by JA Huss
“So you’ve said,” Pax replies. There’s a clinking of ice in glasses, like they’re having drinks. “So you’ve hinted over the years. But you know what, Liam? You never do anything more than hint.”
“I’ve never had reason to.” He pauses. “Until now.”
“And what’s changed?”
“He’s been… doing things out of character.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” But the pause this time is extended.
“Like?” Pax urges.
“Like not paying his debts.”
“He owes you something? Since when?”
“He’s owed me his whole life, Vance. Like I said. You have no idea who he is. Did it ever occur to you that he might’ve been the guilty one?”
A laugh from Pax. “No.”
“No?”
“Never. I always thought Nolan was guilty. He acted guilty as hell. Weston never acted guilty. Little things like rape charges don’t bother powerful people like Weston Conrad, but even so, he’s not the guilty one.”
Mr. Corporate. They’re talking about Mr. Corporate.
“Then who? You?”
More ice clinking inside glasses. A pause. Then, “Say that again, old man, and I’ll do something about it.”
A half snort, half laugh from this Liam guy. Like he finds that notion ridiculous. “No need. I don’t think it was you. Your mother didn’t raise you that way.”
What the fuck is going on here?
They definitely know each other. But what is this about?
“No,” Paxton says. “She didn’t.”
“But,” Liam says, “you’re one half Charles Vance as well.” And then laughter. Like uproarious laughter.
I get a chill up my spine.
“He didn’t raise me, as you well know.”
“No. He never raised any of them, did he?”
“You wanna tell me why you’re here?” Pax says, his voice dangerous now. Like he’s out of patience.
Yes, please. I’m dying to know.
“I told you,” Liam says. “I need Weston Conrad… taken care of.”
Pax is silent for so long, I chance a peek around the corner of the wall.
Shit. I slink back immediately. He was looking right at me. I peek again and he smiles. Liam’s back is to me, so he doesn’t see what Paxton is looking at. “What exactly does that entail?”
“You just… make him disappear.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“Try bait, Mr. Mysterious. I hear it’s your favorite method.” Liam stands and I ease back into my corner. “So do we have a deal? Will ten million dollars erase this ridiculous blood bond you have with the rest of your accomplices?”
Accomplices? What?
“I’ll think about it. I just got a call not twenty minutes ago from someone else, so I can’t do anything until that’s over. They paid in advance.”
“Well, I’m not paying you in advance.”
“Then I’ll be in touch. And let you know when I’m free.”
“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” Liam says. “If you say no, I’ll just find someone else to do it.”
And then there’s the sound of expensive shoes on the hardwood floors. They come towards me. I freeze, not even half hidden behind the thin trunk of a plan tree, holding my breath, my eyes tracking them as they pass.
Pax doesn’t look at me—neither does Liam—and they continue past the pool and up the stairs into the street side of the house.
I bolt out of the corner and go up into the beach-side living room, hoping that Liam guy didn’t decide to look over his shoulder at the wrong moment.
“So you’re spying on me?”
I whirl around, surprised Pax is back here so fast. He must’ve practically shoved that guy out the door. “What the hell was that about?” I have so many questions. My obsession with Paxton never had anything to do with my brother, Oliver. But they were talking about the Misters. Something to do with Mr. Corporate. And if there’s one Mister involved, that means all the Misters are involved. Including my brother. “You were talking about Mr. Corporate.”
“No,” Pax says. “I’m talking about what you’re doing sneaking into my house, listening in on my private business. I’ve hurt people very badly for far less serious transgressions, Cindy.”
“We’re partners—”
“We’re fuck buddies.”
“Huh,” I say, disgusted at his characterization of last night. “OK. Fine. We’re fuck buddies and partners.”
“I didn’t hire you, Miss Vaughn. I’ve been humoring you. I think it’s cute. And I wanted to fuck you. Or… I did. Until you stuck your nose into things that don’t smell good. None of this is your business.”
I stay silent. Reconsider my options. Pax is not one of those guys who allows himself to be manipulated very easily. One inkling that he’s being played and he either walks away or starts playing the game with me. There is no in between with him from what I can see. He does this with every casual relationship I’ve watched him in.
They are all one-night stands or players in his game.
Which am I?
I could tell him the truth—I’m Oliver’s baby sister—and everything would be fine. I’d be in, no questions asked. Someone he’d probably confide in. Trust immediately.
But I’m not here because of Oliver. I’m here for him. And if I told him who I was, there’d be no chance of ever becoming his girlfriend. Ever.
So I play the only card I have.
“How about we settle this with… a game?”
Chapter Ten - Paxton
I tense up at the offer. I stare hard at her. And all the things I should’ve been wondering about last night are suddenly the only things that matter.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
“I’ve been watching you,” she says softly
“Who. The fuck—”
“For a very long time.” Her voice is laced with sweetness. But for some reason it reminds me of poison.
“—are you?”
“I know more than you think.” This time it’s a tease.
