Regan Harris Box Set

by Kelly Wood

  It was number sixty-two on the client list.

  "You should go. Lots to do. Go clear Peter," I said. I jumped up, pushing Liam to the door.

  "What is wrong with you?" Jax asked.

  "Nothing. Our friend is in trouble. Duh." Liam needed to leave, right now. I didn't want him seeing the bartender from the pub. Especially with Peter in his crosshairs.

  “Ask Peter about bathhouses. I bet ten to one that’s where he was but was afraid to admit it,” I said, still pushing Liam toward the door.

  "Just keep us informed. Call me later, Liam." Jax said her goodbyes to him and shut the door.

  "What was that all about?" Jax asked.

  "I'm pretty sure my sister is right, and Peter is a madam." I started to fidget with excitement. It was all fitting together. "And we have a call girl on her way here right now. Liam had to leave. If it’s true, then that would give him a valid reason to look into Peter more.”

  "Regan, your imagination is getting out of control," Gray said.

  "Remember how calm you are now because when you realize that I used your credit card and name to order a call girl, you are going to be mad." Gray started clenching his fists again. He might end up next to Peter in a cell after the night was through.

  “A call girl?”

  I realized my mistake too late. “I meant bartender.” I smiled back at him. Gray eyed me, not falling my sweet and innocent act.

  “We need to cancel her,” Jax said.

  “Absolutely not.” No way was I backing down now.

  “We need to help Peter, not go behind his back,” Jax said.

  “Jax is right. This is a crazy plan anyway, Regan,” Gray agreed with Jax. I vehemently shook my head no and started to lay out all of the evidence for them.

  “This will help Peter if we can figure out what is going on. Listen, each 'bartender' makes one thousand dollars an hour, eight hundred dollars after Peter takes his cut. It’s the perfect set-up. Their website shows photos of each of them—it’s as easy as ordering delivery food. You pick a girl, give your info, and voila, an hour later you have a date.”

  “It’s too risky. What happens if someone really just wants a bartender?” Gray asked.

  “Nobody would really pay a bartender a thousand bucks. Come on,” I said.

  “Okay. Let’s say this is real. Then what happens after the girl is chosen and paid for?” Gray asked.

  “Peter runs the money through the bar. Everyone pays their taxes, the IRS gets their money, Peter gets his cut, and the girls receive their checks like it’s a real business. It’s brilliant." My enthusiasm was evident as my hands flailed with each word.

  "With just one problem. I used to be on that website, and all I did was bartend parties," Jax said.

  “But how often?” I asked to prove my point. Jax was beautiful. If the site was only for actual bartenders, she would’ve been hired quite a bit. "Hiring out actual bartenders makes it more perfect. If anyone got nosy about it, they would find a valid business. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s probably another reason why the clients are referral only. When they call in, they are given the information on which girls are actually available," I said. “You know, for the other stuff.”

  "So, how do you know you ordered a call girl today?" Gray asked.

  "Because I had you use references. A regular gig wouldn't require a referral from a client." It all seemed logical to me. I didn’t know why they were fighting me on this. The answer was clear.

  Once again, a knock on the door interrupted us. There was a moment of stillness before all three of us jumped into action. Jax ran to her bedroom to hide. Gray sat back down on the couch, grabbing a magazine. Now he looked like the one aiming for casual and failing. Cops didn’t faze him, but hookers made him jumpy? I took some comfort in it.

  "Follow my lead. I'll ask the questions," I whispered to Gray before going to the door.

  I opened the door to a pretty blonde. She was prettier in person than in her photo, wearing a snug black cocktail dress and black heels.

  "I hope this is okay," she said, running her hand down her dress. "Specifics for attire weren't given. I'm Sarah." She held her hand out to me. Her nails were painted in a subdued color. I shook her hand, introducing myself as Christine. Regan wasn't a common enough name. If something ever were said using my name, Peter would know instantly. I followed suit with Gray as Garrett. I had made sure to choose a girl that none of us had met before.

