A Feast of You

by Sorcha Grace

  “Shh.” He moved his hand down to stroke my back. “Do you think I care about that? I love you, Catherine. No one can do anything to change that. I love you.” He pulled me tighter against him and just like that, being in his arms, I felt the knot of guilt and fear in my chest start to slip.

  Twenty-Three

  “Do you want to blow or do you want me to?” Beckett asked.

  I giggled and took another sip of champagne. “You do it. You’re so good at blowing.”

  Beckett toasted me, clinking his champagne flute against mine. “That’s right. Watch and learn, Cat. It’s all in the lips.” He puckered, and we dissolved into laughter again.

  When I could catch my breath, I sighed. The studio William had booked was outstanding, a state-of-the-art space with the best equipment. The techs William had hired to assist me probably thought I was an idiot right about now, but I didn’t care. Beckett had been able to swing this Monday afternoon off, and I’d jumped at the opportunity to have him work with me on the WML Champagne shoot. It was just like old times.

  Except we’d never worked in a space like this.

  I didn’t think I could have pulled off such a complicated shoot without this perfect studio. I’d rigged a tarp over the camera and around the champagne bottle. The lens of the camera was protected by a clear glass panel. Beckett and I suspended the cork above the lip of the bottle with fishing line, which would look invisible on film—and which was easy to tinker with postproduction. We’d put the techs to work drilling a hole in the bottom of the champagne bottle—that was where the glasses of champagne had come from; we couldn’t allow all that good champagne to go to waste—and installed PVC tubes. Beckett blew compressed air through the pipe to set off an explosion of golden liquid.

  I put the laser timer I’d bought to good use coordinating the spray and the click of the camera. The set-up was time consuming, so each shot was crucial, and while the first few shots looked good, there’d been something missing.

  Then it hit me: Vapor. We needed a little vapor in the shot. Beckett sent one of the techs to find a can of Dust-Off. The tech sprayed a shot of that into the bottle lip, Beckett released the compressed air, and I snapped the shot. The last few stills looked amazing, so we started celebrating.

  As always, Beckett and I were a fabulous team. Why shouldn’t we toast to another successful photo shoot?

  I’d had so much fun working with Beckett in Chicago. After Jace’s death, I hadn’t known where to go or what to do, and Beckett had given me a new career and a new purpose.

  He’d given me a new life.

  “I have to say we have definitely blown this job,” Beckett quipped.

  I almost fell out of my chair laughing. It was the champagne. Beckett and I had...sampled several glasses of William’s excellent vintage. It was mostly in the name of research, though I also hadn’t passed up the opportunity to self-medicate a little bit. I’d skipped lunch, so I was more than a little tipsy. Beckett was too. But who cared? The shots I’d taken so far were great, and Beckett and I were having fun. Plus, it helped me forget for a little while the complete fucking mess my life had become.

  This was how my life in Chicago used to be.

  Fun.

  Before the security guards, the threats, the entrails on my dinner plate...

  Before William.

  Before my ancient history became a Google news item and before I became infamous, again. Since the party at The Webster on Saturday night, I’d received countless emails and texts from “old friends” forwarding me pictures of myself from that night asking, “Is that you?”

  Yes, it was me. Now leave me alone.

  I swallowed the contents of my champagne flute and sobered.

  “Uh-oh.” Beckett raised his brows in concern. “I know that look. What’s wrong now? You want to do the blow job this time?”

  My lips quirked ruefully.

  “No, you do it.” I lifted the tarp. “Come on. One more shot for the win.”

  “You got it. Garçon!” Beckett flicked his finger at the tech with the Dust-Off. The poor tech came running.

  We set up for the shot again. I knelt under the tarp and looked through the lens, focusing the image of the neck of the bottle and the cork.

  Behind me, I heard the door open and someone speak, but I ignored it. I concentrated on what I was doing. I wanted one last perfect shot. The shot.

  “Places,” I said without moving away from the camera.

  “Start the timer,” Beckett said.

  In my peripheral vision, I could see the blinking numbers. 3-2-1.

  Click, click, click.

  I let out a whoop. “One of those had to be it. I can feel it!”

  “Cat—”

  I held up a finger and went to the monitor to view the shot. “Hold on, Beckett. Just let me...”

  “Cat, William is here.”

  “William is going to,” I swung around, “love this. William?”

  He stood by the studio door, George at his side. The techs stared at him as though he were Ryan Gosling. What was William doing here? Checking up on me? Wasn’t it enough that Asa had been outside the whole time?

  “Catherine, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  Of course, he had every right to interrupt and to stop by. I had to remember he was the client on this shoot, not the overprotective boyfriend I loved with all my heart but who just couldn’t let me into his life the way I wanted. William had been pretending that everything was fine between us, but we hadn’t spoken much since the party—since the video—and I could tell he was bothered more than he was letting on. He’d spent most of yesterday in his study with the door closed, presumably on the phone. I’d heard raised voices a few times, but when he’d emerged, he was tightlipped and told me nothing. He’d gone to bed early and offered me just a chaste kiss before rolling over and going to sleep.

