Dirty Ex-Mas

by Denise Wells

  Note to self, ignore rude driver.

  I settle into the backseat of the car and pull my instruction cheat sheet from my clutch one last time to review.

  Step One - Dress the part . . .

  11

  Mack

  I’ll be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure about this plan I’ve cooked up. There are so many holes in it. So many opportunities for things to go sideways. As far as I know, Reed believes Tremblay is innocent, and I’ve not told him otherwise. Instead, I’ve worked with Daria to put this flimsy plan together, one that will not only trap Tremblay, but ultimately prove to Reed he’s guilty, all while keeping Quinn and Daria out of trouble. It’s not my best laid plan. Or even a good plan. But it’s the one I’m going with.

  I got myself on the security team that’s covering the event. Even though I’m working security, I still need to dress in a tuxedo so I can blend better with the guests. I’ll be working inside the party, just to make sure nothing untoward happens. Like the exact thing that I’m planning. I’m not sure why these people are so paranoid about their safety, since I’m one of ten guys who will roam the grounds and the party. But tonight, that paranoia will work to my advantage. That said, Ihave no idea who will be at this party. For all I know the head of the trafficking ring could be there.

  And to think Quinn believes she’s going into this as a hired assassin. I have to laugh at her naïveté. People train for years to succeed in wet work, and Quinn thinks we’ve set her up for it in two days’ time, even knowing how often Daria and her girls train and practice. It boggles my mind that Quinn doesn’t put it together.

  Daria didn’t think she would, and she knows Quinn better than I do. Daria said the romanticized idea of what we’ve asked Quinn to do would preoccupy her too much to look at the reality of it closely. At first I didn’t understand how that could be the case, but I was wrong.

  That said, I’m not taking any chances with handing over a piece to someone as inexperienced as Quinn. Especially when she is walking into a crowded room. The gun I gave her is loaded with blanks, this way if she does accidentally fire it, no one gets hurt. In the same vein, I also need to make sure no one shoots her.

  Seeing Quinn brandishing a firearm should be enough to cause general chaos amongst the party guests, causing them to scatter, and I can always yell gun if need be. The security guards will scramble to secure the family members, as directed, giving me the opportunity to grab Tremblay and escort him to “safety.” It’s possible we don’t even need Quinn. But for some fucked up reason, she is beyond excited about doing this for Daria.

  But, shit, like all hastily thrown together plans, too much hinges upon random people reacting the way we want them to. And I’ve not factored Reed into the equation at all. I know he’ll be there, but he doesn’t know about me or Quinn and I can’t have him involved in any of this evening’s activities.

  Two things have to happen to ensure Reed’s not caught up in my plan: we extract Quinn before he has time to talk to her. And I’m able to grab Tremblay without Reed seeing me. After which I should have enough evidence, via a confession, to prove to Reed that Tremblay is guilty. Which will absolve Quinn’s involvement in the evening, so Reed doesn’t feel compelled to bring her in.

  I like my partner, and we work well together, but Reed is the very definition of a rule follower. He takes “by the book” to an entirely new level of adherence. Not only will Reed not understand my plan, but he won’t agree with it either.

  Even though I want to prove Tremblay is guilty, I want a fucking confession from him more. Then I’ll either let Daria and her girls handle the rest or I’ll make sure the guys in gen pop at the jail or prison know he’s a lady seller. They tend not to like his kind in prison, second only to child molesters. I want him to suffer, not only for what he’s done, but for what he wanted to do to Quinn.

  I’ve got a line to Daria in one ear, she’s waiting just down the street in case I need backup or extraction. And I’ll have a line to the rest of the security team in my other ear. It wasn’t hard to infiltrate security, which is what Laurel and her family should worry about: how easy it was. But I’ve got a buddy who heads the company they hire, so maybe it was only that easy for me.

  Despite the ease of that one action item, I’ve still got a slew of others to get through unscathed. I can only hope tonight goes smoothly: Quinn doesn’t freak out, Reed doesn’t interfere, I get Tremblay alone, and we all make it out alive.

  I double check that I’ve loaded the pieces in both my shoulder harness and ankle strap. The likelihood of me needing to shoot someone is slim, but since I’ve not worked out the kinks in this plan to my satisfaction, I’m leaving nothing to chance.

  Not that it really matters since there’s no turning back now.

  12

  Reed

  “This house is incredible, man,” I tell David. We’re standing in the middle of the party and have spent the last few minutes drinking bourbon and catching up.

  “Laurel’s family; it’s all them. Do you know that they dress for dinner?”

  “Like, for at home?”

  “Yes! There are cocktails for exactly half an hour before they serve dinner, then we have wine with dinner, every night, and brandy or cognac after. I’ve never drank so much in my life. I’m worrying I’ll develop a problem.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

  “Is that something I should worry about?”

  “Nah.” He waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head. “I’m kidding.”

  So, I let it go.

