by Quinn Avery
Still, someone was upset with her, and they were quite obviously looking for something. It wasn’t a standard B&E. She could see from the hallway that even her clothing and bedding had been strewn about. Did it mean she was too close to the truth?
Her phone trilled from her bag on the kitchen counter. She hurried back to retrieve it, noting the caller was using a local area code. “Bexley Squires.”
“Bexley? This is Faith…Willow’s roommate? I tried that Rivers guy, but he won’t answer, and this seemed important.”
He wouldn’t have answered because he’d still be in the middle of the press release. “What is it, Faith?”
“After you guys left, I decided to smoke a bowl and listen to some tunes. You know, to calm my nerves. All that stuff about Willow possibly being a hooker got to me. Anyway, there was a laptop tucked beneath where I store my vinyl, like someone was trying to hide it. I’ve never seen it before…it must’ve been hers.”
“Don’t touch it.” With Grayson indisposed, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. Bexley collected her keys and headed for the door. “I’ll be right there.”
Deciding Grayson would want to see the laptop right away, Bexley took a handful of pictures without disturbing it, then carried it to her car using a plastic bag. She figured she’d catch hell for taking the evidence—especially for returning to Faith’s neighborhood alone—but she was only trying to be helpful. And her curiosity got the best of her. The same inquisitive drive compelled her to pull into a gas station parking lot, and carefully pry the laptop open with her shirt pulled over her fingertips.
It was a fairly new model, and top of the line. Bexley had paid $2,500 for an older version, and guessed she’d have to pay a significantly higher amount for it to be replaced. Faith found it plugged in with a power cord, so the hard drive whirled to life right away. Having expected there to be a password, Bexley’s heart nearly exploded when the first thing to load was Willow’s email account.
It took several minutes to scan through pages of junk mail before Bexley found something that stood out. Correspondence from a bank in the area, stating Willow’s last deposit had been corrected. Mentally crossing her fingers that the computer would remember Willow’s password, Bexley clicked on the link. It took her to the bank’s home page where a user name and password were already filled in.
Bexley continued to click on links until she was staring at an account history. She gasped at the last three transactions. On November 23rd, 16th, and 9th, there were deposits for $5,000 each. When she scrolled down, there were even more from prior months. She clicked on one of the transactions to find a photocopy of a deposit slip. In one of the blanks, “CP” had been scribbled in with a red pen across from the full amount of the deposit. This “CP” was paying her obscene amounts. But to do what? Was that the going rate of a call-girl? A drug mule?
Belatedly, it registered in Bexley’s mind that there would be a log of activity on the account. She could do hard time for identity theft. She quickly exited out of the webpage and returned to the emails. If she didn’t hand the laptop over to Grayson soon, he may accidentally learn of the lapse of time from Faith. She wasn't willing to get called out for tampering with evidence.
She scanned past more junk mail until she reached a message from a “GGTW” timestamped November 21st…two days before Willow was found.
* * *
I miss you like crazy, baby. You’re my favorite of any of the girls in the BC. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you as long as you’re with me. Hope to see you wearing this again on Friday.
* * *
The short message was unsigned. There was a picture attached of Willow in a fuchsia triangle-style bikini top, sun shining down on her face, dark locks fanned around her head, hands and phone reflected in her mirrored aviators as she took the selfie. The way her smooth skin glowed and her white teeth shined, one would never guess she was heavily into drugs as her roommate claimed. Or maybe it was an older picture. Beyond Willow’s locks, there was a sliver of Caucasian skin and part of a man’s naval. Bexley clicked on the picture, and zoomed in closer. The resolution wasn’t the best, but she noticed something scrawled right below the man’s bellybutton.
Bexley’s lungs seized. The GGTW initials didn’t make any sense, but there was no mistaking the man’s tattoo. It read, “you’re welcome.”
11
“I need to talk to Shane,” Bexley demanded, barely able to keep her voice under control. Dean had buzzed her in at the gate, and she found him lounging out back by the pool, reading a book. The sight of him in low slung gym shorts, hair messed and perfect body glistening with sweat like he just completed a workout, disgusted her. Grayson had been right. There wasn’t any difference between Dean and a con artist.
He set the book down and set his sunglasses on the top of his head. “I told you, he’s surfing in Indonesia.”
“Is he ever coming back?”
“At some point, yeah. I’m not his travel guide.”
Bexley paced barefoot across the stone patio, hands jammed in the back pockets of her jeans. If she didn’t get her breathing under control, she’d be inclined to strangle him. She stopped suddenly, eyes narrowed on his. “He knew the victim. But I’m guessing you were already aware of that fact.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I read an email he sent her, saying he missed her, and couldn’t wait to see her just days before she was found!” She moved her hands up to the top of her head, barely resisting the urge to tug her hair by its roots. “If you know anything about Shane and this girl now is the time to come clean—before I hand the victim’s laptop over to the police!”
“How did you—”
“Doesn’t matter! If he killed that girl, he needs to go to prison! It’s time to stop covering for him!”
