Filthy Rich Alpha

by Virna DePaul

  The crate was emptied of its contents in another hour and the filled-up columns in the budget book ran to several pages. The final tally was discouraging. Cara couldn’t put a positive spin on those numbers.

  “What am I going to do?” Her mother’s voice was weary, as if the reality of her situation was more than she could bear. She glanced once more at the book, then closed it.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Her mother sighed, reaching across the table to retrieve a faded velvet box. “I have jewelry that I don’t wear anymore. The place down the street buys gold for cash.”

  “Please don’t sell anything Daddy wore.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Cara.” Her mother raised the lid on the box, looking at the jumbled contents. “There’s his signet ring. You can have it now if you want. And the old pocket watch that belonged to your grandfather. Take both.” She lifted them from the box and held them up.

  Cara accepted the offering in silence. Her mother must have searched hard for the velvet box, which Cara vaguely remembered had once held a set of silver spoons. It had been a very long time since Cara had seen the ring or the watch. Her mother had put Hank Finch’s effects away long ago. God only knew what had made her find them again.

  “There’s that hideous bracelet from my cousin,” her mother said, breaking the spell. “She never liked the damn thing, so she gave it to me. I can’t say I’m sentimental about it.” She lifted it out and let it dangle from a finger. “Fourteen karat. And it’s heavy. That takes care of the next heating bill, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose so. Just don’t sell anything Daddy gave you, either.”

  Her mother rubbed the wedding band she’d never removed. “I never have and I never will.”

  “Thanks for these.” Cara tucked the signet ring and watch into her purse. “I don’t really have anything that was specifically his.”

  “Now you do.”

  “Were they in the attic with his things?”

  “No. I’d put them away for safekeeping. Then couldn’t find them, of course. So I turned the house upside down. Can’t you tell?”

  “Not really,” Cara answered honestly. “It looks about the same as it always does.”

  “Ungrateful child you are.” But there was a gleam of laughter in her mother’s eye. “So… Everything’s planned for your trip?”

  “Yes. All set.”

  “What if something happens to Glenn while you’re gone?” Her mother’s voice quavered a bit.

  “Then they’ll call, Mom. Iris is going to be checking in with you and Glenn while I’m gone. I need this time away.”

  “I know, honey. You work so hard. I’m sorry, I just worry…”

  Cara leaned over and gave her mother a hug. “I know, but don’t, okay? I will come back refreshed and renewed and everything will be fine. Glenn is in good hands, and Iris will take care of anything you need while I’m gone.”

  “Okay, honey. Do you mind if I take a nap before we eat?”

  “Of course not. Get some rest and then we’ll go someplace fun.”

  While her mother napped, Cara tried to read and just relax, but her mind kept wandering to work and Branden.

  Eventually she put the book down. Having her father’s ring and grandfather’s watch made her want to see some more of her dad’s old things.

  She climbed the pull-down stairs into the attic and found the boxes of things she and her mother had packed up and brought from the other house after her father had died. When she was younger, she’d come up here and sit next to the boxes and think about him, but she hadn’t had the strength to go through them.

  Now she felt compelled to. She figured going through her father’s things would give her strength and ground her in her decision to leave Branden and D&M behind. After all, she and her mother had started anew after her father’s scandal. Her father hadn’t had that chance, but if he’d lived, Cara liked to think that he’d have done whatever he could to move on.

  She sat down in the floor and began going through the boxes. She found his things from college, and his commendations from work. There were photos of him graduating high school. He looked so young and hopeful…it broke Cara’s heart that his life had been cut so short.

  She pulled out a stack of paperwork; in it was his high school diploma, his college diploma, a copy of his degree from his business school, and some paperwork from his job with the city that must have been put into one of the wrong boxes.

  One of the papers was a spreadsheet printed out on the city’s letterhead. It was a graph that had been charted out with red, blue, and green lines. The right side was a list of employee benefit funds and the top was a list of years. Across the bottom were monetary figures. The chart spanned the five years before her father was arrested. It had a date on the bottom indicating when it was printed off of Excel. That day had been a week before her father had been arrested.

  Cara felt a tickle of excitement in the pit of her belly. Her father had been accused of embezzling from the city’s pension fund. Could this document have had something to do with that? Had he been looking into it? But if he had, why wouldn’t he have said so? Perhaps he had been looking into it but hadn’t come up with anything definitive. There was certainly nothing on the graph, as far as Cara could see, to exonerate him or incriminate Davies any further.

  Cara tucked the graph safely into one of the file folders and took it downstairs with her. When she got back from vacation, she’d go through the rest of these boxes.

  As Cara drove home, heavy clouds obscured the highest buildings in the Manhattan skyline as she headed west over the bridge. The signet ring was too big for her but she wore it anyway, on her thumb. She had a gold chain somewhere she could slide it onto. The pocket watch needed repair—did anyone still repair watches? Whatever the cost, it would be worth it to her. Her father had treasured the old timepiece, opening the engraved gold lid for her when she was very small so she could hear it tick.

