by K. A. Tucker
“Heavens no. I don’t waste time with that sort of thing. I’d rather spend my time reading. Or writing, lately.”
“You’re still writing?” I size up those small, wrinkled old hands.
“Oh, yes!” Her eyes sparkle. “In fact, I’ve gotten further in this story that I’m working on than any other one in the last twenty years. It’s a page-turner. A mystery thriller.”
She’s very obviously excited. “So tell me about it.”
“Not yet.” She grins secretly. “It’s not finished.”
I smile. “I’d like to read it when it is. In fact I’m going to buy all your books when I’m in San Diego.”
“Well, that will certainly help with my royalty checks.”
Doug’s telltale stomps sound seconds before he barges through the door.
Ruby and I both stare at him expectantly.
“They found a vase matching the description of the one stolen from Celine’s collection. It was tucked away in the hallway closet. They’re dusting for fingerprints right now.”
My mouth drops open. Wait. It’s been in Grady’s apartment the entire time? “He just left it there?”
“Looks like it. They also found an iPhone 6 with a pink sparkly case—”
“Celine had a pink sparkly case!” Ruby confirms eagerly.
Doug nods. “And a shoe box with several pairs of women’s panties, a red lipstick, and a few candid shots of Celine.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “Candid, like walking across the street?”
Doug twists his mouth. “More like she’s lying in her bed, asleep.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, shivers running down my spine. Grady was a bona fide fucking weirdo. And I was sleeping with him.
“I think they call those ‘trophy boxes’?” Ruby offers.
“Or a shrine. He clearly felt something strong for her. But we haven’t seen anything that indicates he ever meant her any harm.”
“You mean like Celine’s dead body?” I glare pointedly at Doug.
Doug ignores my sarcasm. “He has a serious network of computers in there. They’ve seized them and are taking them back to their tech experts.”
Hope sparks. “So if they find videos of Celine on there—”
“Then Childs will have enough to reopen Celine’s investigation. I’ve just now filled him in on what we know. Both on and off the record.”
I grab hold of his forearm, suddenly remembering. “What about the missing diary? Did they find it? We need that. I need to see it.” As hard as it will be, I need to read Celine’s last thoughts. I need to know what went on. Did she suspect Grady of anything? Was she afraid of Grady at all?
Doug shakes his head. “Nothing like that yet.”
“Dammit.” I release my grip on him.
“But this is all still good, isn’t it?” Ruby asks, nodding her encouragement toward me. “It looks like we were right.”
A slight frown touches Doug’s brow. “Yeah. Maybe.”
CHAPTER 42
Celine
August 20, 2015
“You don’t think Ruby heard us, do you?” She’s like a grandmother to me. Having her know what I’m doing to pay my bills would be almost as bad as my mother finding out.
Grady settles back, tucking his arm behind his head. “Nah. She’s usually asleep at this time. Plus this bed’s quiet.” He pauses. “Why? Has she mentioned anything to you?”
“She’s not going to come right out and say it.” I pull the sheet up to cover my nakedness, but Grady promptly yanks it down, his brow arched, his smile devilish. That’s one of his requirements: that my body is on display for him whenever he’s paying for it.
His eyes trail over my breasts and stomach, and I see the excitement in them. I figure he’ll be ready for another round in about ten minutes. That’s another requirement—the special five-hundred-dollar rate I’m giving him is for the full night, until he’s ready to climb back up the fire escape, to whatever it is he does in that apartment of his that apparently no one has ever stepped foot inside.
That’s usually not for a few hours, as I learned after the first paid night here, nearly three weeks ago now.
“How is that security camera working out for you?” he asks, as if we’re two lovers having a casual conversation.
“It’s great. Thank you. I feel safer already.”
“Good.”
“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” Every once in a while, I’ve come home to this eerie sense that someone has been in my apartment. A shifted clock. A drawer that’s open a crack. A slightly rumpled duvet. Things that a normal person probably wouldn’t notice but because of my need for tidiness and order, I do. Then I tell myself that I’m crazy, that it’s just nerves over living alone in this giant city.
But I’ve been coming home to that eerie sense more and more lately.
I mentioned it to Grady last week. He chuckled a little, but then recommended I install a discreet camera just for peace of mind. He even offered to get one for me and set it up.
“Maybe a little.” He rolls to face me, reaching out to push a strand of hair off my face. “But that’s okay. We’re all a little bit nuts, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
I’m used to putting on a sexy dress and a mask of makeup and heading out to an impersonal hotel to spend an hour or two—depending on how much the client is paying for—and then parting ways.
I’m not used to lying in bed on Thursday night in a tank top and boxers, my face washed clean of mascara and lipstick, only to have a client tap on my window. And I’m definitely not used to lying around in bed and talking with ease afterward.
This is beginning to feel like a relationship.
“I don’t get it, Grady,” I finally blurt out. “You’re a really attractive guy. You don’t need to spend five hundred dollars a week for sex. You could find someone amazing out there.”
