by Holly Hart
“Yeah—so, it seems like we have two different versions of events: the one you’re telling me, and the one where your boyfriend’s been in on it all along, and this is a turf war.”
“Turf war?”
“Gunnarsson seems to think Jack wanted the whole operation to himself.”
Definitely bullshit. I very nearly laugh. “Wanted what to himself? Blakemoor? He doesn’t... Far as I know, he moved on from that years ago. Check for yourself: he’s in real estate.”
“You seem pretty sure about that.”
“I have been nosing around his life since summer.”
“And you’ve obviously got pretty close.”
I don’t like the way he says that, heavy with insinuation.
“We....” Wish he’d stop looking at me like that, one brow raised. “Jack’s not who I thought he was. I thought he’d be this...Hugh Hefner, Larry Flynt...this womanizing ass, dumb as a box of rocks, but... But he’s funny. Wry. He has a picture of Bluebeard’s castle outside his bedroom, like a kid with a ‘keep out’ sign. It’s hilarious, when you get to know him, when you see...he’s not like that. Not cruel, not callous—I got mugged, a few weeks back, and he sat with me the whole time I was getting back on my feet....”
“And while he was worming his way into your heart, you were digging into his personal life?”
“Well, I never said I was a good person.”
“Guess you didn’t.” The detective leafs through his notepad, long enough for the silence to get uncomfortable. Or it would be, if my energy wasn’t all going into staying awake.
“So, I—”
“I’ll need you to write all that down, to the best of your recollection. Everything you remember of the last forty-eight hours.” He shoves a pad and pen at me. “Be detailed. I’ll be back to check on you.”
I yawn, crack my neck, and start to write.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Jack
She’s still out there, waiting. Heard her in the hall—think everyone did. Outraged that they’d interrogate me here, now, barely out of anesthesia. I blink and lick my lips, playing up the morphine haze.
“Mm, yeah.... Can’t prove it—I had proof, a hard drive, two data sticks, but, uh...those were in my safe. In my penthouse. Which is currently spread over, oh...half a city block?” I giggle stupidly. It’s not fake—this really is some good shit. Better than last time. Or maybe I’m just happy. She’s waiting for me. Twenty minutes, half an hour, I’ll see her. Tell her I’m okay. Promise her...a lifetime of better days.
“Okay—try to focus, Mr. Brightman. What kind of proof did you have?”
“Personnel movements. Transfers, assignments, patrols—compare those to news stories from the...from the uh, the affected regions, you....” I wave my hand, wincing as the IV tugs under my skin. “Ow. Shit. Uh, and Erik, he...they, him and Magnus—they admitted it. Tried to kill me for it. Stella, too. Twice.”
“And you amassed all that in a few hours?”
“Amassed...that’s a funny word.”
“Please focus—just a little longer.” She’s stern, this detective. Mean, like a...mean person.
“Yeah, I...amassed it. Not hard, when you know what you’re looking for.” That much is true...sort of. “Stella was right. Those guys...suck.”
“And you were shot rescuing Miss Rossi from the resulting hostage situation—just you, on your own?”
“Shot.... Yeah. Hurts.” It doesn’t, not right at the moment, but anything that’ll get me out of this faster....
“You’re lucky, there. Clean through-and-through, no organ damage. Don’t think I need to tell you how much worse it could’ve been.”
“Mm....” I close my eyes, willing the detective to go away. It’s Stella I want, Stella I need—she’s been through so much herself. Want to sit up for her, show her I’m all right. I’ll be walking out of here in a couple of days.
“So, I want to keep this short, but I do need to ask about Erik Moss. I should tell you, we do have you on camera, leaving the scene.”
“Yeah.” I do a loopy smile. “That was some other guy.”
“Excuse me?”
“Some...random....” Maybe I’m laying it on a bit thick. “I—sorry. It was—a disgruntled employee, I think. It was dark. I was hiding. Didn’t really see his face. Seemed like he was...personally offended by...by....” I swallow, feeling sick. What offended Starkey was...me. “He’d figured it out, too, what was going on. Said it was a disgrace to his country. His uniform. Everything that mattered to him.”
