NC-17

by Larissa Reinhart

  Ian pulled out his phone and punched in a number. “Stay here. Let me talk to Agent Langtry so you can give this information to her. After this, I’m taking you to Boomer’s cabin.”

  “I can’t put Remi in jeopardy, Ian.”

  His lips zipped into a narrow line and he stalked off, holding the phone to his ear. I leaned around the corner of his cubicle, checked for nearby police buddies, then leaned forward to grab Ian’s desk phone.

  I punched the nine and asked to be connected with the Wellspring Center.

  * * *

  In the Black Pine Police Department waiting room, Ian glowered at Oliver. I had to hand it to Ian. Oliver had greater size and swagger, but Ian’s “don’t mess with me” cop vibe was something to behold.

  My bruised ego had a nice pick-me-up. My heart, however, still lay on the hospital floor.

  Ian turned to me. “Why is he here?”

  “I’m taking Maizie to the Wellspring Center,” said Oliver. “She needs a place to stay. You said her office wasn’t safe. And she doesn’t have a ride.”

  “I’m her ride,” said Ian. “To her father’s house. Which has a great security system.”

  “Actually, the Wellspring Center has pretty awesome security,” I said. “They have armed guards.”

  “So does the cabin. His name is Boomer Spayberry.” Ian cut me a look. “Can I talk to you privately?”

  “Ian.” I placed a hand on his arm and gave him the sympathetic look I used in While You Were Shifting when my character broke the news to her were-dolphin boyfriend that his pod had migrated without him. “There are plenty of empty rooms at the Wellspring Center. Hardly anybody is staying there. I need to do my community volunteer work there anyway.”

  “I made a call to her probation officer,” said Oliver. “It’s all fixed.”

  “That’s inappropriate,” said Ian. “You’re the reason why she has a probation officer.”

  “You called my probation officer?” I said sharply, then turned back to Ian. Back to sympathetic. I’d do morally outraged in a minute. “Please understand. I can’t draw any more attention to Remi. And I need you to make sure the teens are safe.”

  “I get it. But I don’t trust him.”

  “Understandably.”

  “What about Langtry?”

  “You have my statement and description of the guys and truck. She can call me at Wellspring if she needs more.” No way did I want to talk to Langtry. I had a feeling she’d drag out my breaking and entering. Which would get back to Gladys. I wasn’t going to jail for the Prices. That kind of irony would be too cruel.

  Keeping my hand on Ian’s arm and my eyes on his, I shifted closer. Adjusted my voice to breathy. Ran my hand from his forearm to bicep. Making the subtle shift from sympathy to seduction. Not something I was proud of, but the request I was about to make needed all the help it could get. “And Ian, I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?” His eyes darted from Oliver back to me. Softened.

  “I need you to get me an appointment to speak to Roger Price.” I squeezed his arm. “I was wrong about who was watching my house. It has to be related to Roger. I think his mother is in trouble. If I talk to him, he might tell me who they are.”

  Thirty-Five

  #Teensploitation #DeathDoesNotBecomeHer

  “I don’t think you should talk to Roger Price,” said Oliver.

  We rode in the back of a white Escalade with the Wellspring Center logo printed on the side. No paneled van shuttle for the Wellspring Center. No helmet-head, thigh-burning ride on Lucky either. But I’d left my were-dolphin sympathy with Ian and had shifted roles. This character was trickier since I needed Oliver’s help but also needed him to chill on the alpha-male act.

  I felt terrible about hurting Ian. It’d been a Vicki move to toss Oliver in Ian’s face. But poor Ian was law enforcement and I’d crossed too many legal lines.

  “Do you know who Roger Price even is?” I said.

  “Isn’t he the guy who blew up the bank last week?”

  “He’s unresolved business from a previous case. Tiffany and Rhonda were right, I’ve got to face him.”

  “Babe, if you’re in some kind of trouble and it’s connected to Roger Price, the last thing you should do is confront him.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to five. “Oliver, it’s none of your business.” I opened my eyes and leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Can you drop me off at the Outdoor Outfitter store?”

  “Where?” said Oliver.