Dean tossed the paperback aside and swung his legs to the side of the chair, putting his elbows on his knees and wiping his face. “The truth is complicated. There’s way more involved in this than my friendship with Shane.”
Sensing she'd struck a nerve with him, and was finally getting somewhere; Bexley took a calming breath and softened her tone. “Do you think he could’ve killed her?”
“I’ll admit, he’s changed since we first met. He became relatively famous after hanging out with me awhile, and he’s let it get to his head. But I don’t think he would kill anyone. Getting his hands dirty like that…it’s not his style.”
“And people who knew Bundy said he was too smart and charming to have murdered thirty-some victims. Shane doesn’t have any of that going for him!” She crossed the stone patio to sit beside him. “Why don’t you start by telling me how they met?”
“That’s where the complication begins.” He turned to face her, shoulders slumped. “If word gets out I told you what I know, they’ll come after me. I would’ve told the cops about Shane’s relationship with the girl if there wasn’t more involved. A lot of money has exchanged hands to keep the club secret.” He reached out to slip his fingers into hers. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
“I’ve been through worse,” she assured him with a snarl, slipping her hand back into her lap. “Shane mentioned she was his ‘favorite girl in the BC’. Is that the club you’re talking about?”
“Before I say any more, you have to promise what I’m about to tell you will stay between the two of us. You can’t tell the cops, and you can’t put any mention of it in your article.”
“Okay,” she whispered, setting her fingertips on his wrist. “You have my word.”
When he took a deep breath, Bexley took a smaller one along with him. “Last summer, I was invited to the grand opening of an exclusive nightclub downtown. I ended up going, and brought Shane along. The owner of the club was this super rich kid. He brought us into his VIP lounge for the night, offered to treat us like royalty. Thousand-dollar bottles of champagne, hot women, a buffet of drugs…the whole nine yards.” His eyes widened on B
exley’s. “I personally wasn’t into all that, but Shane soaked in every minute. The owner kept inviting us back, offering the same kind of treatment every time. Once he assumed we had become friends a few months later, he asked if we wanted to join an exclusive boys’ club. For two million dollars each, we’d be given forty-eight hour access to all the beautiful woman and sexual experiences we could ever want along with unlimited booze and drugs. He said it took place on a super yacht, several miles from shore. Shane was interested, but I wanted nothing to do with it. Sounded shady from the start.”
Simply learning about the drug-induced orgies with privileged men made Bexley yearn for a shower. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to hire a few local hookers and call it a night? And why did Dean keep going back to the club if it wasn’t his thing? “Sounds steep for two days.”
“The inflated price guaranteed anyone involved would be fully committed to keeping the club a secret. Some of the men who participate are big wigs in corporations and the military who can’t afford to get busted. The women involved are paid extreme amounts to ensure they won’t sell their story of sleeping with anyone to the press.”
“So they’re paid to keep their mouths shut and have sex with anyone who opts into the club.” That would explain the $5,000 weekly deposit in Willow’s account. “Who is this ingenious entrepreneur? Anyone I’d know?”
“His identity is fiercely protected. He has the kind of money to make you disappear with the flick of a finger. I’ve told you too much already. I think he’s the one who leaked my so-called arrest to the press. It was a warning. He wanted to remind me what’s at stake.”
“So why'd you hire me if you thought Shane might be a suspect?”
“You want the truth?”
An incredulous laugh fell from her lips. “Please, lie to me some more.”
“My agent sent that email on her own. I tried backing out, but you had already accepted and booked a flight. I didn’t know how to convince Paula without putting her in danger too. She’s been with me since the beginning…believed in me when no one else did. She rallied for me, landing the roles that made me famous. She’s family. I couldn’t risk getting her hurt. So I resolved to let it happen. If you got too close to the truth—”
“You’d trash my apartment?” she interjected.
“What?” His surprise felt genuine, but then again, he was an actor. “No way. Nothing like that. I planned to steer you in another direction. Then Shane got in my face at his party. He’d seen you at my place the first night you were in town. He was upset that I let someone dig around when he’d been involved with that girl. I promised him I wouldn’t let you bring him down. I kissed you that night knowing he would come looking for me after we’d fought. I figured you’d be safe if he thought we were together that way.” He paused, licking his lips. Then he told her in a hushed voice, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much as I did.”
Warmth buzzed inside her lower gut. She hadn’t been prepared to like kissing him either. But she wasn’t going to let him play her to get what he wanted. “His involvement with her couldn’t have run too deep,” she said dryly. “Someone in mourning wouldn’t have thrown a colossal party that soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is he the reason someone has been following me?”
“I confronted him about it after you left, but he denied it. Said he only had his security team question my staff once you had left for the college.”
“And that’s coming from such a trustworthy guy.”
