by Quinn Avery
Grayson flashed his badge and climbed inside. “I’m riding along.”
The paramedic eyed his badge and shrugged. “Fine by me.”
Grayson sat beside Bexley, squeezing her hand.
“How’d you know I was here?” she asked, still feeling disoriented.
“The first responders found your license inside your purse. I heard them say your name on the scanner.”
She squeezed Grayson’s hand back, grateful for his company. “What happened? Was anyone hurt?”
A flash of fury raged inside his gaze. “Someone put a bomb underneath your rental car—blew it to bits. You’re the only bystander who was injured.”
Bexley flung an arm over her eyes and groaned. “I should’ve opted for the higher insurance.” But it wasn’t the car that worried her. The only hard evidence that proved Shane’s involvement was gone. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
“It’s time you walk away from this case, Bex. Whatever payout you thought you could get by covering Willow and Halliwell’s stories isn’t worth it.”
She removed her arm to meet his distressed gaze. “That’s exactly whoever planted that bomb wanted, Grayson. I can’t quit now.”
“It’s not up for debate!” he snapped. “Someone tried to kill you, goddamn it! You can’t expect me to simply stand by and worry whether or not the next time they’ll succeed!”
The paramedic cleared her throat and threw Grayson a scolding look. Bexley pulled her hand from his and closed her eyes. All that yelling hurt her head, and she guessed it wasn’t an argument she would win. “We’ll talk about this later.”
After the CT scan and other tests were complete, a pair of nurses wheeled Bexley into a hospital room. Grayson rose from a chair beside the window to greet her, a bouquet of red roses in hand.
“Ass-kisser.”
Grayson and both of the nurses chuckled.
“Everything looks good so far,” the older of the two women told him. “The doctor’s optimistic of the outcome, and thinks it’s merely bruising that’s causing her discomfort. We should have the test results within the hour. Do what you can to make her relax.”
They checked Bexley’s IV bag, inclined her bed to a sitting position, poured her a fresh glass of water, and showed her how to call for assistance. She almost pressed the button when she realized they were planning to leave her alone in the room with Grayson. The idea of another argument exhausted her to the core.
“I’m sorry I lost my cool earlier,” he started. “It made me crazy when I found out someone tried to kill you.”
Before she got a chance to tell him that she understood, a loud squeal came from the doorway. Kiersten darted into the room in four-inch heels and a sexy designer dress, a cluster of get well soon mylar and latex balloons in one hand, flashy gift bag in the other. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Ohmygod, Bex! How bad is it? Can you walk? Are there any parts of you missing?”
Despite her friend’s earnest concern, Bexley laughed softly. Practically any movement she made caused pain. “It’s just a little bruising. Nothing a healthy dose of narcotics can’t cure.” She accepted her friend’s gentle hug before Kiersten stepped back. “Wait. How’d you know—”
“I called her,” Grayson explained. “Figured you two had gotten close again, and she’d want to know.”
Kiersten eyed him. “Get a load of you, Gray-man! You’re looking f-i-n-e! I mean…wow! And you brought our girl roses? You’re still a total sweetheart!”
“You’re more beautiful than ever.” His cheeks tinged with red when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
Kiersten turned back to Bexley. “How long are they keeping you?”
“They said the results of the tests should be back soon,” Bexley told her. “If everything checks out, I get to leave.”
Her friend moved in closer to straighten Bexley’s ugly hospital gown. She’d make an excellent mother one day, though her kids would be expected to always appear spotless. “When they decide to release you, you’re coming back to my place. I’ll take care of you while you focus on healing.”
Bexley’s stomach roiled with the idea. Someone either wished her dead, or desperately wanted her attention. Either way, she didn’t want Kiersten getting involved. “I know you want to help, but I’d hate for you to take off time from work. I’ll be happier in the place I’m renting anyway. I’m sure I’ll just sleep most of the time.”