His finger trails along the length of my arm, giving me goose bumps. “You don’t want my money?”
“I didn’t say that.” The first round of Mom’s medical bills have come through, putting a dent in my bank account. I don’t have a choice. I need this. “I just . . . I’m trying to understand.”
“I’m not big on relationships. They take a lot of work and commitment.”
And Grady doesn’t seem too eager for either. Which is why he’ll never be the guy for me.
But Jace Everett is.
And Jace Everett finally called my direct line at the office and asked that I take him out on one of my “treasure hunts.”
I’ve stopped going on them, seeing as I’ll be packing or selling my collection. But for a man like Jace Everett, I’ll gladly plan a route. Maybe I can persuade him to take the train with me out to Hudson, to hit up the antique shops. Or better yet, we could drive upstate, to Bloomfield Antique Country Mile. Of course, that would be an overnight thing . . .
“What are you smiling about?” Grady asks.
I press my lips tight because I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s just one date. A date I haven’t even told Dani about, because Dani and Marnie are close, and it’ll get back to Jace’s assistant, Natasha. We all know she has a thing for her boss. Plus, it could be nothing. Maybe he really does just want my help with finding a gift for his mother. Maybe this is just a friendly outing.
“Nothing. I’m just happy.”
“Yeah . . . me too,” he says with a wry smile, reaching over to slide his hand up my inner thigh, pushing my legs apart.
————
September 5, 2015
I am in love with this man.
It’s only taken two dates to know this for a fact. Now I can simply enjoy gazing at him as he discusses the sommelier’s bottle of wine with the grace of a man born and bred into a world of high expectations, his perfect features cast under the dim light.
Because I know that I have found the man I have been looking for. He’s handsome and educated and driven—God, is he ever driven—and, b
est of all, he appreciates my own career interests.
With glasses poured—our second pricey bottle—and alone once again, Jace turns back to me. “All right. Where was I . . . Why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m having a good time.” I don’t want him to know that I’m in love with him just yet. That might scare him away.
His head falls back with his laugh. “Talking politics is enjoyable to you? Or is it the wine?”
“I will gladly listen to you talk politics all night long, as long as you remember it when I’m neck deep in Chinese dynasty research and need to tell somebody about it.”
“Deal.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and my stomach instantly does a flip. He kissed me goodnight after our first date, which was only supposed to last the afternoon and ended up dragging well into the evening. I’ve been waiting desperately for him to do it again today, but he’s been a perfect gentleman. “You know, you’re something else, Celine. I had a feeling about you, from the moment I started talking to you at that auction house.”
“What do you mean?”
With a light squeeze, he releases my fingers to lift his glass. I meet it in a toast, his eyes twinkling as he watches me through a measured sip. “You have this perfect balance to you. You appreciate the finer things, but I can tell you also value the little things; things money can’t buy. And you’re obviously working hard for this career of yours. I grew up around spoiled brats who don’t know how to sacrifice for something they want, and who’ve had everything handed to them. That’s not you. You don’t take anything for granted.”
My cheeks flush with his compliments.
“I wish we’d started this sooner. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in work that weeks can go by before I let any part of my personal life in.”
“You’re not completely to blame. Lately, my weekends have been tied up.” I’ve flown back to California twice since we met at Hollingsworth; two red-eye flights for the weekend, to see my mother.
Sympathy overtakes his handsome features. “How are you doing with all of that?”
I force a brave smile. “She started her radiation treatments. We’ll see how much it helps.” I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that there’s no hope; it’s only a matter of time now.
He scoops up my hand again, only this time he pulls my knuckles to his mouth, and kisses them so softly, making my stomach flutter. God, not only is my mother dying, but now I have to face moving across the country and leaving this beautiful man behind. We just only found each other. Will these next three months with me be enough to hold his attention until I come back?
As if reading my mind, he says, “San Diego is just a plane ride away. And it’s only temporary.”
He’s already thinking about long term, too.
I force down the bubble of excitement. Still, he must be able to hear it in my voice when I push. “So . . . your dad . . .” I want to know everything there is to know about Jace Everett.
“Yes, to answer your question about my dad, he never truly stops campaigning. He’s always rubbing shoulders with this person or another, looking for support. He has a bit of a break now, though, since winning the election last year.”
“Is he going to run again in 2018?”
“I think so, but we’ll see. He loves the politics, but can’t stand the opposition. They’ve been vicious through both elections, especially in this last one, last year. The initial front runner was ruthless; he had no qualms about hitting below the belt. Three days after my dad announced that he was running again, they dragged my mother into the spotlight with some story about her abusing our housekeepers. It was fucking ridiculous. When you meet my mom, you’ll see that it is. She’s the sweetest woman alive.”
He wants me to meet his mother.
“They’ve gone after me, too. First with some bogus story that I was embezzling investors’ money, and when they couldn’t make that one stick with public opinion, they got hold of a story about a female coworker that I dated for a short time.”
“What about her?” I’ve heard this story. It was the talk of the building.
