Dirty Exes

by Rachel Van Dyken

  He laughed even harder. “I’m shitting you, he’s an old family friend, and he likes coffee and donuts, just bring the goods and say you have to pee.”

  “Great.” I nodded. “Great, I can do that. Easy, right?”

  He snorted. “We’ll see. Now hang up the phone so I can go put pants on and kick all these women out.”

  “Wow. Women, plural. Tough life.”

  “Basement dwelling always is!”

  And that’s how we hung up.

  With me wondering if he was helping or hindering the process of stalking Jessie, especially since he was his best friend. Why would he possibly want to help me? I didn’t have time to think about it. I’d needed a quick plan, and the only contact I had who could help me with Jessie was Colin.

  Setting those thoughts aside, I hit the buzzer to the gate and went off on my spiel. I even perfected the perfect British accent.

  Because you know, the Brits had service nailed down, right? Who wouldn’t want to hire someone who went to butler school?

  So maybe I laid it on a bit thick with that last part, but I needed in.

  And after five more minutes of waiting in the nicest Audi R8 God ever created, I was let in through the gates.

  Just as Jessie took a quick glance in my direction.

  He frowned and looked away, driving off into the distance.

  I parked the car near the front entrance, careful not to touch the outside just in case I had particles of dirt on my fingers that could ruin the perfect paint job. Yeah, this weird sudden friendship with Colin was really panning out, maybe I could keep the car overnight, take it out to a movie, wine and dine it.

  “Mr. Beckett would like me to start the interview process, if you’ll just follow me.” Bill grinned at me, interrupting my pathetic daydream date with a car.

  “Oh wait!” I delicately opened the car door again and grabbed the coffee and donuts. “I brought these for you.”

  He eyed them like they were poison, damn it, Colin! If he was lying I was going to run him over with his own car!

  “How’d you know?” Bill finally asked. His smile caused a crinkle around his eyes that made me want to give him a hug and ask about the Cold War.

  “I didn’t,” I said with a shrug. “I just missed breakfast and can’t say no to Starbucks.”

  “We share that weakness.” He accepted the goodies and then turned back around. “Right this way, and thank you for your thoughtfulness.” We made it behind the garage near a little courtyard with a nice water fountain. It was so warm and welcoming I smiled.

  Sweetest old man ever. I made that face you make when you see someone so nice and old that you want to help them cross the street and stock their pantry with Ovaltine and crackers. I bet he had the cutest little home with a small dog and a—

  Bill pulled out two guns.

  A knife.

  Another gun somehow hidden in the giant combat boots I didn’t even realize he was wearing until that moment.

  And then another small handgun stashed somewhere behind his back.

  All this before sitting down on a concrete bench and crossing his legs. “Don’t wanna sit on live weapons.”

  I gulped.

  Yeah, I just bet he drank Ovaltine.

  While using people like me as target practice and thinking about the good old days when he was dropped from helicopters into enemy territory.

  I began to sweat.

  “Ever been arrested?” Bill leaned forward, his expression impossible to read.

  Yes, actually. But it wasn’t my fault. “No, sir!” Was it sir? Lord? Lady? I shouldn’t have done the accent.

  “Fantastic.” He pulled out a small black folder and an ink pad from the front pocket of his pants. “I’ll just need your prints here and here so we can do a background check. The questionnaire is pretty straightforward.”

  I had a sudden vision of getting found out, and my escape including dodging bullets and trees while narrowly making it through a crack in the shrubs, only to get hit by a car.

  I started the slow process of inking my fingers and pressing them to the paper, with Bill’s help. They stuck, then came up.

  I was going to prison.

  That’s where honesty got me.

  Prison.

  “Here’s a pen.” He sipped his coffee dry and then leaned back in his seat.

  My hand shook as I filled out the paper, minutes whizzed by and I still hadn’t been able to get into Jessie’s house. I needed an excuse. Anything. Something.

  I cleared my throat, crossed and uncrossed my legs.

  “Everything alright?”

  I nodded then apologetically hung my head. “Too much coffee, I don’t suppose you could point out the . . . loo.” Loo? Was it loo? I pasted a plastic smile on my face. My fake accent was already slipping.

  He chuckled. “I’ll show you to one of the guest bathrooms and wait for you out here.”

  Huh, that was trusting.

  He led me through a back door into a giant garage filled with enough cars to make my eyes burn.

  Motorcycles.

  Jessie liked fast things.

  I bet he did . . .

  Another door opened onto a hallway, with laundry room on the left and giant bathroom on the right and ending at an open-concept kitchen decorated with absolutely no color whatsoever.

  I frowned.

  His white walls bothered me.

  As well as the fact that even though he didn’t have a housekeeper, everything was pristine, like I could lick the floors and not come up with two hairs and a rock.

  Bill pointed. “Just right there.”

  I quickly moved into the massive bathroom and shut the door.

  I waited maybe two minutes before opening it a crack and looking down the hall. Bill was nowhere to be found.

  I had maybe four minutes before he came searching for me, right? Four minutes sounded legit.

