his gaze. He stepped aside and opened the door, following Vincent as the businessman stumbled through to his suite.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ally watched Vincent flee to his room. She turned to Trey, hugging herself. The pain in her eyes ripped him open as surely as if she’d gone at him with a machete.
“Son of a bitch.” She tightened her grip on herself, her nails now digging into her bare arms. “I thought…” Her voice trailed off, returning with a hoarse anger. “I thought it was something like getting you fired from a job or selling you inferior merchandise, stealing your girlfriend or… God, I never considered…” She drew a ragged breath. “I asked you not to tell, and that’s on me, my decision. But this… I had no idea.” She made a noise, a strangled cry. “You’re accusing him of killing a man. Running him down, running both of you down and leaving you in the street to die.”
“Yes.” It was all he could say.
Ally pressed one hand to her forehead. “I never…” She looked at him with dark, sad eyes. “Everything you’ve done for the last week, it all led up to this moment. Confronting him, showing him those photographs and demanding an answer. You didn’t care about anything else, anyone else—this was all about getting to see him, wasn’t it?” She drew a sharp breath. “You didn’t give a crap about me or Sheldon Construction or any of those people we talked to, the workers on the construction site and the hospital nurses. All a cover to get to Vincent, all of it fake. You used me.”
A void opened up inside him, a black hole swallowing up his heart and soul. “You have to listen to me. I wasn’t sure it was Vincent until now, until I saw him in person. When I spotted the birthmark on his arm in that picture you showed us… It’s the one I’ve been searching for. Five years.”
“Dylan. Jessie. They were in on this, too. All of it.” She snapped the words like an invisible whip, flaying the skin from his body.
“Yes. But this…” He shook his head. “Jessie did her job; she brought him back. When Dylan put me and the others on the job, it was the real deal. Don’t be mad at them. They know I’ve been searching for a man with this mark on his arm since I…” He bit off the rest of the sentence. “Since I came to work at the club.” He felt like he had rocks in his mouth, garbling his speech until it was undecipherable. “I had to know if he remembered running over Nick and driving off, laughing, into the night.”
“And now that you’ve met him? Are you happy?”
“I…” He paused, mind spinning.
“He doesn’t remember you. Do you have anything, other than your memory of the accident?” She wiped at the air. “If you have solid evidence, why aren’t the cops here? Why aren’t you having him arrested?”
“It’s complicated.” He gripped the thin cardboard of the file folder. “What I have… It wouldn’t be admissible in court. I was hoping he’d remember, that he’d want to do the right thing. Take responsibility for his actions.” The sour taste in his mouth increased, burning his tongue. “I thought he’d step up and be a man when confronted with the reality of what he’d done.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you think that? If you believe he’s the man who ran you and your friend down, what in God’s name did you expect him to do? Drop on his knees and beg for forgiveness? Volunteer to go to the police station and turn himself in?”
Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage. “I hoped he’d have some regret, some burning in his soul.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “When you kill someone, it stays with you. No matter if it’s justified or not, whether you’re wearing a uniform or not, it’s there.” He glanced at the closed door leading to Vincent’s suite. “I guess I thought he’d want to get that off his heart.”
“Well, he didn’t. Because he didn’t do it.” She stared at the folder in his hand. “The information on the nightclub, on the car. Did you collect this when I brought you back here?” Her cheeks turned scarlet, her hands trembling. “Is that why you suggested going into his laptop? When I gave you permission to go into our database, did you go deeper than you said, dig this out of our private family files?” Her voice rose, almost to a shout. “Did you play me to get what you wanted?”
“No. God, no.” He shook his head. “I never… I’ve got my own resources. I did my own search once I had his name.” He swallowed hard, unable to draw a full breath from the pressure building inside him. “I promise you, I didn’t go any further into your computer system than needed to verify the embezzlement. That was real. He was stealing from you. Your own people proved it. I didn’t make anything up.”
“I can’t…” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “You believe he hit you. That he killed your friend.” She sat on the couch and closed her eyes. “My God…”
“Ally…”
“Get out.” Her whisper tore at his insides.
“Let me explain.”
“Get the hell out,” she shouted, pointing at the door. “Out.”
He retrieved his duffel bag, stuffing the file back inside.
She stared at the coffee table, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Ally,” he tried again.
“No. Don’t say anything. Just go.”
He walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Trey stumbled down the
hall and into the elevator, his mind numb.