  “You’re not interrupting,” I said. “It’s your studio. If you step over to the monitor, I’ll shhhow...” I stumbled. Maybe I’d had a little more champagne than I realized. I tried to pull myself together. “I mean, I’ll show you the shots.”

  Beckett applauded. “Way to recover, Cat.”

  “Fuck you,” I shot back.

  “Sorry, you’re not my type.”

  It was an old joke and shouldn’t have been funny to either of us, except we’d been drinking, so Beckett dissolved into giggles. I glanced at William and motioned to Beckett to stop. William looked stone-faced and not amused in the least.

  Beckett immediately straightened. “Sorry.”

  William put an arm around me. “It’s fine. Catherine, I need you to come with me.”

  “Let me show you some of the shots first, Mr. Lambourne,” I said. “I promise we really were working.”

  William squeezed me. “I’ll look later. Right now I need you to come with me.”

  I squinted up at him. I’d taken his tight-lipped expression as disapproval at my antics with Beckett. The strain around his eyes indicated more than disapproval. He was upset and concerned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.” He gave a pointed look toward the techs who pretended to rearrange equipment that didn’t need rearranging. They hadn’t been drinking and had probably noticed his tension long before I had.

  “Okay, but I’m in the middle of this.” I gestured to the tarp and the champagne bottle that Beckett and I had spent hours rigging at exactly the right angle. It had taken us forever to form an airtight seal on the hole in the bottom of the bottle. “I’ll just finish up and meet you—”

  “No. I need you to come now.”

  I didn’t like to be summoned. My face must have shown my annoyance because William’s expression softened.

  “Catherine, this is important. Please. Leave everything and come with me now.”

  My heart thudded hard in my chest. I’d rarely heard William use that tone of voice before. It freaked me out, and a pallor beneath his gorgeous face scared
me. I nodded and then fumbled, not sure what to leave and what to grab.

  “Leave everything,” William said. His hand fit perfectly on the small of my back, and he ushered me toward the door. I glanced at Beckett over my shoulder. My friend was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Belatedly, he handed me my purse.

  “Here, Cat. Call me later, okay?”

  “Thanks. Beckett...” I gestured to the studio.

  He understood without me saying a word. “I got it, Cat.”

  And then William whisked me into the SUV, and Anthony hit the gas before George had even closed his door.

  In front of us, George and Anthony stared hard at the growing traffic on the downtown streets. In the backseat, William pressed a cold bottle of water into my hands. “Drink.”

  I sipped the water. I wasn’t really thirsty, but I understood William wanted me to sober up. His look back in the studio—fury mixed with panic—killed my buzz faster than any water would. But I sipped anyway, my gaze on William.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “My office.” He didn’t look at me, just stared out the window.

  “What’s this about? The thing at Beckett’s party?”

  William nodded and my heart sank. This was not good.

  The car pulled to the front of William’s building, and he ushered me inside. His warm hand on my back gave me some comfort, but all of the secrecy made me jumpy. When George, William, and I stepped into the private elevator, I started at the quiet ping it made when George pressed the button to close the doors.

  He took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the panel, and pushed a button labeled S. S floor?

  “Where are we going?”

  I might as well have been speaking to myself. No one answered me. The elevator slid downward silently.

  I hadn’t spent a lot of time at William’s office or in his private elevator. I did have fond memories of the first time I’d ridden in it—the way William had kissed me until I was breathless. There was none of that warmth in here now. My belly was a cold lump of fear. I’d only ridden the elevator a half dozen times, but I didn’t remember ever seeing an S floor. I’d never taken the elevator down either. I’d always gone up to the top floor of the building.

  Was this a basement level? What could the S stand for?

  Secret?

  I almost giggled, but it wasn’t the champagne this time. It was nervous laughter. Finally, the door slid open revealing a large open area. The walls and floor were the silvery grey of metal and the ceilings were low, making the place feel like a bunker.

  Maybe that’s what it was. Video screens displayed images from cameras all around the building. Some screens even showed the exterior and interior of William’s residential building. The video feed flickered in the dim light and several laptops sat around a center circular pillar, their screens lit by a scroll of numbers and letters that made no sense to me.

  The soft hum of voices silenced as soon as we stepped into the room. I looked away from the cameras and the computers and blinked in surprise at Charles Smith.

  “Mr. Smith.” I sort of waved then lowered my hand, feeling awkward. What was William’s uncle doing here? George moved to stand beside Asa, who was next to one of the large screens projecting a view of the lobby. People filed in and out, unaware they were being watched from below.

  Charles gave me a wan smile. “Hello, Catherine.”

  He looked tired. They all did. William’s hand still rested in the small of my back, and I was grateful for the reassuring contact. His expression was granite—nothing reassuring about that.

  Behind me, the elevator whooshed again, and Anthony stepped off.

  “That’s everyone,” George said curtly. “Secure the elevator.”

  “Yes, sir.” Anthony punched a code into the panel and the hum of the elevator ceased. The room was silent except for the whir of the machines.

  I knew what the S on the elevator panel meant now. Security. This was William’s security room. George was in charge here. He cleared his throat and addressed the gathering. “As some of you know, the authorities finally apprehended the man who broke into Catherine’s condo.”