“I’ll stop by and check on her often,” Grayson promised, tossing a wink in Bexley’s direction. He set the flowers on the rollaway table. “I’m going to get a coffee. Can I get either of you anything?”
“A trip back in time?” Bexley quipped.
Lips pursed, Kiersten shot Bexley a sharp glance. “I’ll take a coffee too, handsome.”
Grayson bent to press his warm lips against Bexley’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
The large lump in her throat wouldn’t allow her to answer, so she only nodded. Her last thoughts before the explosion had been of him, and he’d been so attentive from the moment he found her in the ambulance. She needed to make a stand with him one way or another before her emotions took the lead.
Once he was gone, Kiersten’s eyes swung back to Bexley and she purred, “Red roses and a kiss? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“He’s just freaked out by what happened.”
“Um, ditto. Why would anyone want to kill you? Is this because of that article you’re writing?”
“It’s best if you don’t know the specifics,” Bexley decided. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here bearing gifts.”
Kiersten set the black and white bag beside Grayson’s flowers. “I figured you’d need a change of clothes.”
“And what did you possibly think I was going to do with all those balloons? Tie them to my hospital bed and float away?”
“I went a little overboard when I feared you might not be okay. I’ll ask the front desk to distribute them to any kids in the hospital who don’t already have some.”
“You have a mighty big heart, Kiersten. You and Grayson would actually be perfect for each other.”
“I won’t deny he’s a hunk of a man, but I can’t be with anyone who doesn’t appreciate the value of proper fashion. Besides, I think he already has his eye on someone amazing.” She teasingly poked at Bexley’s shoulder. “By the way, how did your meeting with Iman go? Is she filing a police report? I can’t believe some young punks stole her precious namesakes!”
Bexley gasped. “Wait. You mean the stilettos I asked you about?”
“Yeah.” Kiersten shrugged. “Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to her?”
“Kiersten, this is important.” She wrapped her fingers around her friend’s wrist, and spoke in a clear voice. “Explain this to me in detail. What ‘young punks’ are you talking about? How did you know they’re stolen?”
“That video…the one of a young girl strutting around in them…it’s gone viral. It’s creepy and disrespectful the way they refer to them as ‘dead woman’s shoes.’ Kids will say anything these days to make a buck.”
Bexley felt the color draining from her face. It wouldn’t be long before the dots were connected. Dean would once again be tied to Willow’s death. “Go get Grayson. I need to talk to him right away.”
Uncomfortable silence lingered like a third person inside the hospital room once Bexley had finished filling Grayson in on nearly everything she’d held back. She’d omitted the fact that she'd kissed Dean, knowing it would strike his last nerve, and she didn’t mention anything about the boys’ club. She believed the men behind the club’s concept would go to any length to keep it a secret, and she didn’t want to put Grayson’s life on the line along with hers. She wouldn’t mention it to him until she had proof of its existence. For the time being, she let him assume Willow was merely a high-end prostitute. He had already obtained a warrant for Willow’s bank and credit card accounts, so he’d see the proof for himself soon en
ough.
Afraid of his reaction, Bexley had considered asking Kiersten to stay in the room. But she'd made the decision to keep him in the dark, and she deserved to take on whatever consequences came as a result of her actions. She’d noticed his hands were trembling when she explained how Eric had assaulted her in the motel parking lot, and admitted to taking Willow’s laptop.
After several torturous beats of her heart, he finally spoke in a slow, grave tone. “You knew those kids were withholding valuable evidence.”
“I had no question in my mind that they had been destroyed. Eric O’Neil was too afraid they’d end his career.”
“You can’t take anyone for their word when they’re involved in a murder investigation. Same goes for Halliwell.”
Nodding, she broke his scolding stare and glanced out the window. “I’m only telling you all of this so you can get ahead of things before the general public learns the history behind the shoes.”