All he’d wanted was justice.
His mouth went dry as he jabbed at the button, ordering the elevator to the lobby.
He knew she’d be upset. She’d thought he wanted Vincent for some lesser offense, something a hell of a lot lighter than vehicular manslaughter. Now he’d knocked down the walls around her world, and she’d never be able to see Vincent in the same light again. Or Trey.
The elevator moved in silence, his reflection in the metal panels warped and twisted.
The lobby was almost empty as he rushed through to the front doors.
He needed to get back to the club and fast.
The doorman didn’t give him a second look, obviously used to dealing with confused and unhappy men rushing out of the hotel first thing in the morning. He whistled for a cab as Trey stood there, unable to stop the recent encounter with Vincent from running over and over in his memory.
He couldn’t think about how to deal with Ally, not with the invisible wounds still raw and bleeding. Not yet.
Not when all he saw in his mind’s eye was Vincent looking at the picture without even flinching. Staring at him with not even a bit of recognition, nothing but anger and resentment at Trey for poking a hole in his perfect world. Looking nothing but indignant when confronted with the results of his rampant alcoholism.
Trey wasn’t sure what he’d wanted out of their confrontation. Vincent offering an apology, or asking how to make amends. Or maybe an angry, defiant man who bragged about getting away with murder.
He’d gotten neither.
Instead, he’d faced down a drunken, belligerent jerk who didn’t remember one of the worst days of Trey’s life and didn’t care.
A sense of failure flowed through his body, draining the last of the happiness left from the previous night.
The cab pulled up, and the doorman opened the door, tipping his cap as Trey got inside.
The driver waited for instructions. Trey forced the words out. “The Devil’s Playground.”
The cab dropped him back at the nightclub, the driver leaving with a smile and a wave of his hand.
Trey went around the back door, where fresh produce was being delivered to the kitchen. Wyatt grinned as he picked up a tray of fresh lettuce and put it on the cart. Finn nodded, balancing a load of tomatoes and cucumbers.
Trey forced a smile and passed on by, leaving them behind.
He went through the kitchen and out across the dance floor to the bar, picking out a glass and pouring himself a stiff drink of whiskey. Faith, the bartender, put down her clipboard and stared at him.
“Put it on my tab.” He grabbed the bottle and headed to his office.
His sanctuary.
He wasn’t even into his second drink when the door opened.
Dylan pushed the duffel bag out of the way with his foot before sitting in the lone chair, propping his feet up on the computer desk.
Trey stayed silent.
“Jessie says Vincent Sheldon is an asshole. Patrick’s going to have a hard time getting the smell out of the back of her car.” He shook his head. “Might be easier to run it out into the desert and set it afire.”
Trey stared at him.
Dylan didn’t take the hint. “She noted you seemed to have gotten close with Ally Sheldon as well. Very close.”
An invisible bell went off in Trey’s head, signaling the end of his patience.
“Get out.” He gestured at the door. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
Dylan stood up, shaking his head. “What did you think she was going to say? I’m glad you helped me cover for my idiot brother until I got him back. Now thanks for revealing him as a monster?”
“Get. Out.” Trey ground his teeth. “Last warning.”
Dylan leaned over the desk, his eyes narrowed. “You want to punch me, let’s take it to the ring. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you, Trey. I’m still sorry.” He went to the doorway and looked over his shoulder, eying the bottle. “One’s fine. Don’t try to get a second.”
He shut the door before Trey had a chance to answer.
The framed picture on the desk stared at him.
“Fuck.” Trey rubbed his temples. “What the hell did I do, Nick? What the blazing hell did I do?”
The smiling man refused to answer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ally flexed her fingers, fighting hard not to grab one of the loose pages on the table and shred it into a thousand pieces. Instead, she dragged her fingernails across the desk, resisting the urge to scrape the varnish.
Twelve hours after he’d returned, and Vincent still looked like he’d just stumbled in the door. He’d come out of his room a few minutes ago, dressed in jeans and struggling with a white dress shirt—the tails hanging out on all sides.
“Fuck this. Fuck all of it.” He growled as he fumbled with the front of his shirt, struggling to line up the buttons. “I can stay in my damned bathrobe—it’s almost time to go back to bed, damn it.”