  She dropped off the car at the rental place below street level in a parking garage and walked the few blocks home, still full after eating most of her entrée at the diner.

  Her apartment was sunk in shadow that the hall light slashed into—she had forgotten to turn on a lamp before her departure. Cara moved swiftly across the living room and switched on a light. The warm illumination made the ordinary furniture look welcoming and chased away the gloom outside. She’d forgotten to lower the blinds, too.

  It seemed like too much trouble to do it now. Besides, the construction workers were long gone. The black-shrouded building across the street was virtually invisible.

  She took off the signet ring and set it next to the pocket watch on the table that held her closed laptop. That seemed ordinary again, a neutral object with no power to hurt her.

  She still wasn’t tempted to open it and watch a movie or anything that was streamed. She could do that on her smartphone if she squinted and turned the volume way up. An hour or so of a rom-com would kill the time between now and crawling under the covers.

  Cara wandered into her bedroom and put on the pajamas she’d left on the floor, then settled in on the couch.

  She had a text from Iris. Check out our kittycam. Live from the laundry room.

  Cara grinned when she saw the link and clicked on it. The blurry image resolved into a tangle of six small fur balls. The returning mother cat stepped back into the box and bumped the kittycam. A black blur filled the screen. Cara waited. Apparently Socks was actually sitting on the lens.

  “Okay. I get the message. You want to be alone.”

  Cara gave up and sent Iris a text to that effect, not expecting a reply. None came. She puttered around her apartment, leafing through a few magazines she’d read before, bored after a while. Then her eye caught her laptop.

  Fuck it. What were the chances of another sex tape arriving at the exact second she went online?

  Cara ignored the odds and booted up. She browsed the news, shopping sites, tomorrow
’s weather—there was nothing of interest. Sometimes the Internet was only good for making you sleepy. She yawned, about to shut down the laptop again, waiting for the hard drive to cooperate when a voice stopped her cold.

  Just a voice. Not a tape. It was robotic, without an accent of any kind, without inflection. Obviously male, on the deep side. She guessed it had been digitally altered from the first words she heard.

  “Hello, Cara.”

  She looked around, instinctively making sure that there was no one in the apartment. The voice seemed too resonant for her laptop’s small speakers.

  “No need to look for me. I’m not far away.”

  The chilling statement was not reassuring. It was terrifying.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. Maybe it was better not to respond, not to engage at all, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “No one you know.” The monotone voice gave equal emphasis to each word. “But I know you. What you want. Who you want. You can’t have him, Cara. Not for real.”

  “Are—are you real?”

  She suddenly wanted to keep the robot talking. There was a hint of something familiar in the altered voice. She couldn’t place it. Cara strained to hear.

  “I used to be a real man. Strong. Respected. Not anymore.”

  Whatever he might mean by that didn’t matter. She picked up on the sullen self-pity underlying the carefully chosen words.

  Skip the psychoanalysis, she told herself. Keep him talking. She stretched out a hand toward her smartphone. Maybe she could record this weird conversation. The little light above the camera lens in her laptop shell wasn’t on. The robot wasn’t watching her.

  “Who do you think I want? Branden?”

  “You can’t have him,” the voice insisted. “Not for real. All you’ll ever be to him is a good fuck. That’s why I make the tapes for you, Cara. So you can see what you are to him. So the world can see what you are. Branden Duke’s lay. His big hands all over you. Feeling you. Bare-assed slut. You two like to play a little rough. He gets you hot, doesn’t he. Doesn’t he.”

  The voice-altering software apparently didn’t allow for question marks.

  “Yes.” She grabbed her phone, looking away from the laptop, desperately trying to find the record function. Was that it? The microphone icon? Cara tapped it without knowing for sure whether she’d guessed right. “Is there more? Do you have another tape for me?”

  “Yeah.” The single word burst from the speakers, edged with ominous roughness. The beast was straining at his chain.

  The laptop screen exploded with obscene images, each erasing the other at strobe speed, a shifting kaleidoscope view of dark acts and hidden desires. Cara could not be sure that the woman she saw tied to a chair was herself or that the hooded man in leather leggings and strapped boots was Branden.

  The ugly show went on for several more seconds. It was all about anger. Humiliation. Punishment. The strong against the weak. There was no pleasure in it. Just a soul-consuming, self-degrading lust that overwhelmed all else. She couldn’t watch. Cara raised her hand to slam the laptop shut when the voice spoke again.

  “You can make it stop forever, Cara.” There was a fractional change in the tone. The voice was less robotic. Faintly coaxing. “Branden has to meet with me. You have to make him do it. By himself. You can’t watch what happens. Just get him there.”

  She heard herself whisper. “How?”

  “We will talk again. But first I want to show you that I’m real. Look out the window.”

  And be shot at? No way. She went sideways off her chair to the floor and crawled under the window.

  “You look sexy on all fours. I want you like that, Cara.”

  Oh, God—was he watching her?

  “Yes, Cara. I can see you. The camera light doesn’t have to be on for me to see you. You don’t know much about hacking, do you.”