  "Nice to meet you. Where is the bar? I'd like to get organized. Seth didn't know any details. Will it be a small gathering?" Sarah asked, looking around the room. Sarah looked to be about twenty. She still portrayed a flightiness in speech, jumping from subject to subject, similar to a teenager's style of talking. I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused her to go this route in life already.

  "Let's cut to the chase," I said. We only had an hour, and I had lots of questions for this girl. "Does the thousand dollars only cover straight sex?"

  Chapter Thirty

  "I said I was sorry." I didn’t know how many times I needed to apologize. I was so sure it was a prostitution thing. It should be. It was a great set-up. Maybe I should suggest it to Peter after the police closed their case and weren't snooping around all the time. I slumped back into the cab's leather seat. The cab smelled of curry, making me nauseated.

  "Why couldn't I have fallen for a 'normal' girl?" Gray held my hand in his, patting the back of it with his other hand. I figured he couldn't be too angry with me if he was willing to still be affectionate.

  "Regan, let’s just drop this, okay?" Gray suggested.

  "No. Something is going on! Why else would the mayor's name be on the client list?"

  "I don't know. Maybe because he is a client. The mayor of Chicago, the third largest city in the U.S., is a perfect example of someone who would hire expensive, pretty bartenders to work private events."

  "And a politician is a perfect person to hire an escort!" I said.

  "That’s it. Stop it. This isn't one of your books, this isn't a movie, ‘this’ isn't even one of your bad reality TV shows. Just drop it." Gray let go of my hand to rub his eyes.

  I needed to learn to shut my mouth. Gray truly was angry with me. I did want to giggle, thinking about the look on Sarah's face when I asked about sex, but I didn't think now was the time. I had never seen anyone leave a room so quickly. She picked up her purse and left, saying there was a misunderstanding before my question had even penetrated Gray's brain.

  "Can we go home now?" I asked. We had left Jax's place and got in a cab, telling the cabbie to just drive around. The first forty-five minutes, no one had spoken. Now, we were bickering. I think I preferred the tense silence.

  "Yes." Gray leaned forward giving the cabbie Peter's address. We were just passing Wrigley Field, which gave us a few more minutes. There was never any talk about where Gray would go. Once he proposed and I said yes, he moved right into Peter’s guest room with me.

  The lights were on when we reached Peter's. I could see him moving around in the condo from the sidewalk. His shadow passed through the windows every few minutes. I dreaded going up those stairs. I had never been a fan of the unknown. We found him in the kitchen, cooking dinner.

  "Oh, good. You're home. Dinner is almost ready," he said. For someone who spent their afternoon in a police station, he seemed very calm.

  "Hi. How was your day?" I couldn't help myself from asking politely like it was a common occurrence to spend the day at the police station. I sat down on one of the bar stools. Gray had followed me into the kitchen but had his back to us, getting something to drink. Peter took Gray’s return as he took everything, with barely an acknowledgment before going back to something that interested him.

  "I'm sure you’ve already heard about it. I know all about your day. Anything you want to tell me?" Peter asked.

  "Yeah, Regan, anything you want to tell him?" Gray chimed in, giving me a grin over his water bottle.

  I think I could safe
ly assume that Peter was well aware of my adventures for the day. I could take the high road and admit to my exploits of Sarah, but I didn’t feel like the climb right now. I'd just wait for him to bring it up with a more direct question.

  "It was just so-so. Um, so, how's it feel to be a felon?" I asked him, turning the tables.

  "You are such a funny girl.” Peter patted my cheek. “I was released an hour ago, but they confiscated my passport." Peter pulled the oven door open, checking on the contents. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

  "I know you didn't do it," I said.

  "Thanks for the faith. As a show of goodwill, we didn't charge Gray's credit card today."

  "I should hope not. She didn't even put out.”

  "She's not supposed to. She's a bartender. Regan, what were you thinking?" He stood up, slamming the oven door.

  "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea, at the time."

