Crash Into Me

by L. A. Fiore

  Captain stood and turned to the window. “What a crazy case, but we’ve got three bodies, so keep at it.” He looked back at us. “You need more hands, say the word.”

  “You got it, Cap,” Zac said, standing and heading for the door.

  “Thanks, Captain,” I said, and followed Zac out. He was itchy; the wheels were turning. He dropped down at his desk. “I’ll start digging into people we know Jason dealt with as Katrina’s representative. See if we can find someone who can tell us about this guy,” he said.

  “I’m going to finish the report on what we learned in LA,” I said, then saw the black envelope, with my name in silver, sitting on my desk. Lifting it, I asked of the room, “Where did this come from?”

  “A courier dropped it off yesterday,” someone shouted back.

  Pulling out my chair, I dropped down into it, turning the envelope around in my hands.

  “Are you going to open it or are you practicing your x-ray vision?” Zac teased.

  I flipped him off. Then ripped the envelope open and pulled out an invitation, also black, with silver writing, and a purple mask on the bottom right corner. I read it four times, my body growing warmer with each read through.

  “What is it?”

  I glanced up to see Zac watching me with interest. “An invitation.”

  He rolled his eyes before he said, “To what?”

  “Kade Wakefield’s masquerade party.”

  Zac stopped tapping on his keyboard, his curious stare fixed on me. “Really?” Then he leaned back in his chair, lifted a pen and rolled it around his fingers. “An invitation to the most sought after party of the year, hosted by a man we’ve got on our radar. Interesting.”

  I dropped the invitation, but I wasn’t unaffected. Butterflies were going crazy in my stomach. I showed none of that to Zac because I’d never live it down. “You know as well as I do the likelihood that Kade Wakefield has anything to do with this case is slim to none.”

  “Still an awfully big coincidence.”

  Dropping my elbows on my desk, I didn’t hide my irritation because, for as smart as Zac could be, he let his bias color his judgment far too often. “Did it ever occur to you that he might have invited me because he thinks I’m attractive?”

  Zac opened his mouth, then closed it. “I guess, but you know enough about him and you’re a detective. You think that’s smart?”

  What he meant was I maintained law and order and Kade Wakefield blurred it when it suited him, but this wasn’t a date, this was a ball, a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Still, I was a cop, and he was most definitely a bad boy, elegant, rich and sophisticated, but a bad boy nonetheless.

  “No,” I replied honestly.

  “Are you going?”

  “No,” I said, and then added, “I don’t think so.” This particular bad boy I liked more than I should.

  He chuckled and got back to work. I tried to work, but I was distracted, my focus shifting to the invitation throughout the day. Even that night, I studied it on my kitchen counter like it was a living thing. I had nothing to wear. I really shouldn’t go, but the thought of getting dressed up, seeing him dressed up made me really want to go. I couldn’t go, shouldn’t go. Reaching for my phone, I texted the number to reply with a no, my finger hovering over the button, and, at the last second, I responded yes. Dropping my phone, I stepped away from the counter, took a deep breath. It settled in slowly that I was attending the event of the year. I needed a dress. I’d go shopping over the weekend. As hard as I tried to not make it a big deal, I caught myself grinning for the rest of the night.

  Seven

  He stood in the shadows, eyes trained on the cop’s apartment. Surveillance for now, but if she and her partner got too close, he’d have to throw them off the scent. If necessary, take them out. He waited until the lights on the third floor went out, before he pulled his hoodie closer and disappeared into the shadows.

  Eight

  Molly

  I got home after a day that was just too long, kicked off my shoes, put my badge and gun in the drawer and poured myself a glass of wine. After a long sip, my eyes met Salem’s. “Jason Benjamin has got to be dead. Nothing, there is nothing on him.” I took another long drink. “So if he’s dead but people are still willing to kill to keep Katrina’s true cause of a death a mystery, why?”

  It really was the case from hell, but I couldn’t deny I liked it. All those strings to pull to see what happened.