  The robot was back, droning again. But she caught a tinge of pride in his icy voice. She was in shock. He could see her. She’d read about such a thing before. The ability to hack into someone’s computer and observe them without so much as a video light to give you away. She just figured that was something the FBI did, not your everyday stalker. But she should have known that given the CGI-enhanced videos he’d produced, this guy wasn’t an average anything.

  “You don’t have to answer. And I can see you’re too smart to stand up. But I want to show you something. Peek at the black building. Sideways. From where you are. Right across from your window. Do you see.”

  In less than a second, a thin red line traced a shape on the shroud of netting. It was a heart. Imperfect but a heart. The laser outline burned inside her eyes before it vanished. Cara closed them.

  “From me to you, Cara. I told you I wasn’t far away.”

  Chapter 24

  Cara fell back, collapsing onto the floor. She stayed down for a few agonizing seconds, her mind a blank, in shock, her senses numbed by fear. Her eyes stayed closed until she dragged in a raw breath and summoned up the nerve to crawl below window level toward her phone.

  What if he saw her? What if he had a rifle? She would know the answers when she reached up to the table. Cara propped herself up on one forearm and fumbled near the laptop. She could see it but not the phone.

  There was nothing but the smooth surface of the table. Then she had it. Cara flattened herself to the carpet, clutching the phone, expecting the zing of a bullet overhead.

  There was only silence.

  She breathed out a prayer of thanks, knowing good and goddamn well she wasn’t out of danger. She started to dial 911, then hesitated as she envisioned how that conversation would go.

  Please state the nature of your emergency. A heart? You saw a heart out your window? And someone sent you nasty pictures? That’s all?

  The cops wouldn’t rush over.

  But Branden would.

  All she had to do was call him.

  She wanted to. Just thinking about calling him made her feel better. Safer. She knew he’d do everything in his power to protect her. But there was a madman after him. A madman that was trying to use her to get to him.

  Branden has to meet with me. You have to make him do it. By himself. You can’t watch what happens. Just get him there.

  No. She couldn’t tell Branden. She knew him. She knew he would meet the man. To stop this. To protect her.

  And in doing so, he’d put himself in danger.

  Cara knew what her stalker wanted, and it wasn’t to chat with Branden or even to extort money from him. For some reason, he wanted Branden dead.

  Cara wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Shaking, she put her phone down next to her on the floor and curled into a ball. She thought of Branden. How happy he’d made her, in bed and out. How kind and honorable he was despite the ridiculous amounts of money and power he had. She wasn’t a match for someone like him.

  She’d always believed her father to be a coward. A good man, but a coward nonetheless.

  It turned out that Cara was the biggest coward of them all.

  The shrill sound of her phone ringing caused Cara to jerk awake. For a moment, she was disoriented, uncertain why she was curled up on her living room floor, her bones aching sleeping there.

  Then the memories came flooding back.

  It was morning. She was supposed to be leaving on vacation, but that creepy voice and heart had kept her locked in her apartment all night.

  She cringed as her phone kept ringing, unsettled by the default ringtone. Not anyone she would know. She used pop songs for friends and her mother. Then she stiffened with fear.

  Oh, God—was he calling her?

  She stared at the phone until the ringing stopped.

  Then it started again. Cara lifted her fingers and saw Branden’s number on the screen.

  “Hello?” she whispered. “Branden?”

  “You sound freaked. You saw it, didn’t you? Another fucking freak show starring you and me.”

  “Where a
re you?”

  “The link came up on my work computer. Where are you?”

  Curled up on my floor like the pathetic coward I am.

  Instead of saying that, she said, “I’m freaked, Branden. But not just because of the video. He—he talked to me. He could see me from my laptop. He hacked into my video feed.”

  “What did he say?” His voice held barely controlled fury.

  “Crazy crap. Threats. Then, bam, the video.” She swallowed hard, trying to calm down. “Branden—he’s outside somewhere.”

  “You mean in your building?”

  “No. But close to it. Maybe across the street.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “No! No, you can’t. Promise me you’ll stay away, Branden.”

  The line practically quivered with tense silence. “You said he made threats. He threatened me, didn’t he?”

  “He’s crazy and he wants to meet with you, Branden. He wants me to set it up.”

  “Then that’s what you’ll do.”

  “No,” she said, forcing strength and authority into her voice. “I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t be the one he uses to try, either. Now promise me you’ll stay away.”

  “I’ll be right there, Cara. Don’t open your door to anyone.”

  “Branden—”

  But he’d already disconnected.

  He was on his way to see her.

  And despite everything, despite her genuine desire to keep him safe and away from harm, she was so glad he was.

  Cara crawled into a corner to wait for him. She called the doorman at the lobby desk and let him know she was expecting a visitor. She described Branden and provided his name, emphasizing that he was the only person to be allowed up.

  “Yes, Miss Michal. Someone was just here, though, asking for you. A man.”

  A sudden sense of dread held her motionless. “What did he look like?” Branden couldn’t possibly have gotten here that fast.

  She had no idea what her stalker looked like. But any description would help.

  “Ah, I can’t say exactly. Not young, not old. He was bundled up. It’s cold out.”