I don’t care all that much; I just hate having to sit here and smile back when I want to slap her for being such a bitch and liar. Jesus, I pity poor Paulie for having to endure this nasty piece of work all these years.
“He’s still screwing his way through the society misses,” I answer, smiling sweetly at her gasp and Paulie’s uncomfortable tittering. “As long as he keeps that dick away from me and pads my bank account, we should do just fine, though.”
I don’t let on that I know, but I can see that she knows that I know and it’s a great feeling seeing Ronny this uncomfortable.
Ronny looks like she’s about to turn green and stands with a swallow and a scowl.
“I need to make a quick call, girls, I’ll be right back.”
Well damn, if I knew all it would take to clear the room of evil was a reference to my stupid fiancé, I would have made a comment earlier. Now I won’t have to breathe brimstone all afternoon.
Paulie and I are left alone as Ronny practically runs from the room in a huff, leaving us able to speak freely for the first time. This is rare whenever that other woman is around, because Paulie isn’t the type to dominate a conversation, unless she’s secure with the person or people around her. And Ronny, well, she’s the same vain, narcissistic ass she always was.
“So,” I say, turning back to Paulie with a smile. “How are things with you lately?”
Paulie is the same unassuming girl I remember from four years ago with her unstyled long brown hair and her deep brown eyes. She’s easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and yet she hides herself behind her shy smiles and the books that are always her companions when she’s not running around after Ronny.
“Fine, I guess.”
“Just fine?”
I ask this because I’m really interested and not because I want to use her to get to Ronny, which I am going to do anyway.
I love this girl, and I care about what’s going on in her life.
“Yeah, um, I’ve been talking to Aunt Cleo most days when Ronny disappears for hours on end, and, well, she said that she’d help me get into a good school if I wanted to go.”
This is said with so much hope and yet an air of resignation. Paulie is a classic example of the poor little rich girl who hasn’t been allowed a choice in anything but the clothes she wears and the men she can see.
Like me, she’s her parents’ puppet. Unlike me, her parents haven’t even allowed her to get an education. She’s a commodity, something to trade and sell whenever the need arises, which it soon will if rumor is to be believed and the Hayes clan is skinflint.
Not all rich kids are privileged like most people assume. I thank God I never had to grow up as a Hayes female. Talk about going back to the Dark Ages.
“That’s great, Paulie. Maybe you could pursue that arts degree you always spoke about,” I say gently, battling tears when she smiles sadly and shakes her head.
“Mama and Daddy would never allow it and you know it. It’s a waste of time for a gently reared female to pursue such frivolous activities,” she says, parroting the very same speech I heard Mr. Hayes give years ago.
No, it’s a waste of such astounding talent to let Paulie’s art go untutored. I don’t say this, though, because it just hurts her more having me compliment her when she doesn’t believe she can do it. Or doesn’t think it’s a dream worth having when her parents are such tyrants. What I wouldn’t give right now to shake my friend awake and open her eyes to all the possibilities that abound, if only she’d leave her clan and attempt to reach for the dreams they won’t allow her.
“Paulie.”
“Ronny thinks they’re right, you know. She said it’s a disgrace for a girl from a good family to sully herself with such white-collar things. She says I’d be much better off learning how to talk to men and getting a makeover so my hair isn’t so frizzy.”
“Goddammit, Paulie, you’re perfect just the way you are! Don’t let that wretch make you feel like anything less, and for goodness’ sake, stop letting your parents ruin what could be for you,” I beg, feeling unaccountably panicked at the thought of one day soon leaving this bright, beautiful young woman at the mercy of the sharks swimming around her.
“She’s right, though,” she says, stiffening her spine and meeting my eyes with a defiant tilt of her chin, as if daring me to bad-mouth her precious Ronny.
Paulie, honey, soon—one day not too far from now—you will finally realize that your precious Ronny is not worth the blind faith and loyalty you give her so freely, I think, shaking with a mixture of anguish and anger.
