by Kelly Wood
“I’m going to hold you to that promise.” His eyes never left mine. “Since we have some time, how ‘bout we talk about something more fun.” The change in subject threw me off. I expected him to argue more.
“Okay.” I piled cheese and meat on a chip before taking a bite.
“Let’s pick a wedding date.” I choked on my chip. I didn’t expect that. At all.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because that’s what people do when they get engaged. They pick a date to get married.” His hand rested on my calf. He casually rubbed and massaged the area while eating with the other hand.
“What kind of wedding do you want?” I was hesitant to ask the question. What if his answer was a big one? I didn’t want to be on display.
“I’m open. Nothing too big. Small, intimate, family and close friends maybe.”
“Elopement?” I said hopefully.
“No. Not that small.” It was worth a shot.
“I can work with small. How about next summer?” I suggested. Gray’s hand moved over my knee and slid up higher on my leg reminding me of the incentive to get married quickly.
“How about this summer?”
“This summer? That’s . . . soon.”
“What’s the wait? We basically already live together. At this point, we’ll just be combining our finances.”
“That’s scary in its own right. Where would we do it?”
“How about in Vegas? We were planning a visit there anyway. It’s known for its quickie weddings. Your family could fly out. They’d love that.”
“This is a lot to process. Summer is in just a few weeks.”
“It’s time.”
“It is? I mean we could—” I gulped. Humor flashed in Gray’s eyes.
“I meant it’s time to go. Peter just left.”
Chapter Forty-Four
“Hey, it’s me.”
“I got that. Caller ID,” Peyton said. So far, our plan had worked out. Gray was planted at the bar making conversation with the staff as they wandered over. He was telling everyone I was in the bathroom if they asked. I was able to get into the office without anyone seeing me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m on the computer at the pub. What do I look for?”
“What are you trying to find?” Peyton asked.
“You were right. It’s an escort service. I thought maybe money laundering, but I was wrong.”
“You were actually right, too. Anyone can run an escort service, but they are laundering the money through the restaurant to make it legal. It’s hard to spend large amounts without a paper trail of its origins.”
“Cool. I need to figure out who Anya’s partner was.”
“Okay. Start opening files. We won’t know until we find it. Start searching for ‘special accounts’ or vendors you have never seen before,” Peyton said.
“Like a different bank account than the one the restaurant normally uses?” I asked.
“That would be too obvious,” Peyton said. “Since they are only supplying staff, we don’t need to match up food ordered versus actual food sold. That would be a basic way to launder money in a restaurant or bar.”
“If that’s obvious, then what is the unobvious I should be looking for?”
“For instance, if you owned a gym and Tupac was a member. He died years ago, so why is he still paying a membership fee?”
“I’m surprised you used Tupac. I expected someone more like Bob Vila,” I said. Peyton might’ve chosen to study numbers, but her main talent was building. She loved it. She could look at something and just innately understand how to assemble a similar structure.
“Bob Vila’s not dead.”
“My bad. How will finding weird invoices help me figure out who her partner is?”
“We’re shooting blind here. I’m just throwing out ideas of what to look for.”
My fingers flew over the keyboard opening as many files as I could find. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Focus, Regan. It’s late. How about this? Everyone has a subconscious number pattern. Mine involves fours and sevens. If I were to write out a list of different numbers, you would notice a repeat of me using fours and sevens. Look for repeating invoice or statement numbers.”
“How do you know this stuff? Do they teach ‘Money Laundering 101’ in accounting school?” I asked.
“No. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Then how do people know how to do it?”
“Regan, you always see the good. Never the bad. People who want to do bad things learn the right way of doing them and then find the loopholes,” Peyton said. She yawned before continuing. “Actually, all around this is a pretty slipshod setup. If they were smart, they’d have created fake invoices lowering the hourly wage of the girls. You wouldn’t have thought twice about it if the bartenders were sent for a hundred dollars an hour without tips.”
“You’re right. The numbers are what originally turned me on.” Ha, ha. I clicked on Anya’s private briefcase on the desktop. Lucky for me, it was not password protected. I found that ironic, considering what went on here under everyone’s noses. Inside was a folder for statements. All of the pub’s invoicing was done through a computer-generated program. We didn’t have a need for handmade invoices.
After clicking on several of the statements, I noticed a repeating invoice number on many of them. Invoice 31663. Peyton was right. I guess Anya’s lucky numbers were three and six.
“You’re right.” I explained the numbers I was seeing. As far as I could tell, at the end of each month, the “johns” would receive a statement of their charges. The statement itself wasn’t condemning. It showed the invoice number, date of need, and the charge. How funny if they were using those as tax write-offs. To the eye, they looked like nothing more than party charges from a restaurant.
The bottom showed the total charged for the month. Because of Peyton, I had noticed a recurring invoice number. It wasn’t on every statement but was on every statement that had more than ten orders per month.