  I almost didn’t answer the door when I heard the knock, and had I dropped onto the sofa, I wouldn’t have. Looking out the peephole, it was Ethan. Pulling the door open, he grinned at me, but I was looking at the silver box with a black bow that he carried.

  “Surprise!”

  I stepped back to let him in. He chuckled when he placed it on the counter. “It’s not from me. Courier didn’t want to leave it at the door.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “You okay?”

  I pulled my eyes from the box to Ethan. “Yeah, just tired.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “It’s just this case.”

  He lifted a brow.

  “Do you think it’s possible for someone to stay off the grid effectively for over thirty years?”

  “Back in the seventies and eighties, I’d say yeah, but today. No. Not with all the technology. Everything we do leaves a footprint.”

  That was my thought, too.

  “You picked up the apartment fire case?” he asked. Not surprising he knew of it, since it was on all the news channels.

  “Yeah.”

  “Lucky it was only two deaths,” he said.

  He was the right. The fire could have taken the whole building. Sadly, for the two, it didn’t matter.

  Ethan did a chin lift toward the present. “You’ve got a secret admirer.”

  “It would seem.”

  “And one with some change.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I worked at Bergdorfs for a time. I recognize the box.”

  Who the hell would be sending me a gift from Bergdorfs?

  “You going to open it?” Ethan asked, and then wiggled his brows.

  “I need a shower first.”

  “Okay, fine,” he teased.

  “Thanks for accepting it.”

  “No problem, Neighbor.” He started for the door, then looked back when he reached it. “That drink invite is still on the table.”

  He was adorable. “Maybe one drink.”

  His eyes lit up. “Well, damn, alright.”

  Chuckling, I walked to the door; he had his door open. “I’m holding you to that drink.”

  “I look forward to it,” I said sincerely.

  “Evening made. Night, Detective.”

  “Night, Ethan.”

  I locked up, then showered, before I returned to the box. There wasn’t even a card. What I was thinking couldn’t be, and yet, my fingers were shaking, as I worked off the ribbon. Lifting the lid and moving the tissue paper, my heart did a hard knock behind my ribs at the sight of the red silk and the masquerade mask resting on the top of it.

  Kade Wakefield.

  I didn’t reach for it, at first, because it felt like I’d stepped into the middle of the most perfect dream, knowing the man who had bought this and that he’d been thinking of me when he had. I lifted the mask and studied it, a silver mask with delicate filigree work and crystal accents. It was beautiful and a touch mysterious, the whole point of a masquerade ball.

  Placing the mask on the counter, I took the box to the living room, set it on the sofa and lifted out the gown. It had a deep v halter neckline and a long straight skirt; the back was completely open and, when on, would sit at the base of my spine. It was also red, like Little Red Riding Hood red. It was exquisite. I moved to my bedroom and held the dress up, as I stood in fro
nt of the mirror. It really was a fairy tale moment, and for not being one for fairy tales, since I worked in the trenches, I wanted this moment. I wanted to get dressed up. I wanted the magic and the mystery. I wanted him. Completely impossible, but maybe for one night, the impossible was possible.

  The ball was on Friday, two days away. My beautiful gown was hanging on my closet door, and every time I walked past it, I felt a bit like Cinderella. I wanted to call Kade to thank him, but I wanted to thank him in person more. Two more days, I couldn’t wait.

  Real life pushed into my happy bubble. Zac and I were visiting Milton Teller again because he was someone who had actually met Jason Benjamin, which finding people from back then who were still alive and remembered anything was proving really hard. Calling his office, we were happily surprised to learn he was in Manhattan. We’d been penciled in for a few minutes. The man had back-to-back meetings.

  We had tried to follow the money, namely Katrina’s estate, thinking that might lead us to Benjamin, but we were hitting a wall with her financials. Zac put a call into the LAPD in the hopes they could cut the red tape.