Why do the undeserving always instill such loyalty in their victims, and why is it always schmucks like me who never get a break when they love others?
Just once I want someone I love to take a look at me and see that their love is safe with me, that I’m more worthy of it than the filthy idiots they seem to follow so blindly.
And yet what can I really expect from Paulie when I fled this town years ago and left her at the mercy of Ronny the Rattlesnake.
“She isn’t right, Paulie. None of them are. Don’t let your parents sell you the way they sold your sister, Ginny. And for goodness’ sake, don’t let Ronny make you believe that you’re not beautiful, because you are. You really are.”
“Don’t let them sell me? Fine advice coming from you, Trace,” she says scathingly, giving me a look and tone I’ve never seen or heard from her before. “Is this the real Tracy talking or the one who’s letting her own parents marry her off to the biggest sleaze in DC?”
The words hit me like a physical slap, and I rear back in surprise. The shy, timid, soft Paulie is gone, and in her place sits a woman I have never met but one I would root for any day of the week. This is the Paulie I’ve always wanted to see, and yet it’s so inconvenient to have her call me out right now.
Pesky!
“Paulie, I—”
“Well, thank God I made that call or we’d all be up the creek without a salon appointment this afternoon!”
Stupid Ronny.
She strolls in with a fake smile a mile wide and a look that sets my alarm bells ringing on high alert. I barely stop my eyes from narrowing in suspicion and I bite my tongue to keep from blasting her for interrupting something I feel the need to investigate.
My spine is tingling in that weird way that tells me something is definitely not right. With Ronny or Paulie, and I swallow the nerves that rise along with the feeling.
I’m a profiler by trade, thanks to the government blackmailing me into a very sticky situation, but I’ve had these gut feelings for years. After I realized they’re my instincts calling out and not anxiety attacks like my shrink told me, I’ve learned to rely on them.
Right now I’m feeling equal parts confused and edgy about both of the women sitting and staring at me, and all I can do is raise my tea glass and give them both a small smile that feels forced.
“Well thank God for you, Ronny dear. Now let’s stop being so wishy-washy and pack away the wedding things! I need a good facial and some real gossip now that I’m back with my girls.”
I watch the two of them exchange a look before turning back to me with another smile that makes my blood chill.
“Why of course, Tracy, darling. By all means, let’s do what we do best and dish the dirt on the poor mortals in our spheres. Have you heard what happened to Harriet…”
I allow Ronny to launch into a full-scale attack on some poor girl whose only crime is liking cream puffs a bit too much and spend my time watching Paulie from the corner of my eye.
Paulie Hayes, the Paulie I see sitting before me, is not the same Paulie I left behind when I fled to DC and the comfort of my father’s authority.
No, this chick is either involved in whatever is going on with Ronny, or she’s got her own agenda.
She is doing everything just exactly right to appear normal, but her body language is stiff and off, whether as a result of my company or something going down between her an
d Ronny, I can’t rightly say, but something is definitely not right here and I need to figure out what it is before I call Digg and give him a first report.
“And did you hear about poor Aunt Cleo! She took a tumble off the bed and broke her hip this morning. How terribly sad.”
Ronny’s tittering confession pulls me back to the conversation and I watch Paulie stiffen slightly before her expression morphs to one of concern, just like the old Paulie.
“Is Cleo okay? Oh dear, Ronny, you should have told me earlier! Where is she? Is she alright? Oh my goodness, I need to get to her and make sure she has her blankets and special pillows that don’t hurt her and—”
“God almighty, Paulette, sit your ass down and just breathe already. She’s fine. She just hurt herself a little and needs some surgery is all. Now don’t go fretting and wanting to run to the rescue like the little mouse you are. Cleo will survive without your hovering. I need you to come with to the salon and keep us company.”
Oh, how her compassion and care for her own warms the cockles of my heart.