  "Did you think to just ask me? I would've told you if I was selling sex. We've been friends for a long time. I love sex. I’d be bragging if I were making money from it," Peter said.

  He had me there. Peter did love sex. All kinds of sex. I said, “I’m sorry,” for the hundredth time today. My imagination just got out of control. I thought for sure I had been on the right track, though. It had all made sense to me earlier.

  "Are you okay after today?" I asked, turning the conversation to a more serious note. Even though he looked like he was holding up well, the day had to be trying for him.

  "Yes. I just want to sit down to a nice dinner and then soak in the hot tub. I need to relax and unwind.” Peter said. He rubbed his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache.

  We sat down to eat baked chicken and au gratin potatoes with a nice Chilean red wine. I thought a soak in the hot tub would be lovely but was leery after the last time. Peter assured me that he had drained and cleaned the tub before refilling it so I would be safe from snake cooties. I gave in.

  As always, Peter was right. The hot water felt amazing. The three of us soaked, all lost in our own thoughts. I didn't know why I was so hell-bent earlier today. We were lucky to have not wasted the money. That much money went far in supporting us during our travels. I had been very foolish.

  But, what happened to Anya? Who did it? I knew it wasn't Peter. Ben had been cleared. Who did that leave? Did she have a lover that no one knew about? Was it someone else from the pub? Anya surely would've let in another employee after closing. What were she and Peter arguing about before her death?

  Just when I thought I had something to go on, it unraveled. Like with Sarah this afternoon. At least I left her with a good story. How many people get accused of being a prostitute when hired for an afternoon bartending gig?

  But, the ultimate question was, why was I so interested in this? I wanted to say it’s because I was a good person and the thought of someone I knew being murdered bothered me. I wanted to say it was because I loved Peter and the pub so much that I wanted the taboo of Anya's death cleansed from them. But, I feared the real truth might just be that I was nosy and selfish. The thought of writing a book from firsthand knowledge of murder was intriguing. I would’ve had a point of view for the story that would be new and refreshing. I let my own desire to write a mystery novel overpower the thoughts and feelings of my friends.

  This time when I uttered the words, “I'm sorry,” to Peter and Gray, I truly meant them.

  I put down my wine glass, calling it a night. Bed and a good book were calling my name. I kissed them both goodnight and crawled over the side of the tub. Three wooden stairs were next to the hot tub for easy access, but I hated them. When wet, they became slippery. As I carefully stepped over the side, I wondered how I jumped out of it without falling when I was trying to escape the snake. I was still not even sure why I freaked out so badly at the snake. With Gray and my travels through jungles and small remote mountain towns, snakes were common. Just two months prior, our apartment in Honduras had two baby snakes in the bedroom.

  My foot hit the top step, and it slid out from under me. One minute I was upright and the next I was sprawled on the ground. It happened so quickly my first thought was, “How did I get down here?” My second was the stabbing pain. I howled and had tears in my eyes just as the next pain hit.

  "Oh, my God. Are you alright?" Gray was squatted next to me. How the heck did he get out that quickly? Why didn't I have his grace?

  "I'm . . . uh. . . fine." I hated crying, but I had landed on my foot. I looked down, it had already swelled. Peter grabbed a towel and filled it with ice from the wine bucket.

  "Come on. Let's get you downstairs," Peter said.

  I tried to put some weight on my foot, but the edges of my vision faded to black with the effort. I had my arms around Peter and Gray's necks, hobbling between them on my good foot.

  "How do you suppose the three of us are going to fit on the curly staircase? It’s too narrow," I said.

  “Your foot is probably broken, and you’re worried about the stairs?” Peter asked.

  "Like this." Gray picked me up and flung me over his shoulder. With each step, my stomach pressed harder into his shoulder. I didn’t know which was worse. The thought of getting sick down his back from the movement or the thought of how huge my butt must look from this angle. The throbbing in my foot won out.