  We met Teller at his suite in the St. Regis. We settled in the opulent living room before Milton asked, “How can I help you, Detectives?”

  “We’re having trouble finding anything on Jason Benjamin, and given you were someone who actually knew him, we wondered if you could tell us about his background, where he grew up. Anything,” Zac said.

  “Like I told you previously, I really didn’t know much about him.”

  “You represented Katrina, but from everyone we talked to, Jason had a lot of say in her career,” I shared.

  “He did, but I was the one who hit the pavement, made the calls to get her interviews, talk shows, on the cover of magazines. Jason helped create the star, but I got her in front of the public.”

  “Who hired you?” Zac asked.

  There was a slight hesitation before he said, “Jason hired me. Katrina was well on her way to being a star. I was virtually unknown, but I was hungry, had put together a plan before I’d even been given the position. He liked that I was new, believed I’d work harder for Katrina. Knew I’d be a fraction of the cost of the big public relations’ firms. He was right on all points. While he focused on money, contracts and filming locations, I worked on her public image.”

  “What do you think happened to Jason?”

  “Jason worked Katrina too hard.” Milton stood and started to pace. “He got caught up in it, the glamor, the money, the lifestyle, and Katrina was his link. She was a star, and he intended to keep her there. Her death, even self-inflicted, can be leveled at his feet. No one in Hollywood would touch him after her death. Particularly with Katrina being so loved. If he was smart, he’d have changed careers and names.” Milton stopped pacing and leveled us with hard eyes. “Jason was very smart.”

  It was the night of the ball. I stood in front of the mirror, but I had trouble believing it was me looking back. The gown fit me perfectly, hugging my figure. Even the length was spot on. Did Kade make a habit of buying gowns for women? I didn’t want to know. I’d bought the Christian Louboutin strappy silver sandals I’d had my eyes on. If ever there was an excuse to buy insanely expensive shoes, this ball was it. My hair was up, my makeup subtle, and my lips tinted red. I didn’t have the mask on, but felt that rush of excitement for the moment I slipped it on and assumed a bit of anonymity.

  I grabbed my silver clutch, mask and invitation and left my apartment. Ethan wasn’t around when I knocked earlier. Stepping outside, I was pulling up the Uber app, when I noticed the car double-parked in front of my building and a man standing by the open door. Kade had sent his car for me.

  “Evening, Miss Donahue.”

  My voice was a little off because talk about a fairy tale moment. “Good evening, Levy.” My heart raced thinking Kade might be inside, but the limo was empty. A bottle of champagne was opened and chilling, a glass poured. I took several sips because I was practically humming with excitement.

  We drove out of the city, urban gave way to rural. It was some time later when we pulled down a long drive. The estate at the end of the drive sat on a hill, a sprawling stone estate that if I used my imagination almost looked like a castle with its chimneys reaching up to the heavens. I tried to play it cool, but my face was almost pressed up against the glass to take it all in.

  Limos waited in line to drop off their passengers. I slipped on my mask. When we reached the entrance, a man dressed in silver and black livery opened the door and offered his hand. Climbing from the limo, I took a moment to look around. I never knew there was any part of New York that looked like this.

  I followed the other guests inside. Everyone looked so beautiful in their gowns and tuxedos, elegant masks covering their faces. I felt the need to pinch myself. I stepped over the threshold, and candles were everywhere, as if we had gone back to a time of no electricity. The high ceilings, the priceless art, and the furniture that was as old as the building that housed them. It was breathtaking.

  I moved through the hall and stepped through double doors that opened into a ballroom of gilded thick moldings, a mural painted on the ceiling, and huge gold chandeliers holding white taper candles. The old wood floors were polished to a high shine. A bar was setup in the back, tables, dressed in black and silver, scattered around it. Exquisite floral arrangements—done in white: roses, peonies, hydrangeas, and freesia sprinkled with silver fairy dust, and a splash of blue from the campanulas that pulled in the color from the mural on the ceiling—were centered on each table. There was a string ensemble tucked in a corner, their soft music added ambience. Servers dressed in black carried silver trays of champagne flutes. A masquerade-themed tiered cake was setup in the other corner.