  “I need to talk to Mara, Fred, and Laci. They’re doing an event there. I don’t trust their parents to deliver my message.”

  “I thought you were coming back to the Center with me.” I detected a slight pout to Oliver’s voice. “I was going to order dinner…”

  Once again, I conjured up the While You Were Shifting heroine. Peace, love, understanding. This time I really dug deep.

  I turned to face Oliver. Placed a hand on his thigh. And used my sincerest voice with an added dash of huskiness for good measure. “You’re so sweet. But I have this to-do list that must get to-done. We’ll catch up later.”

  Oliver placed a hand over mine. And used his sincerest voice with a matching dash of husky. “I completely understand. I said I would help you with the missing camper. I’ll go with you to the outfitter shop. I just love those kids.”

  Great.

  * * *

  It took some time getting through the throng to talk to the three. I hadn’t seen a mob like this since the 2008 Teen Choice Awards when Hannah Montana presented. Oliver elbowed his way through the crowd of ten and up fans. The teens sat on a small platform stage behind a table piled with merchandise. The screen behind them ran a silent montage of their videos.

  Catching Mara’s eye as she signed a metal tumbler, I mouthed, “I need to talk to you three—asap.”

  She nodded, elbowed Laci. Laci gave me a nod and kicked Fred. Resuming her sardonic smile, Laci selfied with a middle-aged man who appeared inappropriately excited about their encounter. Fred glanced over, spotted me, and dropped a preteen girl’s phone. Leaving the astonished girl, he bounded from his chair.

  “Never leave your fans hanging, Fred,” I said, eyeballing the girl’s enraged mother. “We’ll confab in a minute.”

  I hopped from the stage to find their parents milling next to a rack of sleeping bags. Got the thumbs up from Laci’s dad, which meant…I wasn’t sure. Mara’s mom motioned me around her iPad as she videoed the teens autograph signing. Mrs. Hernandez scrolled through social media on her phone, looking bored.

  “Any problems?” I asked her.

  She looked up. “Yes. There was a big scene when we first got here. An angry crowd of women who were shocked when Chandler didn’t show. They didn’t even stay to hear our kids do the Q and A. Can you believe it?”

  “But no stranger-danger-type stuff?”

  She looked at me blankly.

  “Did you see an older guy and younger guy? The older guy is bearded, wearing a hat and sunglasses. The younger guy is also bearded and wearing a ball cap.”

  She pointed to the customers poking around the sportswear section. All bearded men wearing ball caps.

  I stalked back to the stage, slipped behind the kids, and grabbed the microphone in front of Laci. “The Bigfoot Trackers will be back in just a moment. Keep an orderly line. If you wiggle out, you lose your place. And no holding spots. Give us five minutes. We’re going to refill their Sharpies.”

  Fred turned to me. “Sharpies don’t—”

  “Backstage,” I whispered and pointed behind the screen.

  We trooped off the stage and hunkered between the back of the screen and a stacked display of ginormous coolers.

  “There are some armed dudes following me,” I explained. “They’ve been watching my house and now they’ve stolen Lucky and threatened me. With guns.”

  “Real guns?” said Fred.

  “How would they threaten her with fake guns, Fred?�
�� said Laci.

  I held up a hand. “No time for arguing. You three might be in danger, too. I told your parents it might be a lunatic fan, but now I think it’s related to the bank bombing.”

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with us,” said Mara.

  “By association, it might. I don’t know what they want, but you need to be extra careful. No more events. Stay off the mountain and out of the woods. Those are police-issued orders. School and home only.”

  They gave me the “that’s so unfair” scowl.

  “What about Chandler?” said Mara. “Any new leads?”

  “I looked at the Wellspring security tapes this morning,” I said. “And that night’s footage is gone. Disappeared.”

  “Like Chandler,” said Laci.

  “Could be operator error.” Oliver wasn’t the best at technology. He might be the worst. “But I also saw the mysterious chicken coop and it’s just a lab for drying herbs. The greenhouse is full of plants. Nothing exciting at all. We hit an impasse.”

