by Cate Beauman
She swallowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Your brake line had a small tear.”
“Okay.”
“That would allow the fluid to leak out slowly over time—probably a couple of days.”
“Spell it out for me, Stone. I’m not a mechanic.” Although she had an idea of what he was getting at, she didn’t want to believe it.
“If you don’t have brake fluid you can’t stop. I think someone punctured your line. I replaced them myself before I gave you the car. They were solid.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Maybe—maybe they were just defective.”
“Possibly, but it’s interesting how they suddenly became defective after you filed for a restraining order.”
She shook her head and rested her face in her hands as Eric’s threats to kill her echoed through her head. “Why did I do this? Why did I start all of this?”
He eased her hands away. “Because you’ll never be free of him until you finish it.”
“Finish it, Stone, or is he going to finish me?” She pulled the covers back and got out of bed, staring out the window at the ebb and flow of ocean waves. “He told me this would happened. I never should’ve doubted he meant if for one second.”
Stone walked around to where she stood, settling his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out. Tucker and his detective friend are working on it right now.”
“Do you think that matters?” She turned to face him. “Eric thinks he’s above the law. His money allows him to get away with far more than he should.” She pulled away from him. “Why didn’t I leave? I should have left. I should’ve gotten on the bus to Boise all those weeks ago.”
“How would that be the solution, Soph?”
She crossed her arms at her chest. “He can’t hurt me if he can’t find me.”
“You don’t know that he wouldn’t have.”
“I was doing okay.” She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was making it.”
“If hiding and sleeping in some disgusting motel in the ghetto are making it, sure.”
“I was safer there than I am now. At least then I didn’t have broken bones and bruises all over the place.”
He sat next to her. “But look what you do have—friends, a job you love, your own shop. Murphy.”
“I know.” She sniffled back her tears. “I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything. I just want to keep it.” She brushed her wet cheek. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to talk to Detective Owens. Bangor PD was going to look for Eric last night and bring him in for questioning.”
“Clyde again?” She laughed incredulously. “Give me a break.”
“I know. Let’s hear what Owens has to say, and we’ll go from there.” He took her face in his hands. “I’m right here, Soph. I told you I would be. You don’t have to handle this on your own.”
“Okay.” She nodded, comforted by his reassurances until another thought occurred to her. “Wait, if Eric’s in Maine, how did he mess with my brakes?”
“Let’s talk to Owens.”
~~~~
Stone walked closer to the bathroom door, making certain Sophie was still in the shower while he spoke with the detective.
“Unfortunately we’re stuck,” Owens said.
“That’s bullshit,” Stone spat, shoving his hand through his hair. “What happened with the interview?”
“Not much, but that shouldn’t surprise you. Winthrop’s got himself lawyered up. His attorney didn’t let him say anything more than he had no idea what we were talking about.”
“Fuck, man. I know he did this. I know it.” He started back down the hall, trying to walk off the disgust. The bastard was going to get away with it.
“At this point it’s impossible to prove, but I’m inclined to agree with you.”
That didn’t do them a damn bit of good. “So where does that leave us?”
“Not where I’d like. Bangor PD has agreed to keep Eric under surveillance, although I had to come down on Officer Clyde whoever-the-hell-he-is pretty hard to make that happen.”
“Winthrop’s got them in his back pocket.”
“I noticed.”
“Fuck.” He sighed and bent down to pet Murphy, who stared up at him, wagging his tail.
“Look, there’s no doubt physical abuse took place. We have the pictures you e-mailed over on file. And the stalking through his PI is inarguable, but Winthrop wasn’t in Los Angeles when Sophie had her accident. What it comes down to is we have absolutely no proof tying him to a contract on her life.”
Owens wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. He stood again, staring out the window as the detective continued on.
“Winthrop’s attorneys are crying harassment. They’re suggesting the tear in the brake line could’ve happened during the accident. Sophie’s car is in such bad shape it would be hard for the prosecution to prove one way or the other.”
Clenching his jaw, Stone closed his eyes. The waves of helpless anger left his head throbbing. “That’s the most fucking stupid thing I’ve ever heard. The accident occurred because of the tear. She couldn’t stop.”
“I’m going to give it to you straight: We’re dead in the water here. Sophie claims she couldn’t stop, but Winthrop’s defense team could easily argue inattentive driving. All they would have to suggest to a jury is she used faulty brakes as an excuse to cover her own ass. Your wife very well may be looking at a civil suit of her own. The driver of the other car’s in just as bad a shape as Sophie is, if not worse. That’s pretty much all the reasonable doubt a jury would have to hear to make them start to wonder.”
This whole thing was a mess. “I took care of those brakes myself. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with them.”
“Which strengthens their case even further until we can come up with proof otherwise.”
The fucker had covered his tracks well. “This was a hit gone bad,” he said with heat. “You and I both know it.”