  “Champagne,” a server asked.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking one, before I looked around to those assembled. Even with their masks, it was a who’s who of the rich and famous, everyone from Hollywood A-listers to senators. The usual suspects were in attendance, Sinclair Rothschild and Desiree McKenzie. Carmine DeLuca, even Milton Teller was present. A social circle I didn’t belong but was lucky enough to get a glimpse into. I couldn’t help think of Samantha James and how she’d attended an event similar right before she was killed. Feeling as I was, knowing she had to have felt the same, made her ending that much more tragic. I tried not to put myself in the shoes of the victim because I wouldn’t be able to do the job, but thinking about her now…we would find out what happened to her.

  I pulled my thoughts from that and looked around the room, captivated by a scene that looked as if it had been plucked right out of the eighteen hundreds. It was beautiful watching the couples move, the way the long gowns swished around their feet. A sensation of being watched tickled me. Scanning the room, my eyes landed on a man across it. He was hidden partly in the shadows. Leaning against the wall, at first glance, he looked like a man without a care in the world, but the way he held his shoulders and the rigidity of his jaw belied that observation. He was a predator on the hunt. A chill moved down my spine, and my heart skipped a beat because I knew who was staring, the same man who had dressed me for the evening. There was something erotic about the thought of him picking out my gown, especially holding that gray gaze and watching as he moved it down my body.

  He left the shadows, closing the distance between us in long, sure strides. I couldn’t move. Like a fly caught in a web, I was his captive. As he grew closer, I soaked up the sight of him, from his sensual mouth, with the heavier lower lip, to those eyes that were the color of storm clouds. Half of his face was hidden behind a wolf’s mask. He was dangerous, a touch mysterious and absolutely beautiful.

  Desire raced through me, a want so strong my body swayed toward him in anticipation. He stopped just in front of me; those eyes, the windows to his soul, were shuttered. Awareness moved through me in a long, slow, seductive roll.

  He sp
oke no words, but took my glass and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter, before he drew me into his strong arms and held me tightly against him. My breath caught at the feel of his hard body against mine. It felt so perfectly right for me to be there, his touch stirring heat that went from a burn on my skin to a fire racing in my blood. His focus was unwavering, as if he was memorizing every one of my features. I knew I was memorizing his. He moved me around the dance floor, his steps sure and graceful, despite his size, but it was how he held me, as if I was both precious and his that had desire chasing that fire.

  The song ended, but he didn’t release me, holding me as if he couldn’t let go. We stood in the middle of the ballroom, but everyone faded for me, my world becoming nothing more than this man holding me close. He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his eyes turning darker, as he watched the movement. If he didn’t have his arm around me, I would have swayed. As it was, I swayed into him. I wanted him to kiss me, even ran my tongue along my lower lip in anticipation. His hold on me tightened, heat flashed behind his eyes. My breathing grew labored, my body was on fire, but instead of putting me out of my misery, his hold on me loosened, then he released me when I’d found my balance. Without speaking a word, he turned and walked away, moving through the crowd, before disappearing altogether.

  I didn’t move, wasn’t able to. Still caught in his seductive web because this really was like a fairy tale. I moved, eventually, grabbed a glass of champagne and walked out the French doors to the backyard. I took a healthy sip and allowed the flavor to coat my tongue…the effervescent yet dry taste. The moon offered enough light to see the yard, beautifully tended beds, mature trees, some of which were flowering. I touched my lower lip, thinking about the dance, about the man. I’d wondered what it would feel like to be his, and that small glimpse into just that was more intoxicating than the champagne I was sipping. I was attracted, but I was also fascinated. He was young to have accomplished so much, and with so little information available on him, yeah, I was captivated. And I was really fucking attracted.