  Laci’s lip jutted out. Mara stared at her feet.

  “Are you giving up?” said Fred.

  “No, I’m going to stay at the Wellspring Center for a while. The ATF is in charge of the bank bombing. Hopefully, they’ll catch Roger Price’s accomplices and then I’ll be freer to look for Chandler. But I’ve got to lay low for a bit.”

  Oliver slipped in beside me. “Hey, kids. What’s going on?”

  “What’s he doing here?” said Fred. “You’re staying with him?”

  “Not really,” I said. “But Oliver is helping me.”

  Mara yanked on my hand, pulling me away from Oliver. The three circled around me. Mara glared over my shoulder at Oliver.

  “We don’t trust him, Maizie,” Mara whispered. “Don’t stay at Wellspring. They’re encroachers.”

  “You can stay with me,” said Fred. “My mom won’t mind.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. “It’s okay. Wellspring has great security. Speaking of, they have security cameras everywhere. If they wanted to, Wellspring could get you in a lot of trouble for trespassing. You should be thankful they didn’t.”

  “That’s bogus,” said Laci. “Something’s going on.”

  Laci’s dad poked his head around the screen. “Your five minutes are up. Did you refill your pens?”

  Laci rolled her eyes.

  “Watch your back, Maizie,” said Mara. “Trust no one.”

  “Same goes for you three,” I said. “Keep your eye out for bearded dudes of various ages. Call Detective Ian Mowry if you see anything unusual. And please don’t listen to your parents. Stay home and stay safe. Better yet, convince them to take you out of town.”

  We high-fived and I slid out of the huddle. The three squared their shoulders and trooped back to the stage. The din from the mob swelled into a scream.

  Oliver leaned into my ear. “A call was forwarded from the Wellspring office.” He handed me his phone.

  I strode away from the crowd.

  “Maizie,” said Ian Mowry. “I just talked to Agent Langtry. There’s something I think you should know. This is under investigation, so please don’t tell anyone. Langtry found Leslie Price. We’ve got an APB on your John Does. Oliver said you’re at the outfitter store? If you’re insistent on staying with him, I wish you’d get to the Wellspring Center and stay there for now.”

  “Where’s Leslie Price?”

  “Her body was found in the debris dumpster at the bank.”

  “Her body? The First National? Oh, Mrs. Price.” My stomach clenched and tears stung my eyes. “I failed her, Ian. She wanted my help and I failed her.”

  Ian spoke in gentle, reassuring tones, but I couldn’t pay attention. My thoughts began to slow, pooling into her written “help us” and the look of panic in Leslie Price’s eyes when I asked about an accomplice. My breath jerked and sputtered. My chest felt hot. My neck clammy.

  I really did fail her. In the worst possible way.

  “Maizie, are you there? You’re breathing really hard. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  “Ian,” I gasped. “I really need to talk to Roger Price. Please.”

  Thirty-Six

  #TherapyWhamSlam #KeepingItInTheFamily

  I lay on Dr. Trident’s couch, alternately hyperventilating and crying. “I’m the worst private investigator who lived. I can’t Sherlock. I can’t even Inspector Clouseau. And I’m running out of plausible Julia Pinkerton episodes.”

  Dr. Trident murmured something about the ills of comparing oneself to fictional characters, but I barely heard him.

  “Aside from the armed men threatening to ‘talk’ to me, I have no progress in my missing person case. Quite frankly, the teens on Scooby-Doo are better at gathering clues than I am.”

  Worst yet, I couldn’t face my boss now that he was actually awake and out of a coma. I wanted to see Nash, pour my heart out to him. And to help him shave. Which was weird. But mainly to help him with any feelings he might have about the bank bombing. Or feelings about anything else.

  Nash didn’t even know about Leslie Price. My chest tightened. I grabbed another tissue off the glass side table.

  My new therapist was not helping. But at least I could check off Gladys’s boxes. That was the one positive in the whole fiasco of a week. And as a positive, it wasn’t saying much.

  “Tea, Maizie?” Dr. Trident checked the steeping leaves in a teapot. “Chamomile and St. John’s wort. With a dash of ginseng.”

