“Harmon?” The partner taps him on the shoulder. “They’re saying that this Waylon guy was in our jail since last night. He got picked up for questioning—something to do with a break-in at a county court in upstate New York. There wasn’t enough to hold him, though. He was just about to walk out when they heard we were looking for him.”
Goddammit. Then it was Gustavo or another one of his associates. The hardest part for me to think about is that Rose wasn’t taken because they want anything from her. They just want her to disappear. So what would be the best way to get rid of her? And how would they pay for it in an inconspicuous manner?
“Rose said her grandparents own a yacht,” I say.
“Any idea where it’s docked?” asks Harmon.
I give it some thought. There must be some record of their boat—a boat slip receipt or something. I call Frank and ask about all of the documents that have been collected from the estate. He says everything was packed up weeks ago by the police after Mel and Gertie were arrested.
“Where’s everything now?” I ask.
“I’ll have to call and find out, but they took away two U-Hauls’ worth of stuff.”
Christ, that will take days. We don’t have days. “I need to see her grandparents.”
Frank scoffs. “You think they’re going to tell you anything?” He knows what kind of people they are.
“They will if you come with me, and I offer to give them back everything.” I have joint control over the estate.
“You’re not serious.”
“Rose already signed over the mansion, but there’s the money, Hale Enterprises, and whatever else.” The mansion was worth about twenty-five million, but I can’t get that back. “So where are they?” Frank’s been keeping tabs on them.
“Staying with their daughter, Belinda Hughes.”
“Text me the address. I’ll meet you there. And bring something to draft a contract with.”
I know Rose would never want those two to have ownership of her mother’s legacy, but there is no price I wouldn’t pay to get her back safely. I’ll trade my own life if I have to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next few hours feel like a blur. Thanks to the video, there’s probable cause for the police to believe Rose was persuaded, under duress, to leave her home. All it means is that the police are now searching for her, but I know it won’t do any good. If Gustavo plans to take her on her grandparents’ boat, it could be docked in the Gulf of Mexico, to the east in South Carolina, down in Miami, or anywhere in between. If Gustavo is taking her somewhere by car, she could be in three different states by now. The point is Gustavo has her, and we can’t afford to guess.
I pull up to the address Frank gave me but don’t bother waiting for him. The home is a redbrick two-story with white shutters and a matching picket fence. It looks harmless enough, but I know there are monsters inside.
I ring the doorbell and hear footsteps approach.
The woman who answers is slender, blonde and has one of those faces that immediately puts me off—beady eyes and a perma-scowl. I assume this is Rose’s aunt Belinda.
“Dr. Hughes, what are you doing—”
I push my way inside. “Gertrude. Melvin! Where the fuck are you!”
“Hey now, asshole, you can’t barge in here,” says Belinda.
“Call the police if you want because I’m not going anywhere until I talk to—”
“My, my. What’s all the noise? We’re in here, Dr. Hughes,” a shrill voice calls out.
I follow the sound and find good old Gertie and Mel sitting at an oval breakfast table in the large kitchen. The room is plain and painted bright white. Nothing is on the white tile counters or spotless stove. I’m guessing Belinda is a neat freak or a germaphobe because there isn’t a speck of dust to be found. The only visible item in the room is a puzzle that Rose’s grandparents appear to be doing. A puzzle. It’s just past eleven at night and a little late for that. The moment feels staged. Nope. We’re not up to anything. Not watching the news, tracking the “tragic” kidnapping of the Peachtree Cinderella.
“Where is she?” I know they’re too smart to keep or kill her here.
Gertrude, who’s wearing an orange bathrobe, narrows her gray eyes at me. “Sugar, who are you talkin’ about?” Her Southern-lady sweetness is over the top.
“I don’t know how, but I know you helped get Gustavo out of jail so he could finish the job you hired him for.”
“Son, you need to simmer down or leave,” says Mel, puffing out his chest. “We were cleared of those phony charges, and I’ll not have you in this house, squawkin’ and hootin’, accusin’ my wife of—”
“I know it was you, so shut the fuck up, Mel.” Why else would Gustavo take the blame? “You paid someone to help get him out, and you offered him money or something of value to kill Rose.”
“My word, Dr. Hughes…” Gertrude feigns insult, fanning her face with her hand. “Rose Marie is our granddaughter. Our own flesh and blood. We wouldn’t hurt a silky hair on her precious blonde head.”
“No, you just paid someone else to do it for you after twenty-one years of punishing her for taking your daughter’s life. But I’ll tell you what, Gertrude and Mel, you failed. Despite how you treated her—the neglect, the lies, the cruelty—Rose still managed to become the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Everyone who meets her loves her, and you’ll never know what that’s like because all you love is money. Which is why I’m here to make a trade. You can have everything back—the cash, control of Hale Enterprises, everything except the mansion. But hey, you can buy another with that much money. Somewhere far away, out of the country. No one will bother you about the fraud, embezzlement, or child neglect. All you have to do is help me get Rose back.”