  “You excited, man?” I backhand him lightly in the stomach, trying to get some camaraderie back from years past. I’ve realized as we’ve been standing here talking that even though I still consider him to be my best friend, we’ve lost touch, lost our connection, that brotherly bond that we shared for so long. It’s something I thought would bounce right back once I saw him, but it hasn’t.

  “I don’t know how I got so lucky.” He turns, I’m assuming to find Laurel in the crowd, then raises his glass toward her once they meet each other’s gaze. “She’s amazing.”

  “The money doesn’t hurt, either, huh?” I don’t know why I just said that. It isn’t even something I would ordinarily say, it’s not in my personality to be so crass.

  David raises an eyebrow and looks at me quizzically.

  “Sorry, man.” I tell him, closing my eyes for just a moment. “I don’t know where that came from or even why I said it.”

  “No problem.” He pats me on the outside of my upper arm, just below my shoulder, what should be a light and reassuring tap is more of a shove, so I’ve touched a nerve.

  “What else have you been up to?” I ask. “I never see you anymore. You’re always so busy.”

  “Well, I’ve been working a lot, gotta make the money to keep my girl in the life she’s grown accustomed to, you know?” He chuckles, but it’s flat. “I do a lot of networking at mixers and happy hours, stuff like that.”

  “How’s that working out for you? Is it helpful?”

  “I’ve made some good money with the people I’ve met, for sure,” he says glancing around the room again. This time I don’t get the impression he’s looking for Laurel. Just that he’s looking around. Making me wonder if any of those people are here.

  “Like, as in new clients?”

  “Yeah, mostly.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being purposefully evasive or not. Which makes me wonder—again—if Mack is right and David is guilty. There’s no denying the CGI that Paula Nelson picked out of the lineup looked a lot like David. It would have been easy for anyone to confuse the two. Hell, I almost couldn’t tell them apart. I need to remind myself that while choosing someone from a line of photos doesn’t automatically make them guilty, in the same vein that not choosing them makes them innocent.

  Since I only want a verdict of innocent for my friend, I’m turning a blind eye to other possibilities, and acknowledging it doesn’t stop
me from doing it. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that David might be guilty, it’s just not in the realm of possibility for me.

  “So, hey, you never told me when this got serious between you and Laurel. I feel like I barely even know her.” I tap David on the biceps as I say this. Not even sure what I’m looking for in an answer from him. It’s not like he will say, “Oh, yeah, well I stayed on dating apps, for purely nefarious reasons, until about a week ago when I decided it was time to settle down and commit to Laurel alone.”

  “Did you meet her on one of those apps you were using?” I continue.

  “Huh?” He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised. “What apps?”

  “Oh, I thought you were using an app for dating. Like back when you met Quinn?”

  “Oh, that.” He waves a hand dismissively in the air. “I stopped all that long ago. In fact, I think Quinn was the last girl I even met from one of those. Laurel and I met through mutual friends.”

  He changes the subject to something almost irrelevant. My eyes wander and I see someone who looks remarkably like Quinn, except I know she isn’t on the guest list, so it can’t be.

  David and I exchange small talk, and he tells me more about the wedding plans. Still, my eyes continue to return to the Quinn lookalike as she makes her way around the perimeter of the room, her hands held in an awkward position over her midriff, as though she’s hiding something. I subtly shift David to the side so I can see her better.

  He looks at his watch. “Hey, you know what, bro? I need to make an announcement here in just a sec,” he says. “Just to thank everyone for coming, that sort of thing. Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course. I’m just going to get another glass of champagne.” I raise my empty glass at him to punctuate the point and make my way toward the woman I saw earlier, depositing my champagne flute on a small table as I go.

  I hear David speaking in the background, but I’m focused on finding the woman. She’s easy to find in her deep green dress amidst the sea of black and red that adorn the remaining partygoers. She pushes her way from the wall through a small group of people, as if to see who’s speaking.

  Goddamn it. That is Quinn.

  What in the hell is she doing here?

  I quickly make my way to where she’s standing in time to see her pull a gun from behind her clutch and raise it in David’s direction. I grip her hip with my left hand and lean into her right ear. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  She startles with a low shriek. Her arms fly into the air—her clutch goes in one direction, and I grab the gun before it can go in the other, quickly getting the situation under control.

  At least until someone yells, “Gun!”

  Then all hell breaks loose.

  13

  Mack

  “Mr. Tremblay? There’ve been reports of someone with a gun. You need to come with me so we can get you to safety at once.” I grab David’s arm and pull him toward the rear of the house where the service entrances are. Daria knows that’s her cue to come get us.

  By the time we are there, she’s waiting with the engine of the large SUV idling.

  She’s in disguise, not that David gives her much attention anyway. He’s more concerned about saving his own hide than with anyone else. I give her my attention, however, because she looks fucking hot. To me, Daria has a Sydney Bristow vibe from the TV show Alias.

  Tonight, that couldn’t be clearer: shoulder length, stick straight, fire-engine red wig, combined with heavy eye makeup, and nude colored lips. Tight black leather pants, equally tight black turtleneck, and I’m assuming some style of boot. She always wears boots. I love her in boots. I love her more in these getups, nothing gets me hotter.