“I might consider that a threat. People who threaten me generally end up dead. You think you’re some kind of spy, Sugar? You come in here bragging of your firearms permit, calling yourself a private investigator. Well, look here, cookie, you have no idea what you’re doing. You’re just some small piece of entertainment that makes a lot of noise and puts on a nice show. Some kind of diversion. And you know what I do with diversions?” I take a few steps closer. She steps back, bumping into the kitchen island. “I—”
But the phone rings. The fucking landline, which is hanging on the wall of the kitchen right next to Cinderella.
Before I even know what’s happening, she’s got the handset up to her ear, saying, “Hello?”
I freeze. She stares at me. “Yes, he’s here. Who may I ask is calling?” She bites her lip, eyes never leaving mine. She holds out the phone. “It’s your mother.”
I cover the distance between us in two long strides, snatch the phone from her, cup my hand tightly over the transmitter end, and growl, “You better take this opportunity to run the fuck away, Cinderella. Because it’s the only chance you’re gonna get.”
I turn my back to her, place the phone against my ear, and say, “Hey, what’s up?” as I walk out the back door to the patio and look across the ocean at the low-hanging sun.
“You have a girlfriend?”
“No.” I laugh. “No.”
“Paxton, girls don’t answer your home phone. Who is she?”
Why now, for fuck’s sake? I don’t hear from her in months and now, right now, this is the moment she decides to call? “Is there something I can do for you, Mother?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“And I’m not going to. What’s up?”
She sighs on the other end of the phone. “Something very interesting was just delivered to the house.”
My whole body goes tense. “What was it?”
“I don’t think we should talk over the phone, Paxton. I’ll come see you,” she says, a lightness in her voice that shouldn’t be there. “We’ll talk then. And go to the races. I haven’t been to Del Mar in ages.”
Fuck.
“The Debutante Stakes is next weekend. There is a Limitless filly running who I’d like to see. I have a car scheduled. I have other meetings with potential clients so we’ll meet in the barn. Shall we say… fiveish on Saturday?”
“Mother.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I really don’t have time for this right now. I just got a call from Nolan and I have to do some digging for him.”
“You don’t even like Nolan.”
“I know.” I try to massage the headache out of my temple with my fingertips. “But it’s weird and I can’t ignore it. So I need to go help him out because West isn’t around and he’s part of the problem. I can’t ignore them, you know that.”
“Well, I’m advising you not to ignore this either. As I said, Paxton, I have something to show you. You will want to see this. Now put that girl back on the phone. I need to ask her something.”
“You don’t, believe me.” I stare straight in Cindy’s eyes as she waits, a pinched look on her face. I turn my back to her. “And she’s already gone, anyway. Just leave it, Mother.”
“Call her back inside, Paxton. I have a question for her. And you know full well I will not take no for an answer. So you might as well just give in to me and get it over with.”
I huff out some air and turn around and find Cinderella leaning up against the open patio door. Arms crossed. Frowning. I walk over, cupping my hand over the transmit end of the phone again. “Don’t say anything,” I whisper, as I hand her the phone.
She looks surprised, but takes the phone and places it to her ear out of instinct. “Hello?” A pause. “Cindy,” she says, looking at me. “Yes, I do.” Then, “Yes, that’s true. How did you know?”
I shake my head at her, then drag a finger across my throat in a cut it off motion.
But Cindy is smiling. “I love them.” More smiles. “I’d love to.”
I pull the phone out of her hand and put it up to my ear. “No. Whatever you just asked her, it’s no. I’ll see you next weekend—”
“Paxton?”
“What?”
“You need to bring her along.”
“Why?” What the fuck is happening? I mean, Jesus Christ. I spend ten years doing the most questionable shit to dig scumbag offspring out of scandal and none of that was half as frustrating as Cindy and my mother right now in this moment.
“I’ll explain on Saturday. See you then.”
I get a dial tone, so I walk back inside and place the handset back on the base in the kitchen. “What did she ask you?”
“She asked if I like horses. Well, first she asked me my name. And I said Cindy because Cinderella, right?” She rolls her eyes. “And then she asked if I liked horses. Which is a yes, of course. I always had ponies growing up. And then she said, ‘You love the races, don’t you?’ And of course, I said yes again.” Cindy looks up at me. “She invited me to Del Mar next weekend to watch a race. So I get to meet her. She said if you didn’t bring me with you, I should just pick up my ticket at will call and show up in the Turf Club at five.”
“Is that right?” My head begins to pound.
“That’s right.” Cindy shrugs.
“So you’re going?”
“Oh, hell the fuck yes, I’m going.”
“What if we play that game tonight?” I ask, grinning, but it’s one of those evil grins. “And you lose.”
She swallows hard, then lifts her head up and squares her shoulders. “I’m a winner, Mr. Mysterious. You should get used to that fact. And I’ll play that game with you if you want. But it’s got nothing to do with your mother, whom I will be meeting next weekend. Even if I have to drive myself.”
I don’t think she knows what the game is. I think she’s been researching me. Came upon some clue from back in the day. I’m not sure how it got out, but she’s an investigator, right? Her job is to find dirt on people.