Mel and Gertrude exchange glances, but it’s Gertrude who speaks up. “Sir, I realize you think we’re no better than the dirt on your shiny, uppity shoes, but we had nothing to do with the attempt on Rose’s life.” She bats her eyelashes, all innocent like. “Yes, we might not have felt affection for our granddaughter. Yes, we might have taken certain liberties with the estate funds, but if we’d wanted her ten feet under, we had a million chances to make her disappear a million different ways.” She wags a finger at me and ups the sass. “And trust me, Doctor, when I say this: We are Hales. We are Southerners. We know how to make people disappear. But we did not hire that man to kill Rose.”
“Then who did? Because you’re the only people who stand to benefit from her death.”
“Stood. Past tense. You and she are now the sole owners of my daughter’s legacy, so we would have to kill you both and win a lengthy, costly court battle if we wanted to see a dime of that money.” She raises her hands. “You won, good sir. And we gain nothing from Rose’s death.”
I can’t stand to admit this, but Gertrude makes a valid point. Two, in fact. Over the years, they absolutely could have “taken care” of Rose in a number of ways and made it look like an accident. They also don’t have much to gain from killing her now, other than… “Maybe you just want her dead because you resent what she’s done.”
“We resent the day she was born and every day since, but we loved and honored our daughter by raising that little abomination. We told Lana to stay away from Rose’s father, that he would only bring trouble. Nevertheless, we did our best to ensure Rose was fed, educated, and clothed. So, while we’re guilty of many things, trying to kill her is not one of them.”
I drop my head and stare at the gleaming white tile floor. I actually believe them. I hate it, but I do. What I hate more is that it means I have absolutely no clue where to find Rose.
“If you hear anything, call me.” I take out my wallet and place a card on the table.
Mel gives me a nod, and I turn to leave.
“Wait! How serious are you about giving up the estate?” says Rose’s aunt.
It takes me a moment, but the pieces click into place. Was it her?
“Belinda!” Gertrude g
asps. “What have you done?”
“Shut up, Mama.”
Gertrude rises from the table, fury in her eyes. “I will not be spoken to like a dog, young lady, and you will tell me the truth. Did you have something to do with that vile man taking Rose?”
Belinda looks at us with those beady eyes. “I’m not stupid, Mama. I’m not going to admit anything, especially not in front of this horse turd, but I will say this: You two are a pair of rusty old nails, only good for makin’ festering wounds. Rose should have been taken care of a long time ago, but you were too busy flushing all that cash down the toilet on parties and fancy clothes to stop for one minute and think.”
God, so it was Rose’s aunt. I can’t begin to understand how she could try to kill her own sister’s child, but now is not the time for analysis. Getting Rose back alive is all that matters.
“My offer stands,” I tell Belinda. “You can have everything. My lawyer is on his way here right now to draw up a contract. All I want is Rose. Unharmed.”
Belinda lifts her head up high. “I can’t get her back, but I will tell ya what I know, and that’s all you’ll be gettin’ from me. Take it or leave it, Doctor.”
“Is she still alive?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Belinda says like she couldn’t care less. “But if I had to guess, he’s not gonna keep her for long.” She snaps her teeth at me. “He likes playing with his pets before he eats them. All part of his charm.”
I’m suddenly getting the impression that there is more to their relationship. “You knew Gustavo before all this. You’re the one who put him on the list for Rose’s coming-out party.”
She raises two light brown brows. “Deal or no deal, Mr. Hughes. Because the clock is ticking.”
If Mel’s and Gertrude’s shocked faces are any indication of what they’re thinking, they believe their daughter has gone off the deep end.
I hold out my hand, and we shake. Just then the doorbell rings. I go to answer it and find Frank standing there, panting with a big briefcase and portable printer in hand.
“Good. You’re here.” I stand aside. “Just tell me where to sign and you can fill out the rest after I leave.” I turn to Belinda. “Where is Rose? Where is he taking her?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Waylon
“Hey, man. You wanna hold me here another day without talking to a lawyer, that’s one thing. But I need my damned sleep.” These assholes know they don’t have a thing on me. Just some blurry photo sent in anonymously of some guy busting in a courthouse window.
Is it me? Yeah.
Do they know that for sure? No.
I take precautions. I’m a professional thief who rakes in a nice million for most jobs—a little less for repeat customers—but I don’t get caught. That picture was from six months ago, emailed yesterday to the cops by someone who wanted to fuck with me. Someone who saved it for a rainy day. Gustavo. I know because the photo was from a job I did for him, and he’s the only person I’ve pissed off lately, specifically refusing to answer his calls while he was in prison.
Psycho. I might be a criminal, but even I have limits.
“Shut up, Jones. Get your ass in there.” The officer pushes me into a small gray-everything interrogation room where none other than the famous Dr. Hughes is seated across a stainless-steel table. He’s a big man, a little taller than me, but he doesn’t intimidate me, even if he looks like he’s ready to strangle someone.
“What are you doing here?” I ask like I couldn’t give a shit. But I do. This has to be about Rose. Dammit. I warned him. I fucking told the guy something was gonna happen.
