Steel Rush (In the Shadows#5)

by P. T. Michelle

  Beth calls out from the ground floor, her voice steady and sure. “It’s Celeste, Jake. She came home.”

  Celeste nods, her fingers tightening on the cage. A trembling smile curves her lips. “I came back for you, Scrappy.”

  The nickname pulls Jake’s and my attention back to her and at that moment, my gaze locks on the familiar bruising on her neck. The moment I see Jake’s finger leave the button on the remote, I spin and slam my foot into his chest with a powerful kick.

  The crashing impact jolts the remote and the gun from Jake’s hands. I quickly kick the gun out of his reach and smash my fist into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

  “Get the remote, Cass,” I yell, glancing at her.

  Cass is already hunched down, her arm stretched through the fencing, fingers straining for the remote, but the device landed an inch beyond her reach. “I can’t reach it!”

  “Cass?” Roaring his rage, Jake pounds a fist into my chest and flips me onto the mat.

  Jamming a knee into my chest, he pins me with all his weight as I try to regain my breath. “Did you know that I had Cass first?” He snarls out a laugh. “Actually, I’ve had your little bitch twice. That second time around was hot enough to almost make me forget about Celeste.” He bends close, drilling his knee into me. “How does it feel to have my sloppy seconds, Calder fucking Blake?”

  Red flashes across my vision and I grab his shoulders, throwing him across the cage and into the fencing.

  As I rush after him in a blind rage, Bash yells my name. I glance up to see him holding the wired trigger from the bomb and I vaguely register him saying, “Theo got the other one.”

  Before Jake can recover, I let loose on him, pummeling the jeering shit’s face into a bloody mess.

  For stealing Cass’s innocence and trying to destroy our firsts.

  For being a disgusting, molesting fucker.

  For threatening to kill hundreds of innocent people.

  I don’t stop moving until a couple of police officers pull me off the demented bastard.

  “Great news!” Talia says as I answer my phone and slip into my car.

  “That was fast.” I snort. “I just dropped my proposal off.”

  She laughs. “Not that. You’re right. It’ll take my editor a couple weeks to evaluate it and run it past the marketing committee. I’m calling to let you know the verdict came in. Phillip Hemming is going away for a very long time on multiple counts, with Celeste’s death giving him the most jail time. Brent and Jake will be sentenced tomorrow.”

  After two weeks of endless police interviews, the high profile nature of multiple murders, attempted murder, and other crimes, pushed the trials against Phillip, Jake, and Brent up quickly. I’m just glad to be done testifying. I’m so ready to put that whole part of my life behind me.

  “Oh, and Sebastian got your father’s proposal rescheduled to this week. He wanted to make sure that the Carver name didn’t taint the project. Don’t worry, I’ve already called your dad to let him know to get ready for it.”

  “Thank you, Talia. And please thank Sebastian for me too.”

  “I will. Now, if he would only be so accommodating with his wife. Can you believe he’s ignoring my suggestion that I join BLACK security? You would think after I proved that my presence at the fight was necessary, he would agree, but he’s being so stubborn.”

  “I saw you come out from under the fight arena with him. Did you actually help him defuse that bomb?”

  “No, but my nail clippers did.”

  I snicker. “Clever. Well, I’m sure it’s because Sebastian wants to keep you safe. He already doesn’t like when you have to do undercover stuff for the Tribune.”

  “I know, but at least he can control the cases I work if I’m working for our own company. Ugh…the infuriating man.”

  “He’ll come around,” I say chuckling. “He just needs to think it’s his idea.”

  “Hmmm, now there’s a thought. Anyway, why don’t you tell Calder the good news about Phillip. I think he’s at his parents’ house—Oh that’s Sebastian calling. Got to run.” She hangs up before I can ask her to have Sebastian tell his cousin.

  It’s not like I’m avoiding Calder. It’s just that ever since that night at the fight we’ve both been inundated with the prosecutor’s demands pertaining to the cases. And during the trial proceedings our lawyers recommended that we not speak to each other. They didn’t want our testimony polluted in any way. Ironically, because he didn’t have to testify, Ben had no conflict issues. He asked me to go for coffee and I met him at a local cafe. While sipping lattes, I gave him his ring back. When he asked to meet again, I begged off. I want his friendship, but I know he wants more.

  As for Calder, I’ve been terrified at the idea of facing him after that bomb Jake dropped about us. I agonized over what Calder must be thinking, how he might be twisting what Jake said. I wanted to tell him the truth, but it would take longer than a quick whispered answer in the lobby outside the courtroom.

  The day the testimony phase of the trial was over last week, I received a bouquet of roses from Calder. The note inside made me cry with relief.

  All the firsts that matter happened between us. Give me time to get myself in order.

  Calder

  Before I call Calder with the news about Phillip, I decide to clear all the Celeste stuff from my life. I scroll to the email I sent myself with the Deceiver text conversation between Celeste and Phillip. I’d kept it “just in case” until the trial was over. Once I delete that, I see another email I’d sent myself. It was of the picture from Celeste’s last diary entry. I’d sent it to myself intending to read it later, but the chaos that ensued afterward quickly absorbed my attention.