  I bolted into the kitchen and stopped when I saw a note on the fridge that not only had his garage code but the location of the spare key, I glanced at the counter. Bingo.

  Too easy.

  Who the hell was living with him who needed that information?

  It said New code. New locks.

  Huh.

  I took a screenshot of the paper for later and looked around the kitchen.

  Nothing.

  Just. Nothing.

  Closet. I needed to get to his closet.

  The house was huge.

  I guessed that it was a newer concept home with the main bedroom on the first floor, and ran down the opposite hall.

  A large bedroom was at the end.

  It looked masculine.

  I stepped in through the open doorway.

  His scent slapped me in the face and made my legs wobble a bit as I took in all things Jessie Beckett.

  I stood still, staring at the massive king bed with its black comforter, and was overcome by visions of a naked NFL star tossing me around in it.

  “Focus,” I whispered to myself before charging into the room and frantically searching the closet.

  Everything was sterile and pristine, from the giant bed to the sleek flat-screen TV, not a piece of furniture was twisted in an odd direction, and everything was sleek black and white. It had no added splashes of color or life.

  It was the opposite of what I expected.

  I expected vibrancy, life, chaos. I didn’t even see any shoes on the floor.

  My frown deepened as I pressed one of my bugs into place behind a shoe rack. If he brought any women in here I’d at least be able to listen. I wanted to cover all my bases, and if the bug ended up rotting next to his Nikes, so be it.

  I grabbed another and shoved it under his nightstand.

  I put on a pair of gloves from my purse and eyed his shirts, every single one of them pressed and starched beyond what was normal. Did someone do his laundry? Or was he just that meticulous? And again, no brightly colored shirts, no graphic T-shirts, just white, black, and some more wh
ite. The guy had to have the most boring closet on the planet. Hell, everything matched, down to the black doorknob on his walk-in.

  Was he careful because he had to be?

  Or was he a psychopath?

  I made a face, I couldn’t find any lipstick stains on his shirts.

  Shit, I was running out of time.

  With a sigh I walked past the black nightstand.

  Only to see my phone number.

  Mine.

  Written on a piece of paper.

  A crinkled piece of paper.

  Aw, he drew a heart?

  How cute was that!

  He likes me, he really, really likes me!

  Wait!

  Evidence!

  I could say it was another woman’s.

  Well, that was a development! We found another woman’s number, but oh, so sorry, it’s actually mine. Sure, that would go over real well!

  I shook my head and jogged back into the kitchen.

  A hardcover book was on the counter.

  I flipped it over and let out a little yelp.

  Jessie and his wife looked so . . . happy.

  And yet I saw no trace of her in the master bedroom, no clothes, no shoes thrown around the room.

  But the picture, they looked . . . like the perfect couple. Not broken or damaged.

  What if he really loved her?

  And there I was trying not to think about him naked while searching his closet for hints of infidelity?

  Crap. My time was up.

  I ran back down the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door just as I heard footsteps around the corner.

  “Miss Smith?”

  Yeah, I know, original last name.

  I pretended to be coming right out of the bathroom and grinned. “Hello, just in time!”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, let’s just go finish that paperwork and you can be on your way.”

  “Right.” I tried not to slump the entire way down the hall, then remembered the garage code and key location. Thankfully Bill was a slow walker, so I easily grabbed the key underneath the note. I couldn’t help but smile as I swiped it before Bill turned around and gave me a wink.

  What was that about being the best PI in the world?

  Chapter Fifteen

  COLIN

  “You seriously need to stop staring at your phone during bro lift day before you drop a bar on your foot and have to go to the ER.” Jessie glanced at his screen one more time before tossing his phone into his bag and returning his attention to me. He’d been distant ever since reconnecting with Blaire.

  Part of me was glad that my best friend was smiling more, part was jealous, and then the logical part was on board with Blaire catching his ass—cheating was cheating. I would protect him from himself even if it meant I had to join forces with a PI who was currently breaking into his house.

  I’d let him down before. And while I didn’t want Vanessa getting shit, she might be entitled to half his worth, so the guy should have thought about that before dropping his pants.

  I wanted to stop that cycle of lies between them. But first, he had to actually listen to me. And if he was cheating, not that I would in any way, shape, or form blame him, he needed to knock that shit off until divorce papers were signed. I knew how much money he had, and I knew how much money Vanessa wanted.

  It wouldn’t be pretty.

  I told myself I was protecting his sorry ass.

  When really all I kept thinking about was another ass entirely.

  Hers. Actually.

  I clenched my fists.

  That they’d danced.

  That he’d made her believe he was capable of anything other than just letting a woman walk all over him and use him—kind of pissed me off and made me want to take my knuckles to his face.

  Best friend. He was my best friend.

  But when it came to women.

  He was an idiot.

  I warned him about Vanessa.

  Dude didn’t listen.

  And I warned him about her idea for a book.

  I warned him about her manipulative mother who just about alienated every family member she had.

  I drew him a fucking diagram—well, not really, but I used all the words to describe how the apple never falls far from the tree.

  He didn’t listen.

  I owned several hotels besides the ones my father had me running for him, it was my thing. I knew people, in fact, I knew practically everyone in this city, which meant I knew all their secrets, dirty laundry, and gossip.