Head shaking, he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Listen, Bexley. I wouldn’t have told you about the club if I thought Shane was capable of killing her. I’m only trying to explain his involvement. He had a thing for that girl…I think he may have even been falling in love. And he’s an idiot…nowhere near smart enough to get away with murder.” His fingers ghosted over her knee before he thought better of it, and folded his arms. “I believe someone wanted you to find that girl’s laptop. I’d bet everything I have that it’s someone from the club. They’d throw Shane under the bus to save their own asses.”
Bexley took a moment to consider the idea. It had seemed convenient that Faith had come across the laptop after Grayson had already searched their house. She wasn’t willing to hand over any more information than she already had, including the fact that someone had been looking for something inside her apartment, or that she had access to Willow’s bank account.
She stood, glancing at the house. “Before I go, I need to ask you a favor.”
“Name it.”
She turned back to meet his gaze. “That gun you said you’d get me? I need it. As soon as possible.”
Dean clenched his jaw and dipped his chin with understanding.
For the remaining hours until nighttime crept in, Bexley camped out across the street from Shane’s residence. She needed to get into his house. Preferably before he returned, and caught her in the act. If he was as innocent as Dean wanted to believe, there wouldn’t be anything for her to find. But she had a feeling he was far more involved in Willow’s death, whether or not Dean wanted to admit it.
As expected, there weren’t any signs of the self-proclaimed ladies’ man. She watched as landscaping and housekeeping staff checked out for the day. She took pictures of each employee as well as the company names displayed on their vehicles, thinking they might somehow be useful at a later date.
Willow’s laptop mocked her from the passenger’s seat. What if Dean had been right, and someone from this boys’ club had planted it to indicate Shane’s guilt while protecting themselves? How would she explain that to Grayson without breaking her promise to Dean?
Shortly after Shane’s house went completely dark, her stomach growled like a grizzly, reminding her she hadn’t had a single thing to eat all day. The way she constantly put the job ahead of her wellbeing, she’d lose so much weight that her clothes she’d left behind in New York wouldn’t fit once she returned.
On the drive back to her apartment, she spotted her mom’s favorite sandwich deli where they’d dined once every week when she was little. Her heart pinched when she remembered holding her mom’s hand as they entered the door, the sound of a tinkling bell ringing above their heads, the aroma of meats and freshly baked bread greeting them like an old friend. She pulled into the parking lot and hid the laptop in the trunk before going inside to order a shrimp Po’Boy, her mom’s favorite. Throughout the entire meal, she couldn’t stop smiling to herself. She could almost picture her mom sitting in the booth across from her, making loud noises of pleasure and funny faces with every bite until Bexley fell into uncontrollable fits of laughter.
She’d dreaded coming back home because of her father, even though chances were she wouldn’t see him unless she purposely sought him out. But she hadn’t anticipated the positive memories to outweigh the bad. Spending time with Kiersten and Grayson had reminded her what it had been like to have the kind of friends who always had her back.
Well, until she started to doubt Grayson’s intentions. Had Dean only planted the suspicion as another way to divert her attention? Then again, what if Grayson had been keeping an eye on her? He had made it clear he was interested in her as more than a friend. Would it be so hard to believe that he wanted to ensure her safety?
Her sixteen-year-old self would’ve completely freaked if Grayson had said those things to her back then. But they'd both changed. Whether or not Grayson was guilty of any wrongdoings, he undoubtedly had questionable tastes when it came to women. Even if she made him submit to an STD test, she wasn’t sure she could get past that kind of sexual history. And the problem of simple geography remained. Though she didn’t totally hate the idea of moving back to California, she’d miss the ease of the subway, the wide variety of NYC’s residents, the beautiful architecture, the ever-changing scenery inside Central Park, the expansive culture through theatre and museums, and the vast selection of bars and restaurants within walking distance.
Still contemplating the idea of giving Grayson another chance, sh
e stepped outside of the deli and started for her car.
A deafening explosion followed a blinding flash of light and she was knocked off her feet.
12
A gong rang in Bexley’s head, and a metallic taste filled her mouth. She opened her eyes, startled to discover she was on a stretcher in the back of a parked ambulance. A strong stench of gunpowder came through the open door, and sirens wailed from a close distance. She bent with the intention to sit. Pain rocketed through both her back and belly. She cried out.
“Whoa, take it easy,” a raspy voice said. She was gently nudged down to her back. A woman with round cheeks and a friendly smile bent over her. “You’re okay—you’re safe. You were in a parking lot when a car bomb went off.”
“Bexley? Bexley! Is she alright?”
With the sound of Grayson’s panicked shouts, she pushed against the woman’s hold and sat all the way upright, gritting her teeth through the pain that followed. Grayson stood outside the doors of the ambulance with a grief-stricken expression that made Bexley wonder why she’d ever questioned his character. It was the look of a man who thought he’d lost everything.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She cradled her sore stomach as the woman helped her down once again, and winced. “Nah, just thought I’d officially bring in the New Year with a bang.”
“She needs to take it easy,” the paramedic warned him in a sharp tone. “The blast of the explosion knocked her down pretty hard. We’re taking her in so they can run a scan for any internal damages. And we haven’t ruled out the possibility of a concussion.”