But my job is to cover it up. It’s like an ironic little paradox.
I walk over to her. Right up next to her. She’s not small, but I tower over her. She looks up with those giant blue eyes and I remember something.
“You’re blonde.”
“What?” It comes out as a whisper.
“The carpet doesn’t match the drapes, sugar. You’re blonde. You’ve got blue eyes and the face of a fairytale princess. Why do you dye your hair black and wear all that shit on your face?”
“Excuse me?” She narrows her eyes at me.
I narrow mine right back. “You heard me,” I say, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her in closer. Our faces are less than an inch apart. If anger wasn’t coursing through my blood right now, it might appear I was gonna kiss her.
I am not going to kiss her.
“You wear that makeup to hide. You dye your hair to hide. These clothes,” I say, pinching the fabric of her vintage Metallica t-shirt between my fingers, “are your disguise. You’re a sweet little liar, aren’t you? Tell me, Cindy. Which of the many things you told me since we’ve met are lies and which are actually true?”
I’m going to threaten her.
“Let go,” she says, placing both hands firmly on my chest and pushing me back. My feet don’t even move. I am a wall as far as she’s concerned. A mountain. Made of stone. Immovable. Insurmountable. Unconquerable.
“Let go? I thought we were fate, sugar? I thought we were partners?” I growl those words out like she’s the enemy.
She straightens her back and levels her gaze at me. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” I say, leaning so close to her face our noses touch. I stare into her eyes. “Find your own fucking way to Del Mar, bitch. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck away from me and my family.”
Chapter Eleven - Cindy
Paxton disappears after that. For almost the whole week. He told his mother that Nolan called and asked him to do something. Is that where he went? Or is he already working for that Liam guy? I know the Nolan he’s referring to is Mr. Romantic. And the job with Liam was about Mr. Corporate. What I don’t know is how much of this involves my brother, Mr. Match.
I case his house all week. I don’t bother going back to Buster’s and hoping for a delivery call. That driver I was bribing to let me know about Paxton’s sandwich orders was fired, so I can’t weasel any more information out of that little deal.
I go into his house every night, careful to disarm the security system so there’s no alert, just to check and see if he’s home. But he's not. And there are no messages on that landline phone. There isn’t even an answering machine.
So I wait in my trailer down PCH. And I hang out in the waves with the surfers in front of his house, hoping he’ll surprise me and come out there like he usually does when he’s in town.
But he never comes, so he’s not in town.
Where is he? What is he doing? The week drags on so slowly, it makes me want to scream into my pillow at night. And by the time Saturday morning rolls around, I’m aching for him. Just a look at him. I get up early and plan my outfit, wondering what Mariel Hawthorne is really like once you get to know her, and then make the four-hour drive down to San Diego county in weekend traffic.
I have never been to Del Mar racetrack, but I have been to Belmont that one time I was stalking Paxton’s mother. She said meet her in the Turf Club, so that’s where I head once I get inside.
They have a dress code, so I am appropriately attired as I hand over my ticket for inspection and smile at the man guarding the door.
“Right down that way, miss.” The usher points to a section of tables.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling sweetly. I have no intention of going to my seat. I head to the bar and order a mint julep.
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“It’s not the Derby, ma’am,” the bartender says with a wink.
“I just like them.” I shrug.
“Coming up.” He steps away to make my drink and I turn around, come face to face with Paxton, and hold my hand over my chest, startled.
“Jesus, Pax. You don’t have to sneak up on me.”
He grins like he’s got a secret.
And he looks… fuck hot. I’ve seen him in suits. I mean, he wears them all the time. Usually with one of those red power ties. But they are usually black and formal.
Today he’s wearing a light gray suit with a coral tie and matching pocket square.
I have to take a deep breath as I stare up into his eyes, trying my best not to overly appreciate him.
“One mint julep,” the bartender says behind me.
“I’ll have bourbon,” Pax says, eyes never leaving mine as he reaches behind me for my drink.
“Yes, sir,” the bartender says.
“These things will kill you,” Pax says, looking me up and down with far less self-control than I exhibited as he hands me my drink. What a possessive little move with the drink. It makes me flutter a little. “What the fuck did you do to your hair?” he asks.
I shrug. “You didn’t seem to like the dark.” I paid three hundred dollars that I didn’t really have for a salon in Malibu to get my natural color back. But I like the result. It’s been dark for years now and I’ve missed my natural look. “So this is me.”
His fingers find their way into my thick head of golden locks, rubbing them between his fingers. “That’s quite a trick.”
“It was time.” I sigh, then take a sip of my drink. “I haven’t been blonde since I left home at eighteen.”
“Why not?”
“Bourbon,” the bartender says, still behind me.
Pax reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, then puts two twenties on the bar as he takes his drink.
“Change?” the bartender asks.
“Keep it,” Pax says with the smooth assurance of a man with money. “Have you seen my mother? I’m going to assume you know what she looks like, seeing as how you’re a private investigator. With firearms permit,” he adds, taking a long sip of his whiskey.