  I push Tremblay into the back seat and climb in after him. Daria takes off, purposely squealing the tires to show David the “urgency” of the situation, while I get a (fake) update in my feed from the security company. “Copy,” I say into my wrist in response.

  “Laurel and the other family members are secure,” I tell David.

  “What in the fuck just happened?” David asks.

  “Well, Mr. Tremblay, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone just tried to kill you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “You tell me?”

  “I don’t have any enemies. Laurel and her family don’t have anyone who would want to kill them.”

  “Well, you had a guest there who definitely wanted to kill someone.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to the security team’s safe house until the gunman is in custody.”

  “Who’s she?” he asks about Daria as if he finally notices who’s driving.

  “That’s the driver,” I answer.

  “She doesn’t look like security.”

  “She’s not.”

  “I need to call Laurel.” David pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “I would advise against that.” I lower his hand with my own, then take the phone from him. “We can’t be too sure about what’s going on right now. At least until we know what’s happened.”

  “You think my fiancée wants to have me murdered?” David scoffs.

  I shrug. “Hard to say, sir. Maybe she found out about all your aliases on those dating apps. And that until just last week you’d been kidnapping and drugging women, then delivering them to a residential brothel where someone either keeps or sells them as sex slaves.”

  His face pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your face says otherwise.” I wait to see what he will say next. When he doesn’t continue, I do. “Look, David. May I call you, David?”

  “No.”

  “David, we have a positive ID from your last victim. The one who got away. We also have evidence from the dating apps—”

  “What evidence? You can’t get anything from the apps.”

  “Really, Jacob?”

  If it’s possible, his face pales even further.

  “But they don’t store information.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  His face fills with confusion as he stares straight ahead. “You need to turn this car around immediately and bring me back to the residence.” David attempt at a demand is futile.

  “No can do. Sorry.”

  “I’ll have your ass for this.”

  I laugh in response.

  “Whatever it is you think you have, you don’t. There’s nothing stored anywhere that links me to using aliases to kidnap women.”

  “You sure about that?” I ask.

  He remains quiet.

  “You know they store anything and everything on the internet, right? It has to go somewhere once it’s uploaded. And even if you think you’ve deleted it, it’s never erased.”

  David turns to me. “Who are you? Because you sure as fuck aren’t with the security company.”

  “I’m with the FBI.”

  “Fuck me.” David buries his head in his hand and rubs at his brow. “Why does the FBI care about some dating apps?”

  “We both know that’s not all it was.” I look at him pointedly. He has the good grace to look away, so I continue, “Look, I don’t really care what you’ve done. I want the names of the guys above you. I want names and addresses of where they are, where the girls are, and where the girls go.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’d really hate to beat it out of you, David. Though, I’ll admit, I’m itching for a brawl, you know what I mean?” I crack my knuckles for emphasis, old-school style.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, sorry.” David stays stoic. Which means I’ll have to hurt him. Not that I mind, it’s just such a hassle to get blood out of the car interior afterward. “Last chance,” I tell him.

  He gives me one of those half frowns with a shrug of his shoulders. So, I toss off a right hook and bust his nose.

  “Ow, fuck. What the fuck?” His hands fly to his face and
he cradles it in his palms. Blood seeps through his fingers and runs down his arms into his sleeves. More blood pools at his wrists and drips to his lap. “Goddammit! You broke my fucking nose!”

  “I tried to warn you.”

  “I don’t have that kind of information. Fuck.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it to his face, trying to staunch the blood flow.

  “Tilt your head back,” I tell him.

  “Fuck you.”

  This time I shrug. In my defense, I tried to help. “You going to tell me what I need to know?”

  “I don’t know anything.I’m just the delivery guy.”

  “Well, not just. Isn’t that right, David? You’re also the guy that gets to go on the date with a pretty girl, sometimes maybe a little more happens than just drinks, then you drug her. Who knows what happens between the time you drug her and drop her off? Would anyone really know if you serviced your own needs?”

  “You’re sick.”

  I remain silent, waiting to see if he’ll continue.

  He does. “I would never. I have a beautiful fiancée who I love. Why would I want to be with someone who’s drugged? That’s disgusting.”

  “Tell me about Quinn Foster,” I say. Daria looks up and catches my eye in the rearview mirror. She wasn’t expecting this, and I can tell it puts her on edge.

  “What about her?” David shrugs as though it’s no big deal.

  “Wasn’t she one of the first girls you abducted? Or at least tried to?”

  “No. She was just someone I dated.”

  “Really? So, that she tripped and sprained her ankle on your first date didn’t deter you at all from drugging her and bringing her to your boss?”

  “He’s not my boss,” David says sourly.

  “What is he then?”

  “He’s just a guy.”

  “A guy you owe a favor to?”

  David shrugs again.

  “Look, I can’t help you unless you help me.”