  Settling into my seat, I skim over her moody poetic entry until I get to the last paragraph. One line jumps out at me, because even though it stays consistent in tone and mood, it addresses the reader. And Celeste never did that.

  My life was colored by design. It was always your favorite.

  Colored by design could be referring to all the colors she mentioned throughout her entries: black, green, red, blue. But if I remember right, the colors were always tied to somber moods or used to describe a person’s attributes. So who is she talking to…it was whose favorite?

  I shake my head and start to close the image when it hits me where I’d seen the phrase Colored by design before. It was the book I constantly studied in our high school library. The same book Celeste teased me for using an outdated resource. Why would she mention that old book? I can’t help but think this note was meant for me.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  I’ve delayed long enough. It’s time to move on, but I can’t leave this dangling. I should never have let sentiment sway me in the first place.

  Only fools trust others to make smart decisions.

  I start to get out of my car when Cass Rockwell pulls up.

  I quickly shut my car door and flip the visor down so she doesn’t see me.

  Tension ratchets as I reach over and pop open the glove compartment, my gaze following her into the high school.

  Too late.

  All I can do now is wait.

  Shaking my head, I can’t believe I’m standing in our high school library, looking for a book that has probably been sent to the incinerator years ago.

  When my gaze lands on the familiar spine of the oversized book, I take it down, my body tense with anticipation.

  I spend the next half hour flipping through every single page, unsure what I’m looking for. When I turn to the last page with no clue as to why Celeste pointed me to this book, I start to close it as I stand, but something slips out of the yellow return card pouch in the back, landing on the carpet.

  My pulse thrumming, I put the book away and pick up the thin USB stick.

  By the time I return to my car in the parking lot, my hands are shaking. I rub them on my jeans, then open my laptop and slide the memory stick into the slot.


  I grunt my annoyance that a passcode is required, but when I see it’s four digits, I immediately type in my name and my heart rate picks up when the drive opens, and a doc pops up with my name on it.

  I click it.

  Dear Cass,

  If you’re reading this letter, then I’m already dead. I debated whether or not to write this at all, but I wanted you to know the truth. I feel I owed you that much.

  Phillip took everything from me. Everything.

  He colored my life and changed who I became.

  If you’ve gotten this far, I can only assume you’ve also read between the lines in my diary, so you know what he did. I was only fourteen! I won’t go into details, but life didn’t get better. It got much, much worse.

  For years I suffered in silence.

  Until I saw you show up at that Blake party, pretending to be me.

  My heart races when I read that part. Wait…what? She saw me? I never saw her there and she never mentioned it. I continue reading on, my fingers folding tight around my computer screen.

  What better way to find out what people really think of you then to go to a masked party anonymously? I despised the Celeste people thought they knew. What did they say about her when she wasn’t around? Would they even notice her absence? Or care?

  You were an unexpected surprise, but so very convincing as Celeste…you gave me hope.

  It took me years to make sure every detail would go as planned.

  You were pivotal, if I ever wanted to own myself again.

  But it would only work if you helped.

  Phillip owed me the life he stole, so I made him pay by killing his meal ticket.

  Celeste had to die.

  She had become a thorn in my side. A body to shed.

  I wanted to make sure that Phillip never did to another what he did to me. And now he’s paying for my life with his own.

  This baby wasn’t part of my plan—yet another of Phillip’s brute force tactics to ensure his child inherited the Carver estate—but I’m going to raise my child with love so that she never knows what it feels like to be alone in a crowded room, or to be unable to speak the truth because the words’ edges are too sharp on her tongue. She will laugh and play and be…happy. Something I never was.

  I’m a ghost.

  Celeste no longer exists.

  But this new person thanks you for giving her a life.

  I did my best to protect you from a fate I was already living. I hope you realize that now that you’ve walked in my shoes.

  Your friend,

  P.S. I’m aware that you can give this letter to the police and undo the justice I worked so hard to gain, but this is the risk I’m taking.

  I stare at the letter, gutted that Celeste felt so alone that she chose such a twisted path to happiness, but also guilt-ridden by the realization that I helped put a man in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. Shutting my laptop, I start my car and pull out of the school’s parking lot, my mind in a daze.

  I glance at the car’s clock, my fingers tapping rapidly on the steering wheel.

  Where is she?

  When Cass walks out of the main door, her steps brisk, her face pinched, I grip the steering wheel and straighten, watching her body language.

  She unlocks her car and gets in, then turns to mess with something in her passenger seat. Ah, a laptop.

  I watch her face, full of intense concentration.

  She leans close like she’s gripping her laptop.

  What is she thinking?

  What will she do? Will her new friendship impact her decision?

  My gaze narrows.

  I had to secretly bank five pints of blood, go to an abortion clinic, feed you texts and clues, all while you wormed your way into my family and stole my sister’s affection.

  Don’t steal this from me too, Cass.

  If you go to the police and Phillip gets out, he won’t stop until he finds me.

  Not ever.

  Don’t make me wrong about you.

  Don’t make me regret my trust.

  I lift the handgun sitting on the passenger seat and set it in my lap, pressing my lips together.

  Don’t make me kill you.