  Gray and Peter dried me off and changed me from my bathing suit. I felt like a five-year-old, but I was a wimp when it came to pain. I sniffled and hiccupped through it.

  "I'll take her to the hospital. Peter, will you help me get her to the car?" Gray asked.

  “Wait.” I turned to Peter, putting my hand on his cheek. “Are we okay? Really okay?”

  He pressed his cheek into my hand. “Of, course. How can I be mad when you’ve followed my plan perfectly?”

  “What? You wanted me to order one of your girls?”

  “No. That I never expected. Serves you right, I should’ve charged your card.”

  “Then, what?” Peter’s eyes moved over to Gray.

  “Him. I knew if I got you to look at Ben’s faults, you could let him go. I must admit, it worked better than I planned. Well, faster anyway.”

  “You—”

  “Congratulations on your engagement. Now, get our girl to the hospital Gray.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  We were lucky, the hospital ER wasn’t busy. I was put into a bed immediately. I had the same nurse from the night of my allergic reaction, Joe. He was friendly and funny, even asking if I was working up to frequent flyer points. Joe organized syringes to inject into my IV line, explaining each as he went. The first was a much-needed painkiller. The second one was for nausea that the painkiller would induce. And the third was Valium.

  "Valium? Like what Californian housewives in the 80s were addicted to?" I asked.

  "Yes. It will help calm you; your heart is racing. Plus, for some reason, Valium helps with dizziness and nausea, both of which you have been complaining about," Joe said.

  "Oh." I felt the drug hit my system, causing a warm floating feeling. The next few hours passed in a blur of X-rays and napping. The next time I woke, Joe was next to my bed, but Gray was gone.

  "He went to get something to drink from the vending machine," Joe answered my silent question.

  "Oh, okay." I could hear myself slurring like I was drunk.

  "He must really love you. He would only take a break if I promised to stay with you."

  "Not you, too, Joe. You sound like my mother.” I glared at him before putting my head back down on the pillow. “You can stop the campaign for him, I said yes to the proposal.”

  "Congratulations! That man’s watched you like a hawk both times you’ve been here. Be good to him.” You would think Gray could walk on water. Even my nurse loved him.

  “Can I ask you a random question?”

  “You’ve asked me a dozen since you’ve been here. What’s one more?”

  “I have?” I didn’t remember asking him anything.
>
  “The valium made you chatty. Shoot.” Joe typed on the computer, updating my file.

  “How hard is it to stab someone?” Joe stopped typing and looked at me with confusion. “I’m not going to stab anyone. I’m just curious. Does it take a lot of strength?”

  “I think you are high as a kite from the pain meds.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Sure. To answer your question, I’ve never stabbed anyone.”

  “But you’ve probably seen hundreds of stab wounds.”

  “Yes. Sometimes, the wounds are deep, with a lot of force behind the motion. Sometimes, shallower.”

  “Like?”

  “I think you are asking the wrong question.” Joe wheeled on his stool from the desk over to the side of the bed. “From the victims I have seen with stab wounds, the act usually flows from passion. Think about it. To stab someone, you have to be up close and personal. You have to be in their space. Stabbing someone is very personal. You feel their blood on you. You get messy. Unlike shooting someone where you can kill them from a distance. See, stabbing is personal and passionate.”

  “Good point. It’s food for thought.”

  “Do I want to know why you are asking these questions?” I gave him the pat answer that it was research for a book. I found the excuse of being a writer a great one to use to pry into someone’s personal life or to ask weird, inappropriate questions.

  Joe left when Gray returned. I put my finger to my lips sending him the signal to keep our conservation between us. Joe nodded his acknowledgment, but he probably assumed the drugs would erase my memory anyway. He promised the doctor would be in shortly. I didn’t believe him. Doctors never arrived shortly.

  Gray sat in the only chair in the cubicle. Between the bed, him and all of the machines, it was a tight fit.

  “I can’t believe I am here. Again.”

  “I can. You are the clumsiest person I know. I’m lucky you didn’t fall off a mountain while hiking.”