  “What?” I gasped. “When?”

  George ignored me, as usual. He looked at the tablet he held in his hand, consulting notes. “His name is Lance Reilly. He’s a known perp.” He nodded to Asa, who tapped the screen of one of the laptops. An image of a guy in his early thirties popped up. He had dark hair and light blue eyes, a handsome face marred by a cocky smile.

  “Is this the man you saw enter your building, posing as a plumber, Miss Kelly?” George asked.

  “I...yes. I think so.” I took a step closer. I remembered that the guy had reminded me of William, and this man had the same dark hair, light eyes, and handsome features. I tried to picture him with a baseball cap. “That might be him.”

  “He has a record.” George consulted his tablet again. “Minor infractions, mostly—petty theft, breaking and entering, vandalism. Enough for him to see some jail time when we press charges. We offered to go easy on him if he gave us information.”

  “What sort of information?” Charles asked. I was glad I wasn’t the only one who didn’t have all the facts.

  “We wanted to know who hired him.”

  “And did he tell you?”

  “He gave us a description of the woman.”

  “Woman?” I looked at William. His expression told me nothing. I had no idea if this information was new or if he’d heard it a hundred times before.

  “He didn’t know her name, but he gave a detailed description. She’s in her late twenties or early thirties, petite, brown hair.” George looked up at me. “Those weren’t the exact words he used, but that’s what we put together.”

  I shook my head. Why would a woman hire someone to break into my condo? The description didn’t sound like anyone I knew. For some strange reason, the moment George had said it was a woman, an image of Jace’s mother popped into my head. She was the only woman I could think of who hated me. Ridiculous. She was in California and probably glad to have nothing to do with me.

  And the description didn’t match Mrs. Ryder’s.

  “We also obtained this footage from The Webster.” George nodded at Asa, who brought a grainy black-and-white film onto the screen beside the picture of Lance Reilly. I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out what I was seeing. Finally, I saw a man in a white shirt and black pants step into the shot. He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and scrolled through it. Behind him were stacks of boxes and something...a wine rack?

  “Move ahead to the incident,” George said.

  Asa tapped the laptop and the video seemed to fast-forward.

  “This is footage of a storage room behind the bar,” George explained. “It’s staff-only. You can see the boxes of beer and spirits and the wine selection.”

  “And that waiter?” Charles asked.

  “Just taking a break to check his phone,” George said. “He wasn’t supposed to be back there, but he leaves without incident. What we’re interested in is the AV set-up.”

  “It’s in that room,” William said. It was the first time he’d spoken, and I wasn’t certain it was a question. George nodded.

  “Yes, that’s where the video and music are piped in. It’s not hard to gain access to, if you know where it is. Initially, we suspected that one of the staff was responsible for the incident Saturday night. But then we saw this.” He nodded to Asa, who slowed the video back down to normal speed.

  I stared at the grainy image of the empty room. A woman stepped into the frame. She looked over her shoulder, then moved to the far edge of the shot. She bent and seemed to be working on something.

  “That’s the media interface.” George pointed to an area just out of the camera’s range. “Note the time.” He tapped the screen. In the corner it read 10:32:27.

  “At exactly 10:32:33, the music changes and the unauthorized images and video appear.”

&nbs
p; I stared at the screen, watching as the seconds advanced. At 10:32:33, the woman stood straight and nodded to herself. Then she turned and left the room.

  “And this is the same woman who paid to have Catherine’s condo broken into?” Charles asked.

  “We believe so. She matches the description,” George said.

  I hadn’t been able to see her very well in the grainy footage, but I’d made out that she was probably in the age range.

  “I think it will become clear when Asa cleans up the feed.” George nodded to Asa.

  Asa pressed another button and we had the image of the woman leaving the room again. He paused the video right when she passed directly in front of the camera. He tapped the screen, and a square appeared around the grainy image of her face. The square enlarged until it was just her face on the screen. Asa tapped again, refining the image. Another tap.

  I gasped.

  The final tap and the image was crystal clear.

  The woman was Elin Erickson.

  * * *

  For a few minutes I didn’t hear anything anyone said. I had an impression that the room erupted into angry shouts, but I was too confused to process it. One thought cycled through my mind: Why?

  Why would Elin Erickson do that to me? Why would she want to hurt me?

  And she did want to hurt me. If she was the mastermind behind all of this, she hadn’t just made these videos or paid a man to break into my condo—she’d had me photographed, locked in my darkroom, and served that unappetizing plate at the Botanical Society dinner.

  Why?

  I’d never done anything to her. I hadn’t even known her until a few weeks ago.

  “—been taken into custody.”

  George’s words caught my attention. “She’s being held for questioning, and we will press charges.”

  This was crazy. Elin had been a friend of William’s since they were kids. Was this some sort of crush gone wrong? Had William not told me the truth about their relationship?

  “What the hell is going on here?” William’s voice startled me. I could feel the tension reverberating through his entire body. Everyone turned to look at him, but he glared at Charles, his gaze never wavering.