  For the first time since my real recovery, I wanted tequila. But I scooted into a seating position and accepted the tea. “I should be the bigger person and see Nash. Even if Jolene is there. But he’s had a traumatic brain injury. He needs peace and calm, and let's face it, I’m a hot mess.”

  “You’ll never find peace of mind until you listen to your heart.”

  “Wow. That’s beautiful.” I set down my teacup. “If I really care about Nash, I shouldn’t be afraid to see him. Even if Jolene is there. He’ll need to talk about the Prices, and I’m the only person who can do that for him. Whether I’m a hot mess or not, I should be there for him.”

  We rose from our seats. Dr. Trident gave me a namaste bow.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That was the best thing you could have ever told me. Not to insult you, but that was the sort of thing I got from Renata, my ex-therapist.”

  “No need to thank me. I was quoting George Michael.”

  “The singer?”

  “Of course.” Dr. Trident held up his phone. “Selfie?”

  * * *

  Tissuing off my tears, I sped through the east wing hallway then stopped short, realizing I had no vehicle to take me to the hospital. But this was a spa. I didn’t need a vehicle, all I needed was a driver.

  Maybe Oliver had a point about working here. I could get used to this.

  Hold up. What was I thinking?

  I strolled down the grand staircase and asked reception for the driver to bring the car. Felt my stomach clench and my shoulders stiffen. The scent of Chanel No. 5 followed. Knowing retreat was not a possibility, I mustered some courage and turned to face Vicki.

  She wore a Vaara unitard with a long sheer jacket. Something only Vicki could pull off with her tiny body and ability to wear silk chiffon without snagging. I recognized the Dior Célèbre red lipstick and the pursing that accompanied it.

  “Maizie. How nice to see you after your not returning my calls.”

  “My phone was stolen.”

  She arched a perfect eyebrow. “For someone who works in a security and investigations office, the irony must be unbearable.”

  “Quite.” I blinked. I’d gone from sci-fi romcom to period piece. Maybe it was the historical vibe at the center. All the heavy wood carvings.

  “I’ve had a terrible week,” she said. “And considering my only daughter has not been available for a simple phone call, I’d say you are to blame as much as anyone.”

  “I’ve had a lot going on. Bank bombing. M
issing person. Injured boss.”

  “And seduction of an old fiancé.” She placed a hand on a slim hip. “Oliver insisted on changing the wedding security detail from Sweeney Security Solutions to Nash Security Solutions.”

  “I didn’t seduce Oliver. If anything, it’s the other way around.”

  “Really?” she purred. Slipping a hand through my arm, she led me to a seating area. “Do tell.”

  Hang on. This was Vicki. Speaking to her was like playing chess with a nine-year-old Mensa protégé. Full of brilliant strategy and an underdeveloped moral compass. “Why did you bring Oliver here, Vicki?”

  “Who said I brought him? He reached out. You wouldn’t have any contact with him and he was distraught. He was full of remorse and wanted to make reparations. It’s perfect, really. Because of your legal issues, he’d have to move to Georgia to see you.”

  “How did you even know about the Wellspring Center a month ago?” I sucked in my breath. “Wait a minute, are you an investor?”

  Her blonde ponytail skimmed her shoulder with the shrug.

  “You knew he’d invest, too, if you could entice him. By using me.”

  “Vanity is not pretty, Maizie. Oliver Fraser has always been a promoter of health and wellness. He cares deeply about alleviating people’s physical pain.”

  “He was arrested for alleviating people’s pain.”

  “We’re not all perfect, are we? Aren’t you here doing community service?” She smiled. “It all worked out in the end.”

  “What worked out? Your investment? Wellspring has barely been open and there are hardly any guests. I’m pretty sure you aren’t paying for anything or you wouldn’t be staying here.”

  She smiled. “You never did have a head for business. That’s why you needed management.”

  “That’s easy for my ex-manager to say. Are you getting out of the entertainment industry?” I sucked in my breath. “Has All is Albright been canceled?”

  “Why would you say that?” she snapped. “We’re still filming.”