“So this man, this disgruntled employee—you saw him shoot Mr. Moss?”
“Yup.” I shiver—that’s real, as well. The look on Starkey’s face... If Stella hadn’t been pregnant, I think he’d have shot me too. “He had a rifle. One shot, just...bang.”
“Did you see what happened to him after that?”
“He....” What did happen? “He told me to go. I ran out of there pretty quick—guess he must’ve taken off.” I drop my head back onto the pillow with a groan. “Is that... Do you need anything else?”
“Not for now. We’ll be speaking.” She goes to stand up, and stops with her hands on her knees. “No, one more thing: if you knew Miss Rossi was investigating you, why’d you let her get so close?”
The wacky, drugged-out part of my brain wants to warble love. But this is a perfect opportunity. “Because I didn’t think I had anything to hide, besides kind of an offbeat sex life. And who doesn’t have that, one way or another?”
“Right. Well. I suppose that makes sense. You rest up, then.”
I listen to her gather her things. I’m not handcuffed to the bed—that’s got to count for something. Not under arrest. And Stella isn’t, either, not if she’s here. Whatever she said, it must be holding up, at least for now.
“Jack!”
And there she is—“Finally!”
She runs to my side, stopping short at the edge of the bed, like she’s afraid to touch me.. “You—why didn’t you say something? You were shot, and nobody told me... I didn’t even know till a couple of hours ago!”
“Ssh....” I reach for her, slow and careful. “Gimme your hand.”
It’s warm again, her hand—so they thawed her out, at least.
“They treat you all right? The cops?”
She shrugs. “Asked a million questions—held me up all day, when I should’ve been....”
“Nah. Nothing you could’ve done. You’d just have driven yourself crazy, out there in the waiting room.” I reach for her hand, brushing our fingers together. “If anything, they did you a favor.”
“They lied to me,” she says, sinking into the chair vacated by the detective. “Told me Magnus was up, pinning it all on you. But....” She looks away, tight-lipped.
“He’s dead?”
“They both are.”
No surprise there. The silence after the crash—that wasn’t promising. Especially the way Magnus was breathing beforehand, snuffling through his crushed nose. It’s over, then: Blakemoor; this weird, artificial life; all of it. And Stella.... “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
It’s so white in here. So sterile. I want my own home, my own bed—but it doesn’t exist anymore. Keep bumping up against that—thinking about what I’m going to do when I get back. Picturing myself propped up on my familiar pillows, watching the stars from my favorite chair, frying bacon in my same old frying pan...none of which exists. Even my telescope—that one kind of hurts.
“Want to go to the Hamptons? When I get out of here?”
Stella’s looking out the window. “I was thinking my place. But then I was like... What was in that smoke? Probably still stinks—and the window’s broken.”
“We’ll find somewhere.”
She leans back in her chair. Even after the mugging, she didn’t look this tired. The smudges under her eyes are nearly as black as her hair. Her eyelids are drooping, refusing to stay open. I’m getting worn out just looking at h
er.
“Hey, they got me on so much morphine, I’m going to fall asleep any second. You should find somewhere, do the same. Maybe they’d wheel in a bed for you.”
“Got a room across the street.” She bends over and kisses my forehead. “But I don’t want to leave you yet.”
“Then hold my hand and rest your eyes.”
I feel it when she falls asleep, hand going slack in mine, pulse slowing way down. Didn’t have this last time, someone who’d watch over me, stay with me till she couldn’t any more. Magnus and Erik visited a couple of times, and Starkey—mostly to yell at me—but they didn’t stay long.
Whatever it takes, nothing’s going to ruin this for us. Nothing and no one.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Stella
The ocean’s in turmoil, furious waves battering the pier. It’s so wet I can’t tell where the sea spray ends and the rain begins. Normally, I’d love this weather—perfect for curling up with a book—but I gave up pretending to read half an hour ago. Jack’s taking forever. He promised it’d be simple; swore he’d be home for lunch. That was hours ago, and he hasn’t even called.