“That makes sense. Someone was padding the bills. By using the recurring number, it was easier to add up what money was hers. Or his. Or theirs. She wouldn’t have paid herself out using payroll checks. Look for reimbursement checks. Something that is paid out on a semi-regular basis but may never be the same total. If Anya claimed it as a reimbursement, there would also not be any taxes taken out,” Peyton said.
“Wow. You are good at this. Is there something you are not telling me?” I joked. Peyton was always the troublemaker in our family. I never thought it would come in so handy, though.
“What are you seeing?”
“I don’t know yet. I need to scan through them and look for odd repeaters. I can do that without keeping you awake,” I said as I scrolled down the list.
“One more thing, Regan. I’ve been thinking about this. Whoever is actually behind this would be like you.”
“Like me? What does that mean?” I asked. I stopped clicking to listen.
“You like order, but you can handle chaos because you can make order out of it. You take charge. You take the bull by the horns, so to speak. This many girls would cause chaos, so who do you know that would be able to take charge of them?”
The last page showing on the screen was of previously issued checks. Anya paid herself roughly every two weeks for the overages. I scanned the list looking for another recurring name.
“Peyton. I gotta go! It was Seth!” I slammed down the phone.
“What was me, Regan?” Seth asked.
He stood in the doorway. Where Gray or Ben would look at ease, even in a dangerous situation, Seth looked like he was about to have an accident. He rubbed his palm up and down his pant leg.
“You and Anya were skimming money. She was overcharging the ‘johns,’ and you were splitting the money. Who got greedy? You or her?” I stood up to face him.
“She got greedy. She tried to blackmail the mayor. She wanted the big payout. She wanted
out and didn’t care what happened to us afterward.” Anger clouded Seth’s face.
“You here to kill me too? There’s still a pen left.” I motioned to the set on the desk. I didn’t feel nervous taunting him. After all, there was a full crowd in the restaurant and Gray was at the bar. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Seth’s face crinkled in confusion.
“I didn’t hurt her. I’m not going to hurt you, either, but you are going to come with me.” Seth pulled a small black object out of the back of his pants. A taser. Seth pushed a button and sparks flew between the two prongs. Fear snaked up my spine.
“You always were a pansy. You too scared to hit me over the head?” I asked. “Or are you not strong enough to carry me out unconscious?”.
I was very afraid of being tasered. It did not sound like a pleasant way to end my already very unpleasant week. I didn't think he’d actually do it, though. I wanted him to rise to my challenge. If he put the stun gun down, then I had a chance to overpower him. If he shocked me, I was a goner.
“I never was manly enough for you. You and Jax never gave anyone a chance. You were both blind to anyone showing any attention toward you, especially after Gray came along.”
There was never anything necessarily wrong with Seth, other than his size. I had always dated men that were big enough to make me feel like a woman. I wasn’t some dainty little flower. I needed a man who could carry me out of a burning building if I were unconscious. Seth just wasn’t tall enough for me. I knew it sounded snarky and shallow, and believe me, I was regretting that a bit right now, but that was what I liked.
“You pervert. You are going to actually enjoy it. Just go on then. Do it,” I said, waving my hand toward the stun gun, showing false bravado.
He did it. He actually did it.
Every muscle in my body clenched. Muscles I didn’t know I had clenched. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even yell out, as much as I wanted to and tried to, I couldn’t. I just wanted it to end. Each millisecond felt like a lifetime. If I could control any part of my body, I would kick myself for taunting him. My muscles finally relaxed but continued to sputter and twinge like an old car cooling down. Lightning shot down each and every nerve ending. I took a deep breath and concentrated on the pain ebbing away.
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Seth hauled me to my feet. My body rejected the movement, and I reacted awkwardly.
“You are going to walk out the back door with me. You will not cause a scene. You will not try to motion for anyone. Do you understand me?”
I nodded yes. My head moved like a robot. My arms jerked involuntarily as I started to move. My legs struggled to hold my weight. Seth draped my left arm over his shoulders. I sagged my body against his, hoping my weight would slow him down. It didn’t.
Nobody paid us any mind while we walked through the kitchen. I tried to make eye contact with members of the kitchen staff hoping one would notice my need for help. Since the restaurant was at its busiest everyone kept their heads down and focused on their jobs. I sighed in frustration. Seth squeezed my hand hard, reminding me to stay quiet.
A freight elevator for hauling garbage and recycling down at the end of the night was in the rear of the kitchen. It was also used to take us to our employee parking places. The staff was so accustomed to other employees using the elevator nobody paid us any mind as we entered it. The doors closed for the descent, leaving me alone with my captor. Seth continued to hold my weight easily. I realized, while he may be slight in stature, he was all muscle and very strong after all. My heart ached knowing I probably wouldn’t win in a fight against him.
Seth unlocked the door of his car and handed me the keys. I moved to the driver’s side. I thought about pushing the alarm button on the key remote, but we were two floors below street level. No one would hear it, and I’d only anger Seth. I needed to wait for a better opportunity to make my move. I racked my brain for any ideas. My muscles twitched in response. The slight spasms were receding but were still present. Maybe I could usethem as an excuse to drive erratically and get pulled over? I glanced at Seth and kept the thoughts to myself. I’d keep my eyes focused for a police car in the meantime.