“But I need the evidence to back it up. We’re talking attempted murder here. No one’s going to touch this until there’s something that’ll make these charges stick. The State’s not going to take on a case they’re not going to win, especially with Winthrop’s name attached to it.”
“Subpoena his computers and phone.”
“We already have. They were confiscated last night. Hopefully the lab boys find something.”
“So we just sit back and wait in the meantime.” He looked toward the bathroom when the water shut off.
“Pretty much. I’d suggest you keep your wife close for a while. We’ve got eyes on Winthrop. He’ll make a mistake eventually. They all do.”
Eric needed to mess up before Sophie was dead. “Let me know what happens with the lab.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.” He hung up, shaking his head. He’d never felt so powerless. Owens hadn’t been any help. Basically he and Sophie were supposed to sit back and cross their fingers while Eric fucked with her life. His phone started ringing. Looking at the readout, he answered when Ethan’s name popped up. “Yeah.”
“Hey, it’s Ethan.”
“What’s up?”
“How are things going with Owens?”
“They’re not.” He scratched at his jaw. “Winthrop did a hell of a job covering his tracks.”
“How do you want to handle it?”
“I’ll be sticking close to Sophie for a while until we see what’s what. I don’t know if the asshole’s planning to back off now that the cops are on it or if he’ll come after her again.”
“You’re pretty isolated up there. We could outfit the place with sensors and cameras for the time being. I can send Jackson and Collin over to set you up. It’ll take a few hours.”
“I won’t turn it down.”
“It’s still pretty early. I’ll send them over later this afternoon.”
He looked at his watch, realizing it was only eight thir
ty. It felt like he’d been awake for hours. “Sounds good.”
“If you want an extra set of eyes at night, Shane’s pulling day duty for the next couple of weeks.”
It was probably overkill, but he thought of Sophie’s battered body. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to guarantee her safety. “Sure, why the hell not?”
“Did you see the article?”
The muscle in his eye started twitching as he sighed, already knowing he didn’t want to. “What article?”
“Toni Terrell took a slap at Sophie the way she did Abby.”
He rested his head against the wall. The bitch reporter made a mess of Abby’s life earlier in the year. Apparently now she was going to screw with Sophie’s. “Fucking great.”
“It’s pretty rough.”
“I’m looking forward to reading it.” He sat down on the couch, opening his laptop.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”
“Thanks, man.” He hung up, setting the phone on the cushion next to him and typed in the Times URL, immediately clicking on the fashion section. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, staring at the same picture he had seen of Sophie with Lily and Abby on the night of her debut, reading Lily Brand’s Freedom Line Disaster.
Sophie’s footsteps padded down the hall, the familiar scent of her soap and shampoo following her into the room.
He turned the laptop, angling the screen away from her view, looking at her as she stood before him with wet hair dripping on the soft fabric of her robe. “Hey. Did the shower help you relax any?”
She shrugged. “A little, I guess, although washing my hair one-handed was more challenging than I thought it would be.”
“Maybe you’ll let me help next time.” He’d offered to hop in with her, but she’d turned him down.
She smiled. “I’ll figure it out all by myself, I’m sure.”
He smiled back. “I guess that’s up to you.”
She sat down next to him. “So what did the detective say?
He turned the screen further away. “Not a whole lot. It’s going to take some time to straighten all of this out.”
She huffed out a breath. “What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
“What we usually do. You’ll get back to work when you’re feeling up to it, and I’ll tag along for a while until we know exactly what’s going on.”
“I’m going to have to go back to my apartment eventually.”
He didn’t want to think about that. “Eventually, but you need to stay with me for the time being.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
That was easier than he’d expected, but the next conversation wouldn’t be. “Soph, Toni Terrell wrote an article about you in the Times.”
“What?”
He turned the screen and she gasped, scooting closer.
“Lily Brand’s Freedom line disaster?” Her shocked eyes met his. “I can’t believe this.” She moved closer, her leg and arm brushing his as they both read.
Allegations of domestic violence against Eric Winthrop, famous painter and ex-fiancé…theft of thousands of dollars and warrant issued for her arrest…secret quickie wedding, marrying ex-mercenary…stalking private investigator…reckless driving almost causing a fatal accident.
He continued scanning the shit article detailing Eric’s suspensions and canceled art show, bringing up the restraining order, civil lawsuit, and pictures documenting brutal beatings, speculating their existence and whether or not they would be the end of Eric Winthrop’s impressive career.
Sophie cleared her throat as she stood and started toward the bedroom.
“Soph.” He followed her, capturing her wrist, turning her around.
She stared at him as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Damn it. He hated seeing that devastated look. “Come here.” He pulled her into his arms.
She wrapped herself tightly around him as her breath shuddered in and out.
“I’m sorry, Soph.” He kissed the top of her head, brushing his fingers through her hair.
“Why would she do that?” She eased back enough to meet his gaze.
“She’s a terrible person.”