I stopped picturing him in jail hours ago. Now, I’m picturing him in a ditch, being prized out of his car by the Jaws of Life.
Frustrated, I reach for my laptop. Countess BeeBee’s comments are still going crazy. The cat came hissing out of the bag the second I admitted to being Jack’s girlfriend-du-jour, and everyone’s been having their say.
Ahahahahahaaaaaa...Stellaaaaaa! Knew it was you! Bitch, my eyebrow game was ON at Marcia’s party, and I didn’t make best dressed? What, you jelly?
...so...ur not even a countess? illusions. shattered.
Don’t give up, Countess! It’ll be OK! <3 <3 <3 (Come back to us!)
Enjoying the taste of your own medicine? You humiliated me on the WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE! Hope you get what’s coming to you.
I click on the link in the last one—oh, yeah! I remember her. Didn’t win a prize at some film festival; had a public tantrum. Which I livestreamed. That was kind of mean. But the angry comments are few and far between. Most fall somewhere between gently mocking and supportive. And... I’m still being invited to stuff, as if nothing’s changed. As if I haven’t been spreading everyone’s business around the Internet for years.
Maybe they like being online famous.
And maybe I should post something—wrap up the story of a lifetime. But not yet. Not till I know how it ends.
Dinner time’s been and gone. It’s getting dark, and the rain’s coming down in sheets. Ten more minutes, I’m eating by myself. Which’ll suck, because Jack’s the one who can actually cook, and—
—and the power’s gone out. So I’ll...have a sandwich by myself? In the dark?
Bright lights sweep across the window: headlights. It’s him—it has to be. I race to the door, flinging it open just in time to startle the hell out of Jack. He slips, catches himself, and bounds up the stairs, sweeping me into his arms.
“Sorry!—sorry! Meeting went forever, and my phone died, and we got a flat! Y’know, there’s not a single payphone between—”
I rise on tiptoe to kiss him. Screw the explanation: all I need is this. For as long as I can have it. He’s warm and solid and alive...and soaked to the skin. Drenching me right along with him. I twist his sleeve and water splashes the deck. “How’d you get that wet? It’s, what, ten steps from car to door?”
“Helped change the tire....”
“Idiot....” What was he thinking? “You’re not even off the injured list. You’re supposed to be...supposed to be—not doing that!” I slap his hand away as it slinks its way under my shirt. It winds up between my legs instead, a firm thumb tracing the seam of my pants.
“No?”
“First things first—what happened? Don’t keep me in suspense!”
“Everything’s fine.” He sneaks one more lingering kiss. “Let me get out of my jacket, and... Why’s it so dark in here?”
“Power’s out.”
“Fuck it. There’s a flashlight somewhere.” As if on cue, lightning splits the sky. “Or that works....”
“Get rid of that wet thing.” I head for the kitchen, partly to retrieve the flashlight from under the sink, partly to give him some privacy. Jack looks all right—good color, steady on his feet—but the stretch on the healing tissue’s still a problem. He doesn’t need a witness to every wince and grimace as he struggles with his coat.
“So....” He squelches up behind me, still in his boots, and slides his arms around my waist. “You’ve been patient. I won’t draw it out. Long story short, I’m not the one they want.”
“No?” Who else, with Erik and Magnus gone, even Katrina?
“No. DA’s been wanting Blakemoor for a long time. There’s complaints out the wazoo: harassment of female employees, unpaid wages, non-fulfilment of contracts, you name it—but they’ve got this binding arbitration clause, so it’s always been a non-starter. But with what I know....” His hands are wandering again, following the curve of my hips.
“Get to the good part, already!”
“Well....” It’s distracting, the way he’s teasing me, one hand slipping into my pocket, the other under my shirt. “They get what they need to put Blakemoor in the ground. I get immunity. That, and a fine you wouldn’t believe, a whole lot of community service, and...a five-year custodial sentence.”
“Wha!?” I whirl in his arms, shoving him so hard he stumbles into the table.