  What did I know about Vanessa?

  She was bad news.

  A fake.

  She’d use him—just as long as he was famous and had a shiny paycheck that helped her live the lifestyle she was accustomed to—and then move on without regard for his feelings.

  And still.

  Still, after all the shit that went down, he let her stay in his life, in his guesthouse. Which she viewed as a last chance to reconnect.

  While he just thought of it as a favor.

  Hell, if I kept thinking about them I was going to get hives.

  “Sorry.” He grinned and dropped his phone, which apparently had made it back out of his bag, but not before pressing his hands behind his head and sighing. “I just . . . all this shit with Vanessa has me thinking, What did I ever see in her?”

  I barely contained my eye roll. “Fake smile?” I offered before lying on the bench and pumping out my set. “Fake ass? Botox?”

  He smirked. “She’s not that bad.”

  “She would fuck Johnny Depp for a high five, yes, she’s that bad,” I grumbled. “But to each his own.”

  He scowled. “Hey, at least I tried marriage. Just how many women did you have in your bed last night? Two? Six?”

  I finished my set and stood. “Two, and they were sisters.”

  “Exactly,” he snorted. “You wouldn’t know commitment if it slapped you in the face and danced in front of you naked.”

  “Well . . .” we said in unison, laughing.

  “Naked always gets my attention,” I said, as a vision of Blaire’s bare thigh flashed in my mind. I tightened my grip on the rig before Jessie started his set.

  I was an idiot.

  He was midset, and I was midfantasy about a certain thigh, when his phone rang.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing who was calling and irritated that he’d drop everything even though I knew he hated her.

  He frowned at his phone.

  “Vanessa?” I probed.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “Thought it was someone else.”

  My stomach sank. “Yeah?”

  “Do you ever regret it? Sleeping with different women?” I snorted even though my chest pounded. “Not settling down? I mean have you ever met someone who no matter how damn hard you tried, you can’t forget?”

  Yeah.

  Two.

  One died.

  The other.

  Well, the other was currently searching my best friend’s house for evidence like a freaking cop while I distracted him. Oh, and I’d only known her a few days, talk about messed up. Hell, what if she really was crazy and I was letting her into his life to screw it up, the exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish? “Yeah, man, you know I have.”

  “Sorry for bringing it up.” He hung his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It was a long time ago.” I shrugged as the sickening feeling wrapped itself around me, threatening to choke me to death. “Hey, anyways, I know you have more shit to get done today, one more set and I’ll go back to the house with you.” To make sure Blaire hadn’t been arrested or stolen anything or said something to incriminate me.

  “My house?”

  I grinned. “You owe me a beer.”

  “It’s eleven.”

  “It’s a Tuesday,” I fired back.

  He laughed as he finished his set, oblivious to the fact that one simple conversation, one mention of her, of my past, had me ready to throw up and t
hen punch him for making me feel like shit again.

  He was right about one thing.

  I wouldn’t know commitment.

  Because I chose not to know it.

  Because it hurt.

  Because love hurt. It was evil.

  And the last thing I wanted to do was get trapped in an endless cycle of grief again.

  No matter how much I wanted a certain woman’s thighs wrapped around me, and even then, I knew, she was the kind of woman you kept, no matter how terrifying it would be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BLAIRE

  I pretended to leave, which was a solid plan followed by poor execution.

  Once Bill said his good-byes, I parked around the block, sprinted back to the front gate, and heaved myself over the far east side of it.

  Bill sat cheerfully unaware in his little security box, checking on my false identity most likely, which meant I didn’t have long before he either came searching or called Jessie. I grabbed the key from my pocket and made my way back into the house.

  I slid the key into the door leading into the garage, and it worked.

  With an exhale I made my way around all the cars, opened the door to the house, and started my search again.

  I was still coming up empty.

  I wanted to judge him based on his surroundings, and so far all I had was that Jessie was a neat freak—how the hell was I supposed to find dirt on someone who didn’t even allow it in his own house?

  I frowned at the white walls covered with monochromatic art, the gray statues that lined the hallway opening into—shocker—the same boring black-and-white kitchen.

  The temptation to spill something—anything—on the floor was strong.

  Had he always been like that? I searched my memories, but our dates had been so quick during those few weeks, I never got to that level with him.

  In fact, he never even took me back to his place.

  We were always at mine. I frowned harder—he’d always been weird about his car too.

  “Just close your eyes!” I laughed.

  Jessie’s teeth clenched as I wrapped a black bandana around his head. “Why don’t we just go out to eat?”

  I rolled my eyes and started his car, it roared to life. “We’re going to grab takeout, and then sit in the car and watch fireworks.” I was so giddy with my idea I almost missed his grimace.

  “Look”—he pulled the blindfold down—“I love that you want to do something nice for me, for us, but do you really want the car smelling like orange chicken?” He gave me a sultry smile. “I’d rather taste you anyway.” He leaned in at the stoplight. “Tell you what, let’s go make out first, then order in, pour a few glasses of wine, and watch the fireworks from your balcony.”