The Edge Of Honor (Part One)
Page 4
DEATH
Sunday, April 16th 9:40 p.m.
Supermodel and Brazilian coffee heiress Nicole Edge trudged up the third flight of stairs in Ashley Grayson’s run-down apartment building, glad to finally be alone. No flashbulbs, no reporters, no pushy paparazzi, no one in the place but her.
The razzle-dazzle of haute couture had lost its shine, and Nikki was closer than ever to leaving that world behind. Yes, it used to be glamorous, exciting, at times exotic, but now it just felt shallow. Shallow and boring. Smile down the runway, stop, turn, hand on waist, another turn, another frozen smile, then hurry behind the curtain to change into yet another barely-there gown, outfit, or weird-as-hell get-up some outré designer thought looked good on stick people.
Fashion modeling was worse. She didn’t like leering, touchy-feely photographers. Or over-bright, over-hot lights. She didn’t like jumping, leaning, falling, running, or whatever tortuous moves the photographer had decided might be cool. All in too-tight, too-small outfits that some office-ensconced editor thought looked “gorgeous, dahling”.
Fur in August. Skimpy thong swimsuits in March. If she wasn’t sweating in sand, she was shivering in snow. She’d turned thirty last month and her willingness to please at any price had come to a screeching halt.
Two more years. Only two. Nikki’s inheritance kicked in when she turned thirty-two. Why her parents had decided on such an odd age made no sense to her, but even so, two years wasn’t so long to wait. The payoff would be tremendous for Renewed Hope--but she’d trade every last penny for just one more day with the mother she’d lost five years ago to a stray bullet from a drug-related turf war.
Senseless. It had all been so senseless.
I’m going to make you proud, Mama, I’m going to help every woman, every child who comes into Renewed Hope. No matter how lost, or how hopeless they feel, I’m going to do something good in this world, I’m going to help people.
But for now at least, she’d finally reached the point in her career where she could afford to be a little pickier about the jobs she took.
The only reason she still modeled at all was because the money she made kept her halfway house funded. Maybe that was self-serving, but so what. As long as designers were willing to pay her, she was going to take their money and keep paying it forward. Other than her family, Renewed Hope was the most important thing in her life.
Important to her and to at least seventy other girls and women who, without it, might never have traveled the road to recovery. So far, since she’d opened Renewed Hope four years ago, she’d only lost two people. Both teen-aged girls. Both too far gone, too deep into addiction and denial to help.
Ashley Grayson was one of her success stories. Brought in by her parents as a last ditch effort to save her at the ripe old age of twenty, Ashley had weighed in at a whopping ninety pounds. Hostile, aggressive, and beyond hyper, all five feet five inches of her had been nothing but skin and bones, thanks to meth, coke, and pretty much any club drug Ashley could get her hands on.
But she’d made it. In a year’s time, she’d gained fifty pounds, stayed clean, her self-esteem had gone from zero to a thousand, and she’d become one of Nikki’s dearest friends.
Ashley was a little bit young, a little bit silly, but life was wonderful once again, and Nikki loved her like a sister.
A very alone, very single, very pregnant sister. By the time Ashley’s due date arrived, she was never going to make it up and down all these blasted steps. Hopefully Nikki could talk her into moving out of this crummy apartment building before she delivered. With no elevator whatsoever, toting a baby, and all that baby’s gear, was going to be miserable.
The third floor landing was covered in cheap, thin carpeting that looked like it had come straight off a 1970’s clearance rack. The idiot decorator for this joint had to have been blind, stingy, and falling down drunk. Blue paisley carpet, icky yellow walls, and puke green doors that opened outward instead of inward.
Two doors stood to Nikki’s left, two to her right. She went left and knocked on 3D wondering whether Ashley was going to want pizza or Chinese for dinner. It was after nine already and Nikki was starving.
She was just about to try the knob and holler a greeting when the door flew open, hitting her like an anvil smack in the forehead. Stars flashed, blinked, became bright flickering lights. Small shimmery suns danced against the dull yellow walls.
Nikki stood there dumbstruck, dizzy, trying to gather her wits as somebody darted past her, giving the door another hard shove as they went. This time she hit the wall behind her with a loud thump. “Ow! Hey!”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs and she lunged for the railing, ready to give whoever’d just bashed her a piece of her mind.
But whoever it was, was long gone.
She turned back to the apartment and thought, crap, Ashley, who’re you hanging with these days?
Nikki pulled the front door fully open and squinted into the dark living room. Which in and of itself was odd. Ashley hated the dark and usually had every light in the place blazing. But only one small lamp was on, casting a dim yellowish glow over the top of a worn desk cluttered with college textbooks and papers. Combine the lack of light with the guy who’d just slammed her into the wall and a trickle of unease started a slow crawl up her spine.
Something was wrong.
Nikki closed and locked the door, then moved through the living room, rubbing her forehead and flipping on lights as she went. “Ash, what’s going on? You and Mr. Manners have an argument?”
No answer.
The fact that Ashley hadn’t come bounding out to greet her was weird. Nikki slowed her steps and looked around. The light over the kitchen stove was off. Nikki didn’t think the stove light had been turned off since Ashley had moved in two years ago. Maybe the bulb had finally burned itself out.
Or maybe not.
But everything else looked normal and in place so where was her bouncy friend? “Ashley?”
No answer. Again. And for a split second she tasted fear.
Relax, she’s probably in the bathroom with the water running and can’t hear me. Yes, exactly. Ashley was more than likely just getting ready to take a long, leisurely bath. That’s something women did when boyfriends split, right? Relaxed up to their chins in bubbles and downed a nice bottle of White Zin? Or in Ashley’s case, a whole gallon of juice.
Nikki didn’t have far to go to reach the bedroom. The entire apartment consisted of one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and kitchen with a small dining area off to the side. Except for the desk, and some odd odor she couldn’t discern, the entire place was as clean and tidy as ever.
So what was that smell? It was like rusted metal, maybe copper. With some kind of musky undertone. Whatever it was, it gained strength as Nikki approached the bedroom.
She swung the door open. The smell grew stronger, almost overwhelming now and stopped her cold. There were no bedside lamps on and no light shone from under the bathroom door.
She flipped the wall-switch and the lamp closest to the doorway came on, bathing the bedroom with warm, mellow light.
She froze. Let her eyes believe what her mind refused.
Blood.
On the walls. The bed. The floor.
And...holy God. Ashley.
Sprawled on the bed. Naked. Still. Hands tied above her head.
The fear became real, heaving, rolling through her stomach. The room spun.
“Ashley?” She started to rush to the bed. Stopped.
The scene set in her mind and she saw. Guts. Intestines. Evisceration. A dried white rose on her chest. Gold cross around her neck.
The Savior.
Retching, Nikki’s legs buckled and she crumpled next to the bed. Right next to Ashley’s wide-open eyes and gaping mouth. Right next to the dead fetus shoved to the floor like so much trash.
Nikki’s stomach heaved, and the fear became terror.
Her mind shimmered.
Michael. Michael, please don’t--
Not Michael. Ashley.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she flipped open her cellphone and dialed 9-1-1.