He hesitates. “She was still technically married, but very much separated from her husband,” he quickly adds. “They spun it to make it look like I was some home-wrecking womanizer who doesn’t value the sanctity of marriage, and that she was trying to sleep her way to the top. It wrecked her reputation and her career. She left soon after.”
“That’s horrible. Can’t you sue them for that?” I ask out loud, but inside the worry is already churning. What would happen if the media started digging into me? Could they uncover my secret? It would be a lot juicier than what he’s describing. Just the thought of it . . . It’d be blasted all over the place. All over the state of Illinois, at least. That means the Sparkes would find out, and Maggie would find out. Oh my God, Maggie would flip! And my mother . . .
The last thing she needs to hear about on her deathbed is this.
“No, they use anonymous mouthpieces on social media to blast rumors out there, so it can never be tied back to them.” He takes another sip. “So, if you have any skeletons in your closet, you should probably warn me about them now.”
I force a smile and shake my head.
And hope that it’s believable.
“You look worried,” he notes with a frown.
“I’m just . . .” I scramble to explain what he obviously sees. “I don’t know how I’d feel about someone delving into my life like that. I’m a very private person.”
He reaches over to take my hand again. “We just won’t let them find out about you. For now, anyway.”
“I like that idea.” That could work. Keep this quiet until I’m back from San Diego. Until he’s fallen in love with me, and will forgive me, should my past ever come out. Because it’ll all be in the past by then. “Maybe we should set some ground rules then.”
His eyebrow spikes with amusement. “Ground rules?”
“Yes. Especially for at work. There’s a lot of water cooler talk around there.” I add with a blush, “And you’re a hot topic.” So far we’ve somehow avoided notice, but if Jace starts calling my work line or we start meeting in the lobby or anything like that, everyone’s going to know within a day.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he says easily. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
I smile.
And believe him.
————
October 26, 2015
I throw the door open on the second knock.
“Hey.” Grady frowns when he sees my face, eyes puffy and skin splotchy from hours of crying. “Your text said that your toilet’s not working?”
“That’s right.” My voice is barely higher than a whisper. I step back to make room for him and his tool bag. As soon as the door shuts, he heads for my cramped bathroom without another word. It’s been radio silence between us for more than two weeks, since I told him our arrangement was over.
That was the day after Jace came here to pulverize my heart.
I should have said no when I ran into Raymond. He was my very first client, back when a date was just that—a friendly casual outing, with no hotel rooms involved. But he had a company function the next night and no date, and I had just found out that day that Dani and her fiancé can’t move in until February which meant I’d have to cover another month of rent, and my savings were almost gone. So I said yes.
I’m so stupid for saying yes.
I deserve what happened. I deserve that Jace found out and came here to confront me the night before we were supposed to fly to Chicago to meet his parents.
I deserve being treated like a whore.
But what I don’t deserve is what Grady is doing.
“What exactly is wrong with the toilet?” he calls from the bathroom. When I don’t answer, he finally emerges. That’s when I throw the computer camera at his head.
“You’re the one who’s blackmailing him, aren’t you!” Even
in anger, I’m careful not to yell. This building is full of gossips.
He stares at me, cool and calm. “What are you talking about, Celine?”
I hate his accent when he’s like this. He sounds so goddamn condescending. “Someone has been spying on me, using this camera that you installed.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but those cameras aren’t completely hack-proof. So . . . I assume there’s nothing wrong with your toilet then?” He heads for the door.
I grab his arm to stop him. “It was you. Admit it. You’ve been watching me. You didn’t like that I was seeing someone else, did you?”
“Did he know that you were fucking me, too?” he asks without missing a beat, a flare of anger in his voice.
“He knows now.” I can no longer hold the tears in. And here, I thought I was done crying. “And he wants nothing to do with me.”
Grady sets his bag down on the coffee table and wraps his arms around my back, pulling me into his chest. His hand strokes my hair soothingly. “Maybe he wasn’t the right guy for you then.”
“He was! He’s the perfect man for me. He’s everything that I want, and now he thinks I’m blackmailing him. And that video . . .” I’m barely coherent through my sobs. “If that gets out and my mother finds out, I’ll kill myself.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s true!” I stopped taking my Xanax in August, even though I knew that I shouldn’t. My depression tends to creep in quietly, unnoticed, until it’s already taken up residence in my brain. But the pills cost me money and make my limbs swell, and I was feeling better. And I normally have eight or nine months before I have to restart. But with my mother’s illness, and now this devastating breakup, the depression is marching in behind a ticker tape parade, not even three months later.
“It’s not. Don’t be stupid. You were seeing him for, what . . . not even two months,” he mutters, his tone turning angry. “That’s not long enough to mean anything.”
“Time doesn’t matter when the connection is that strong.” I pause and frown. “So you knew I was dating someone?” He never said a thing. He kept crawling through my window once a week to screw me, sometimes staying in my bed until morning, only to leave a wad of money on my nightstand.