“Oh—suspended sentence.” He’s backing away, hands raised in surrender. “What—did I not mention that part?”
“Asshole!” I follow him, jabbing and swatting till he’s backed into the wall. “Oh—you think that’s funny?”
“I—”
“No!” My heart’s still pounding like it might shatter. I slap his face, step on his foot, screw my thumb into that fresh, tender scar. Jack curls in on himself, eyes watering, whether from laughter or pain, I can’t tell. Mine are wet, too, as I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re—you’re an entire bag of dicks.”
“Yeah?” His voice is as hoarse as mine, thick with hunger. He captures my hands and spins me around so I’m the one pinned to the wall. His body’s flush with mine, breath hot on my neck.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry....”
I turn my head away, but it’s soothing, the way he’s kissing away my tears, stroking my hair. “What’d they end up charging you with?”
“Oh, uh....” He’s lost, nipping at my ear, tracing the patterns in the lace of my bra.
“Hey! Pay attention!”
A deep groan escapes him. “Mm...reckless endangerment, I think?” The catch of my bra bites into my skin as the elastic snaps back. I shudder and gasp. “What else?—reckless driving...a lot of driving stuff....” My back arches all on its own as his kisses trail lower. “Mm, then...then there was criminal conspiracy....” His hand dives down my pants, cradling my belly. “Assault, accessory after the fact—to murder, no less....”
“Murder, fuck....” Probably shouldn’t be moaning that....
“I mean, a lot of it wouldn’t have stuck....” When’d he unzip my pants? He bumps my thighs apart, and my eyes roll back into my head as he fingers me roughly. Losing my mind....
“So...no jail?”
“Long as I don’t break the law again.”
“You’d better not.” I dig my nails into his thigh, right below the balls. “I’d visit every day, just to kick you.”
“Wear those shoes with the pointy toes. The black ones.” His cock swells against me. “Kick me good and hard.”
“Fucking perv.”
“Don’t see you complaining.”
“Come here....” I yank him practically on top of me, knotting my hands into his shirt. Can’t keep him close enough. It’s been hard to hold him lately, knowing I could still lose him. Now, though....
Jack sways in my arms, head dropping to my shoulder. I hold him tighter. “T
ired?”
“Lightheaded. Too much blood rushing south.”
“Let’s lie down.” I can’t ignore the way he’s leaning on me as we make our way to the bedroom. “Still hurt?”
He chuckles. “Not quite the word I’d use.” We fall back on the bed, all in a tangle. Lightning flashes again, illuminating an expression that’s definitely not pain. His lips are open; I steal kiss after kiss till they’re swollen. He rises to meet me, and all at once, we’re tearing at each other, pulling hair, rending clothes. I kick one of his boots to the floor, snarling with frustration when the other refuses to budge.
Jack pushes me down. “Untie it.” There’s a look in his eye, wicked and demanding. I should smack that smirk off his face, but there’s something about the tone of his voice, harsh with command, that has me whispering “Yes, sir” instead.
He watches me, stroking his cock as I pick the knot out of his bootlace. It’s really stuck, tangled all to hell, like he’s been—
“Eyes forward!”
I feel myself flush all the way to my chest, a thrill of shock and arousal knifing through me. Our eyes meet, and I can’t look away. The knot resists and frays, my patience fraying with it, till one sharp jerk breaks the lace. I tug his boot free and pitch it across the room. Something falls and shatters—my earring dish. Pearls and diamonds scatter, catching the faint light from the kitchen.
“Just going to leave those there?”
I crawl back up his body, defiant. “Make me pick them up, and I’ll put one right through your ear.”
His cock throbs against my thigh, and I cover his mouth with a kiss before he can invite me to do just that. He bunches my pants over my hips, and I push them the rest of the way down.
“Ride me, then.”
I lean over him, almost tenderly, fitting my hand over his nose and mouth. He tries to turn from the smell of rain and boot polish, but I bear down harder, shifting to sit on his cock. Jack growls and bucks, tossing his head from side to side.
“Like that, do you?”