The officer cuffs me to a ring on the table and walks out. I know right away that this is an unofficial visit.
“We need to talk,” Bex growls.
“Sweet of you to stop by at one in the morning, but my fragile psyche was doing fine until I got woken up—just tell me what you want.”
“Gustavo took Rose. Right through her second-floor window. There was security footage of him posing as a window washer.”
I feel like my blood’s turned to cold shards of glass. He learned that shit from me. I mentioned it when he and I first met and he needed convincing that I knew how to get in and out of buildings during the day.
“You need to get her back! Gustavo is not a good guy.” He won’t go easy on her.
Bex nods and stares down at the table. “I know. Which is why you’re going to steal her back for me.”
My eyes pop open. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m locked up.” Otherwise, I would have left thirty seconds ago.
“You’re a thief. And according to you, one of the best.”
“Now you’re just flattering me.” I lean forward, pushing onto my elbows. I’m unsure if this is some sort of trap and I’m being taped behind that big mirror, or if this guy is for real. “Why aren’t you helping her?”
“I will do anything for Rose, but her chances are better with the two of us—Gustavo is mentally unstable, and you might not be able to get her without encountering him.”
Pfft! I’m the best. He won’t ever know I’m there.
Hughes adds, “She’ll die if we don’t help her. The local police will take too long, and I don’t know shit about breaking into buildings.”
“What’s in it for me?” I ask purely to test him, but really, I’d help that girl no matter what. Like I said, I have morals. My little sister taught me what it means to care about more than just myself.
“Rose’s money is all gone,” Bexley replies. “I gave it away in exchange for information, but I can scrounge up a few hundred thousand by tomorrow.”
I almost want to laugh. I don’t get out of bed for that. It’s pocket change. “Nah, man. I don’t want your money.”
“Then?” He lifts a brow and I can tell by his expression that he actually is smarter than he looks. “Fine. I’ll walk away. You can have her. All I care about is that she comes back safely.”
Is this guy for real? “Let me get this straight. You’re really agreeing to let me have Rose if I help you save her?”
“I know you’re in love with her, so yes. If she wants to be with you, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll divorce her and never speak to her again.”
“And if she still wants you?”
“As long as you keep her safe and give her a shot at a happy life, I’ll make sure my relationship with her ends.”
Damn. He must really love her. Because he’s promising to break her heart to keep her alive.
Here’s the thing, though, I know that she and I only just met, but he’s right; I love her, too. Yeah, I’m a romantic bastard. I believe in things like destiny or fate or whatever the fuck you call it. How else could I explain what my little sister and I went through, the odds of being torn apart and becoming two kids lost to each other in the foster system? Hey, but somehow, we made it. So, yeah, call me whatever the hell you want, but I know some things are bigger than ourselves, and Rose is one of them. She’s a special girl.
“I’ll do it.”
Bex nods his head. “Then let’s get you out of here.”
“How you going to do that?” I ask.
“My family has friends in high places, and you haven’t actually been charged with anything.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rose
Handcuffed to the plumbing of a sink somewhere tropical is not how I imagined my life ending. Shot, stabbed, or poisoned in my own home had been the scenarios I came up with.
Wrong. So wrong.
But I have to hand it to Gustavo; he truly prides himself on getting the job done. Small plane to Puerto Rico. Helicopter to a villa in… Well, my guess is the British Virgin Islands. I overheard my grandparents talking about vacation properties more than once, and this bathroom reeks of their bad taste—gold-plated fixtures, gold tile floor, a statue of a Greek goddess holding a vase that spurts water into the bathtub, and mint green window treatments that match the walls. It
’s like my grandmother’s interior-design taste is permanently set to pimp-a-la-booger mode. I’m also guessing from the ocean I hear through the cracked window that this is the beachfront villa put in my aunt’s name—a gift my grandparents bragged about at a dinner party. I bet the deed would make a nice payment to a hit man for ending my life.
As for why Gustavo’s been waiting to kill me? I don’t know. He keeps saying that I’ve let him down, I’m a whore, he doesn’t want to love me, but I did something to him. And while part of me wants every chance I can get to live a little longer, the other part wants to get it over with. His intermittent rants every few hours, while he flashes a knife, are a slow-burn torture: “I love you, Rose. I know you love me, too. I just need to know why?”
“Why what?” I respond. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Why I love you?” Then he yells about the sinfulness of my ways or he leaves.
Way to go, Rose. You actually did manage to become the boyfriend collector. You just happened to collect them all from Freak Town—a vegan stripper who wants to spread joy and tofu to the masses, a neighbor who thinks coming by every few weeks to flirt is a relationship, and a thief who believes in a gentleman’s code while he steals evidence to keep a hit man out of prison. Oh, then there’s the hit man who’s obsessed with my nonexistent sex life, and my therapist husband.
Bex… Now I know better than to demean him by saying he has a hero complex. In my mind, he is an actual hero. Flawed? Yes. Stubborn? Absolutely. But since I last saw him, I’ve realized how deeply he cares.
The Boyfriend Collector, Two Page 12