Ally gritted her teeth. She’d spent most of the day wanting to indulge herself in a good, long cry in the shower or to curl up in bed with a pint of ice cream, but she was unable to do either. Edgar had his hands full trying to deal with Vincent, and she’d spent her time on the phone, canceling the day’s meetings and dealing with company business as Vincent roared and moaned his way in and out of getting humanized again with Edgar’s assistance.
He sat on the couch, bleary-eyed and scowling. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, flopping against the white shirt. “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss over this. We’ve got the cash covered.” He gestured at his wallet lying nearby. “I brought almost all the money back. Would have brought more if that bitch hadn’t screwed up my game. I was about to pull in a huge pot with a winning hand.”
“Maybe.” Ally gestured at the pages spread out across the table. “Maybe not. The forensic accountants are still looking to see if there’s anything else you’ve screwed up with your theft. You can’t just take money from wherever you want and assume it’ll all balance out in the end. There are debtors to be paid, customers…”
“It’s not theft.” He waved her off with an annoyed snort. “That’s as much my money as it is yours. It’s all going to work out in the end—I’m going to cut this deal and make a lot of money. What’s good for me is good for the company, right?”
“Mom and Dad are going to figure it out sooner or later. They’re not dumb. They do study the books every now and then. You can’t keep taking money out of the company.” She tapped the pencil on the desktop. “You make enough. If you’re going to gamble, do it with your own salary. Don’t take anything from Sheldon Construction.”
Vincent shrugged. “There wasn’t time. I heard about this hot game in Reno, ten thousand to walk in the door. Couldn’t pass up a chance like that. Not after coming so close to getting that money back. So damned close.” Vincent grabbed a nearby bottle of water and wrestled with the cap. “Mom and Dad are old and retired. They don’t need to know anything about this. Going to be our money, anyway, when they die.”
“And the embezzlement?” The words came out harsher than she wanted, surprising her.
He tossed the cap at her. “Come on. The houses are getting built and the contractors paid on time. No one’s getting hurt. Think of it as a bonus.” He sipped the water. “At least I’m not spending money on women. Or in your case, men. How much did you pay that jerk?”
“I told you—he works with Jessie. The woman I sent after you.” A throbbing started behind her left eye. “He’s a computer expert. Helped track you down.” She forced herself to keep talking, push through the pain. “This accusation he made—is there anything to it?”
“The New York thing?” Vincent waved a hand in the air. “Of course, not—I’d remember something like that. I’m not a monster.”
“I remember you being in New York. It was just before we went to Europe.” She was careful to keep her tone
as neutral as possible.
“Sure. Me and five billion other people.” He snorted. “If there was anything to this, don’t you think the cops would be on it?” He waved a hand in the air. “Five years since this supposedly happened and no one’s come to us asking about this. You gonna take the word of an IT guy over mine? Use your common sense—he’s messed in the head ’cause his buddy got killed, but that’s none of our business. His problem, not ours. Guy should get some treatment for PTSD. Making accusations like that can get him in trouble.”
“So, you’re saying Trey lied?”
“I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Maybe he was running some sort of long con and figured we’d pay him off to go away once he flashed those pictures at us. Play on our bleeding hearts. Who knows what his plan was?” His eyes narrowed. “After you gave him access to our files, let him stomp all over our records. Edgar filled me in while I was getting changed. You broke into my computer and phone. You invaded my privacy.”
“We needed his help. We had no idea where you’d gone, what you were up to. Hell, Jessie was afraid you’d been kidnapped. It was the right thing to do.” She wasn’t going to let herself get twisted around on this point. “You’d have done the same thing in my place.”
“Maybe,” he answered. “But that’s not the point.” He leaned in. “I need to know that you believe me. We’re family, right? When I tell you he’s full of shit, you got to believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
The headache blossomed inside of her skull. “Of course, I do.”
“Good. This asshole, he’s a hacker and a danger to the company,” Vincent snapped. “I planned to be back in time for the presentation just fine.” He touched his chest. “As far as the other stuff goes…let’s keep it in the family. You stand by me and I’ll stand by you—we don’t need any outsiders poking around.” For a second his face softened. “Come on, Ally. You know I put everything I can into my work. I work hard, I play hard. Needed some fresh air, to clear my mind without Eddie nipping at my heels. I had a few drinks and got invited to a poker game away from the official tables—more fun than giving the casino their cut. I was going to call Eddie, fill him in, but one thing led to another, and I never found the right time.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I scared you; that’s all on me. I’ve apologized to Eddie. You can ask him.”
Hard Pursuit Page 17