“Where am I going?” I asked as I started the car. I didn’t need to adjust the seat since Seth was barely taller than I.
“You know where Anais lives?” Seth asked.
“Of course.” He motioned with his hand for me to proceed. I exited the same place where I had watched Peter pull out not long before. I headed south on State Street. Anais lived in the Bridgeport neighborhood, in the same home she and Patrick had purchased years before. Seth made a call on his cell phone. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
“Get rid of Peter. I’m on my way with Regan. Found her snooping . . . Everything. . . No other choice . . . Sorry.”
The conversation scared me more than if he had said the words ‘we need to kill her’ out loud. I played with my options in my head. I could try and wreck the car, but I didn’t think it would play in my favor. One: We weren’t going fast enough to do any real damage in this traffic. Two: No one would stop. They would all drive around us, honking and angry that we were blocking traffic. Three: The cops wouldn’t come for an accident until he had killed me. By then, I wouldn’t care they had arrived. All around, that option was a no-go.
I didn’t have any weapons. I didn’t even have my purse or cell phone. I’d left it with Gray hanging on the bar stool next to him. I had been more concerned at the time to use it as evidence that I was merely in the restroom.
Traffic was heavy but moved at a decent clip. I only had a few more minutes before I turned off for the house. I was at a loss. Right now, my only hope was Gray. I prayed he would figure out a way to find me.
When I made the final turn, I had one last prayer that Peter was still there. Maybe he could put a stop to this craziness. Honestly, they could go on running the business, I couldn’t care less. But, I didn’t think they would believe me when I said, “Cross my heart, hope to die. I won’t tell anyone.”
My hope faded out when I didn’t see Peter’s car. I pulled into the vacant spot in front of the house. It was probably where Peter was parked only moments before. I didn’t even fight Seth again when he took my arm to lead me inside. He still had the stun gun in his hand. He opened the front door without knocking, leading me to the kitchen. He tossed the stun gun on the table. After pulling out a chair for me, he taped my hands and ankles to the arms and legs of it.
The kitchen table was still set for two. Half-eaten food covered the plate in front of me. It must’ve been Peter’s because the other plate was barely touched. Anais hadn’t had much of an appetite lately.
My heart was breaking that she would allow this. I’d always loved her like a second mom. I never took my eyes off of hers. I wanted her to look at me the whole time. I wanted her to remember all of the holidays and vacations we’d spent together. I wanted her to remember the thousands of dinners we’d shared. Dinners we’d shared at this very table. I used to love sitting in here with her while she cooked.
Seth excused himself and left the room when he finished securing me. I tested the tape, but it held firm.
“Seth said he didn’t hurt Anya,” I asked.
“He didn’t.” Anais took her seat at the table.
“Then who did?”
“You haven’t figured it out? I expected more from you. You’ve always been a bright girl.”
“As bright as the girls you forced to sell their bodies?”
“I never forced them. Does my dinner look appetizing?” Anais pushed the food around on her plate with her fork but didn’t take a bite.
“Not especially.”
“For you, it won’t be. My special baked chicken with peanut sauce. I made it, especially for Peter. He loves it.”
“Why the girls?” I asked again, hoping to distract her. Anais continued speaking, acknowledging my question, but ignoring it.
“Do you really need to waste your breath with a question like that? It’s for you,” she said, again gesturing to her dinner. “Well, not originally. It’s one of Peter’s favorite dishes. He’s been under so much stress. Lately, I wanted to do something nice for him. It will work to my benefit, though. You see, you stopped by to say hello. I was busy cleaning up and didn’t pay attention to what you were doing. You tasted a piece of the chicken without knowing. I tried to find your injectors but couldn’t find them anywhere. I tried . . . I can’t believe . . . she’s like a daughter to me.” Fake tears swam in her eyes. “It’ll work beautifully. Don’t you think? I’ll be gone soon so it won’t matter if they believe me or not.”
I didn’t like the sound of her plan. I didn’t think there was anything scarier than someone with nothing to lose. She was right, she would be dead soon. Why would she care about any consequences now?
“But, why Anya?” I asked.
“Anya is not worth your concern.”
“But you have to tell me!” I yell. I couldn’t have come this far not to know it all now.
“Why?” Anais asked.
“What do you mean ‘why’? It’s show-and-tell time. The big reveal. The grand finale. You can’t let me suffocate to death on peanuts without telling me why first.”
“Why? Why? Which ‘why’ shall we start with? Do you know why I was so hard on you and Jax? Because you two were floundering. You didn’t know what you wanted to do. You just wanted to have fun, go to the beach, drink away a day. Anything, but actually work and focus.”
Anais waved her arms in the air while speaking to me. It was the most animated I’d ever seen her. It was far scarier than her usual quiet, judgmental demeanor. I started pulling on the restraints as hard as I could.
“I encouraged you to start traveling to give you some focus. I knew if you weren’t distracted, you would find yourself. I give you grief over your writing so you will work harder. I use your competitive edge against you.”