  Cass starts her car and I do the same. Setting the gun back in the passenger seat, I push my sunglasses tighter against my face and tug my ball cap down, following her.

  Pulling the gun closer, I check to make sure the safety is Off. She’d better not go to the police.

  When she pulls into the Blake estate, I exhale my relief and turn my car toward the Interstate.

  It’s good to know you’re just as smart as you were in high school, Cass.

  I ring the bell at the Blake family home. Calder’s place isn’t quite as ostentatious as the Carver’s estate, but it’s a good-sized estate set far back on several acres.

  Calder opens the door, a beer in one hand and surprise reflected in his gaze. “Hey, Cass. Are you here to help me pack?”

  “Phillip is going away for a very long time,” I say, then step inside and take his beer, draining the bottle in one long gulp.

  “Are you okay?” He chuckles when I hand him the empty bottle.

  I shake my head and walk into the living room, apparently the only room that’s not completely cleared of furniture or full of boxes.

  Calder follows me into the room and I look at him, my eyebrows hiked. “Why do you have a fire going? It’s sixty degrees outside.”

  Instead of answering, he points to my laptop tucked under my arm. “Does the beer chugging have to do with that?”

  Lifting my laptop up, I open it and turn it around for him to see. “I need to show you something.”

  Calder takes my laptop and reads the document, his brows pulling down as he reads. When he’s done, he lifts his eyes to mine. “Where’d you get this?”

  I gesture to the memory stick still in the slot. “Celeste left that for me to find. An obscure clue only I would get at the end of her diary led me to it.”

  Calder closes my laptop, a smirk tilting his lips. “Karma has nothing on a smart, determined woman. That’s one hell of a payback.”

  “I told her father she could run a company,” I mutter, then shake my head. Turning to face the fire, I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly chilled. “I know Phillip has done horrible things and he absolutely deserves jail time, but he didn’t murder anyone. My stomach is knotting that I played a part in putting him away for murder, Calder.”

  Taking the memory stick, Calder sets my laptop down on the floor, then moves to stand beside me. “If there was a way to erase Phillip from my family tree, I would, Cass. But if I did that, I never would’ve met you. And since I can’t change the past, I absolutely want him to suffer to the full extent of the law and beyond for every bit of pain he’s caused.”

  I glance at him as he stares at the memory stick. “I wish I’d never found her letter. I don’t want this burden.”

  “Then I’ll carry it,” he says, tossing the memory stick into the fire. Turning me to face him, he takes my hand and flattens it on the scar across his hip just above his jeans’ waistband. “Forensics proved Phillip was the one who shot at us that night, Cass. We were lucky it was dark, because he’s a hunter who was absolutely shooting to kill.”

  I nod as I rub my thumb over the scar the bullet wound left behind, then cup my hand over his hip. When Calder doesn’t react or touch me back, my heart constricts a little. I release him and glance around the room. A box of records and another box of books sit by the doorway. The other boxes around the edges of the room are taped closed and marked donation. The only piece of furniture left in the room is a soft leather chair. Sitting in front of the chair on the wood floor is a shoebox and a six-pack of beer.

  I gesture to the shoebox. “What’s in there?”

  “Memories that aren’t.”

  “Memories always are, Calder. Good or bad. They exist.”

  He shrugs. “Not when they weren’t real.”

 
“Let’s see about that,” I say, scooping up the shoebox before he can stop me. When I pull the lid off and all I see are remnants of pictures someone has snipped up with scissors, I gape. “Did you do this?”

  His face hardens. “A child did that after his mother killed herself.” He glances away, shoving his hands into his jeans. “When my father found out what I’d done to our family pictures, he was furious, but he refused to throw them away. I found them in the attic while cleaning it out this week.”

  I lift a handful of the colorful images showing bits of happiness: smiling faces, beach sunsets, waterslides, carnival rides, Christmas trees, a woman laughing. “There are happy times here, Calder. You just need to remember them.”

  He snorts. “I was about to toss that into the fire when you rang the bell. It was the last thing I had left to do.”

  “You’re not done.” Raising my eyebrows, I turn the box upside down, dumping the contents on the floor.

  “Not playing, Cass,” he says, his expression unreadable.

  I drop to my knees and begin to turn the picture pieces right side up. When I find one that has Calder’s face, I coo at the baby ones and awww at the little boy pictures. Apparently Calder has always been adorable.

  He watches me for at least ten minutes until I look up at him and huff, “Well, come on, Master Puzzler. This will go much faster with both of us working this massive puzzle.

  He frowns. “You plan to put them all back together?”

  “Of course. How else am I going to get to see your family album? I’m dying to know what the deal is with the stuffed purple gorilla.”

  He snorts. “You mean Grape Ape.”

  I lift my hands. “How would I know? You have to tell me the stories.”

  Calder joins me on the floor. Opening two beers, he hands me one. While we spend a couple hours putting the pictures together, he tells me stories about backpacking and beach trips. At one point while he’s telling me about Menemsha beach in Chilmark in Martha’s Vineyard, he closes his eyes and inhales. “I can still feel the sun on my face and smell the fresh ocean air. There’s nothing quite like it.”