“When you first came to town, I disclosed every last fact about this case, thinking I could trust you. You never once mentioned you were being paid by Halliwell. To say I’m disappointed—”
“I get it,” she snapped, scowling his way. “It wasn’t the most ethical decision I’ve ever made, and I probably hit an all-time low when I agreed to work for him. But I needed the cash to find my sister.”
All at once the intensity in his features softened. “You could’ve just come to me. I would’ve helped you look for Cineste.”
“We hadn’t spoken in years, Grayson. I had no idea you were a detective.” Guilt stabbed her through the heart all the same. By now she understood just how much he cared, and she’d been feeding him lie after lie ever since she walked into his station. There had to be a way to win back his trust. “Even then I couldn’t tell you everything without putting you in a compromising position. My father claims Cineste had just started a job as a nanny when her employer’s son robbed his family at gun point, and they ran off together. That’s why I didn’t file a missing person report.”
“You think that’s something your sister would do?”
“I’m not sure.” Bexley released a thoughtful sigh. “She’s done some wild things over the years, but I doubt she’d knowingly commit a felony. For all I know, he forced her to leave at gun point. The guy’s old man works with mine in the Navy…I’m not sure all the facts were relayed back to me.”
Grayson stood and paced the room in a wide circle. She understood he’d need time to absorb everything, but his high-strung energy grated on her nerves.
Their conversation ended when the doctor came into the room, letting Bexley know the results had come back looking the way he’d hoped, and cleared her for release. Grayson volunteered to give her a ride home, and waited in the hallway while she changed. No matter what happened next, she hoped he would eventually forgive her for all the transgressions she’d committed against him, as well as the ones she was about to commit.
13
Bexley stirred from the painkiller-induced sleep early morning. She sprung from the bed faster than intended, forgetting her body was still black and blue. From the way it burned and ached, she wondered if someone had smacked her in the stomach with a 2x4 while she was unconscious. Taking it slow wasn’t an option. Grayson told her he’d likely be tied up at the college most of the day, executing the search warrant and interviewing the witnesses.
He would come to check on her as soon as he returned to Papaya Springs. She didn’t have much time to execute her plan. She had to move quickly. Shaking the officer Grayson had assigned to keep a watch on her apartment wasn’t difficult. She snuck out ocean-side, jogging painfully along the shoreline for several miles. After purchasing a baseball cap from a tourist shop, she exited on the street and flagged a taxi. The way the driver kept eyeing her in the rearview mirror, she assumed she looked even worse than she felt. But she was more concerned the police officer across from the apartment wasn’t the only one interested in her whereabouts, so she kept watch out the back window for cars, a black sedan in particular.
After paying a visit to one of her bank’s branches, she patiently waited in the parking lot of Handmaiden Cleaners, the company she’d seen leaving Shane’s the day before. Woman of all ages entered the building wearing street clothes, and came back out in the company’s uniform. They traveled in packs, laughing loudly and sharing stories about their privileged clients’ filthy habits. After an excruciatingly long hour, she finally caught a break when a young woman around Bexley’s size and body type hustled toward the entrance alone.
“Hey!” Bexley called out, jogging to catch up to the woman. “I know this is going to sound insane, but I swear I’m not crazy. I just need to borrow your uniform. How much would it take for you to loan it to me for the day?”
The woman regarded her with a suspicious glare. By her intricately braided hair and nice clothes, Bexley wondered if she was a college student, working to pay her tuition. Like Cineste had been doing before she disappeared. “Lady, I can’t afford to buy a new uniform.”
“I’ll cover the cost of it and pay you twice as much as you make in a day. If anyone finds out I don’t work here, I’ll say I stole it.”
“What do you need it for?”
“I’m not gonna commit a crime or anything.” Bexley flashed the woman a bright smile. “Come on, help a sister out. Name your price.”
The woman’s dark eyes danced up and down Bexley’s ripped jeans and white T-shirt beneath the trendy tan moto jacket Kiersten had brought to her in the hospital. She silently chided herself for not wearing something from her fashionably challenged wardrobe.