“Doesn’t she realize she’s hurting the women and children Lily Brand is trying to help? If the public sees me as some irresponsible villain, they won’t buy my jewelry, which means profits go down for Stowers House.”
He wiped away her tears. “Some people don’t care. Clearly she doesn’t.”
“This is definitely going to damage my name, and possibly Lily and Abby’s.”
He stroked her cheeks. “Maybe for a little while, but I’m sure Lily’s not going to put up with this. She knows your story, Soph. You’re a survivor like Abby. You’re just as strong.”
Her lips trembled as her eyes softened. “Thank you.”
“You, Lily, and Abby will turn this around. I have no doubt in my mind.”
“He’s going to see that article. Eric’s going to see it and retaliate again.”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
She blew out a breath, pressing her forehead to his chest.
He lifted her chin. “But this time he’ll have to come after both of us. We’re going to fix this once and for all, Soph.” He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled her close again, holding on. He wouldn’t stop until they did.
~~~~
Eric walked up his front steps, glancing over his shoulder at the unmarked police car down the road. He’d notice the black vehicle sitting by the curb this morning when he left to run errands, then he spotted it again at the library several minutes ago, and now here by his own place of residence. It was tempting to march over to the late model Chevy, pound on the glass, and demand the nosy bastards get the hell out of here, but his attorney warned him not to add any fuel to LAPD’s fire.
Clyde had hinted that surveillance was a likely possibility, but he hadn’t expected the men he played golf with to betray him. They’d turned tide, siding with Sophie, helping her try to build a case against him. He opened the door and shut himself inside, resting his body against the solid wood. His heart pounded and his breath puffed in and out with a deep rage and fear he hadn’t been able to shake. His life was falling apart around him—videotaped interviews with the police, phone and computer confiscations here at the house and gallery, and the article Toni Terrell published this morning in the Times that the Bangor Chronicle picked up and printed. Everything he’d been able to keep carefully under wraps was now out in the open for everyone to see.
The town was treating him like a criminal. Few people shook his hand at the diner during the breakfast rush. He’d caught more than one person eyeing him while they cut into their eggs or French toast. No one was on his side, and it was all Sophie’s fault.
Swearing, he hurried upstairs, walking into the closet, pulling the phone the cops hadn’t known about from the pocket of one of his navy blue sports coats. He dialed the number he’d memorized, waiting through three rings.
“Yeah.”
“I want that thumb drive, and I want it now.”
“Not gonna happen. There are people swarming McCabe’s place—putting in cameras and sensors.”
He pounded his fist against the cedar shelving. “Goddammit!”
“This is starting to get a little more complicated than I want to deal with.”
“I paid you.”
“Half, which takes care of Sanders.”
“You owe me Sophie and the thumb drive.”
“I owed you the blond and thumb drive before the cops and reporters got involved. You shoulda let me put a bullet in her head.”
“So do it. Fucking shoot her and make her disappear.”
“Mmm, it’s gonna cost you more.”
He pulled the phone away and set it back against his ear. “More? I’m giving you half a million as it is.”
“Another two-fifty and your ex won’t be a problem by the end of the week.”
“Tomorrow.”
“As long as you find it before the week is out.”
“Get me the money.”
“I can’t just fly off to New York.” He glanced through the doorway of the large walk-in closet, through the windows in the bedroom. “I’ve got cops following my every move.” And it wouldn’t be long before the reporters started knocking on his door.
“Fine. I’ll finish the deal, but if you even think about blowing me off, I’ll take care of you next.”
“You’ll get your money. Just make Sophie vanish.”
“You got it.”
He hung up, shoved the phone back where he’d taken it from, and started downstairs toward the bar. Never had anyone told him what to do. He was always in control, but another quarter million was well worth Sophie’s murder. He poured a drink, toasting the men in the black vehicle, deciding that having them close by wasn’t such a bad idea after all. When Sophie turned up dead it would be all but impossible to pin it on him. The cops in Bangor and LA wouldn’t be able to argue that he hadn’t been right here.
Chapter Thirty-five
Sophie pulled the roast from the oven, making certain she had an extra good grip on the pan with her casted arm jammed awkwardly in the oven mitt. She set the herb-crusted pork on the platter she’d readied, ignoring the sharp twinges plaguing her ribcage when she moved too quickly to turn off the burner under the steamed green beans.
Over the past couple of days her pain had lessened from excruciating to a constant annoying ache and her mobility had improved enough to allow her to tackle several light household chores and get back to McCabe Jewelry part-time, not that being there seemed to matter much. Few customers had walked through the doors since Toni Terrell created a media firestorm with her Sunday morning article. Both Lily and Abby had assured her the worst would blow over before long, but so far the press wasn’t letting up. Journalists and photographers camped out in front of her shop then followed her and Stone wherever they went, whether it be the doctor’s for her follow up examination or the grocery store to buy food for dinner.