“Five hundred.”
“I only have four.”
“I’ll take it.”
Bexley removed the cash from her pocket, handing it over as the woman produced her uniform from the gym bag over her shoulder.
“Thanks for doing this,” Bexley told her.
Before they parted ways, the woman eyed her up and down once again. “Whenever you’re finished with whatever fetish you’ve got goin’ on, you can keep it. The company only charges us after we’ve lost more than one uniform. I just really needed the money to pay for my baby’s medical bills.”
A pang of guilt struck Bexley’s chest as she watched the woman stroll away. She wished she would’ve given her the other hundred she’d withdrawn from the bank.
Another block down, she grabbed a bagel from a cafe and used their bathroom to change into the woman’s uniform. While in the stall, she received a text from Grayson, asking how she felt. She decided the tile behind her was close enough to that in the bathroom of her rental, and sent a picture of herself giving him a thumbs-up.
In order to get a security guard to open the gate to Shane’s residence, she was forced to part with something more valuable than money. She would almost prefer to have paid the slimy security guard to avoid the shameless flirting it took for him to overlook the fact that her visit wasn’t scheduled. Once again she thanked her mom’s genes for her youthful, innocent appearance instead of coming off as a viable threat.
The possibility of becoming lost inside the art deco palace made Bexley’s breathing shallow. Hallways and doors in every direction led to rooms that had no real purpose aside from being a way for Shane to easily entertain hundreds of guests. No one else roamed around inside, but she suspected there’d be cameras everywhere as well, and pulled down the brim of her hat until her eyes were well-concealed. She needed to get the hell out of there before someone caught on that she didn’t belong.
Worst of all, she feared Dean would fill Shane in on what was happening, and he’d cut his trip short. It’s possible he wasn’t responsible for the car bomb, but Bexley was confident he wouldn’t allow a nosy journalist to walk away with anything that would put his freedom at jeopardy.
She scanned each level of the house, taking care to stay away from the windows. Each beachside room featured a wall of glass that gave a stunning view of the pristine beach. She’d remembere
d seeing the house completely lit up from the beach the night of the party, and already had a hint of its ridiculousness. But she hadn’t noticed the full-sized bar, infinity pool, glass service elevator with several motorcycles on display, and helipad all located on the roof. The lengths he had gone to in order to flaunt his money were sickening.
She could almost hear the tick of a clock counting down the minutes until she finally discovered what must’ve been the playboy’s office. Vomit rose in her throat when she spotted the oil-based rendering of Shane wearing silky black pajamas and a red robe identical to those that made Hugh Hefner famous, and the title “God’s Gift to Women” in 3D letters displayed over his head. Right around the time she thought she’d need to upchuck into a toilet, something occurred to her. GGTW. Those were the same initials used in the email sent to Willow.
I’m onto your arrogant ass, Bexley thought as she smirked back at the painting. Since the laptop had been destroyed, she needed something else as irrefutable proof of his involvement with the victim.
She produced a dust rag from her bag, and pretended to work her way around the bookshelves until she stood beneath the camera in the corner. She snipped the wires and made a mad dash to the computer hooked up to several monitors on a cherry desk. She hoped security wouldn’t be as tight with their boss out of town.
She wasn’t as lucky with Shane’s computer as she'd been with Willow’s. Neither “god’s gift to women” nor any other variation was an accepted password. Her palms began to sweat more and more with every rejection. How long did she have before it locked down, or set off an alarm? Then she remembered his tattoo, and almost shouted with victory when the phrase worked.
His desktop wallpaper was as worthy of an eye-roll as the painting above the desk. Shane stood on a beach in his swim trunks with Willow and another scantily clad woman sandwiched between them. The second woman’s face was obscured by one of the folders that lined the screen.
There was a noise from the hallway. Bexley froze, breath held. A loud meowing followed. Relieved, she wiped at her forehead. She had to hurry before something more threatening than a testy feline came along.