Paulie sits back down, slowly, and looks as white as a sheet. I’m just about ready to give her a freaking Oscar when she sniffles and seems bereft at the thought of not being able to go to Cleo.
Sometimes you just know when someone is lying, not by word or action or any real physical response, but just by a feeling. That’s the feeling I have right now watching Paulie morph back into the skittish mouse I’ve always seen her play.
To be fair, I do think her concern for Cleo is genuine. I just don’t think she’s reacting quite the way she would if myself or Ronny weren’t here.
“Erm, shouldn’t we at least go see Cleo and—”
“Oh nonsense! We’d just be in the way, and besides, the salon bookings aren’t refundable, are they, Paulette?” Ronny says matter-of-factly, giving the other woman a mean smile. “I’d rather hate to lose all that money after going to all this trouble. Cleo will still be there tomorrow if you feel the overwhelming urge to visit her sickbed. Now let’s go, darlings. These nails need a refresh and I know just the color I want.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon listening to Ronny dish dirt upon dirt about everyone from the mayor’s daughter to the Freemont twins, who have a penchant for trying to sleep with each other’s girlfriends to win a bet that’s been in the mix since those idiots turned eighteen.
What I get from this, what I know after three hours of watching Paulie titter and dote on Ronny, is that nothing in this place is as it seems and the truth is probably not something I want to know anyway.
All I know is that Jace has been shadowing me since I followed Ronny’s car three hours ago, and my plan is on track. I hope.
If I’m right, I should be deep within the bowels of the Lane home by this time tomorrow, and then I can start piecing things together before everything comes crashing down around my ears.
You think being a blackmailed FBI profiler and double agent against your own father is nerve racking? Try spending an afternoon with two of the city’s most mismatched socialites and a roomful of animosity. Now that is enough to start my “anxiety” screaming at me full blast to get the hell out of town, like nothing else, and I’m pretty sure that if I don’t have an ulcer already, I will before I nail Ronny’s ass to the wall.
Chapter Four
Jace
God help me, she is so beautiful.
That’s my newest thought after getting over the news of before and realizing that it’s not the end of the world, that I can still salvage something with Trace.
Granted, my plan seems to revolve around kidnapping, since I’m more than willing to bring her home and watch her attempts to escape while my family looks on, laughing at me.
Whatever the outcome, I feel a lot more relaxed now than I did a few hours ago, and the reason for that is that I’ve seen something Trace probably wouldn’t want me to have seen.
She doesn’t like Ronny.
It’s there in her body language every time the woman touches her or laughs about whatever the hell it is an evil spawn like Ronny finds amusing.
And there goes that eye roll I remember so well, the one Trace is so good at hiding. I’ve been the recipient of those eye rolls and raised brows many times, so I know when she’s annoyed beyond bearing, and this seems to be one of those times.
It hasn’t escaped me, either, that she’s not as open with Paulie as she used to be. For whatever reason, I can see that she’s avoiding Paulie, though the girl has tried on more than one occasion to draw her into conversation.
“What the hell is going on here?” I hear from my left a second before Jared hunkers down beside me in the booth of the diner across the road from the salon.
“Don’t know. Trace looks pissed and your bird seems put out by something, while Miss Ronny doesn’t seem all that concerned that her dear aunt Cleo was found unresponsive in her bed this morning.”
Paulie’s reaction I can understand, since the girl looks upon Cleo as a sort of mother figure in place of her own, who by the way, I wouldn’t allow to raise a pack of feral wolves.
Trace, well, it’s interesting to see that she’s not as into Ronny and her way of thinking as she led me to believe.
According to what I’ve heard on the grapevine, Cleo took a spill and broke her hip. Jerry, our own little insider, tells a different story. We know that Cleo is unresponsive due to having ingested a toxin that has yet to be identified by the doctors.
“I don’t like any of this, Jace. Ronny is way too okay with all of this to be unaware of what went down with Cleo, and Paulie has yet to return any of my calls since day before yesterday,” Jared gripes, signalling to the waitress for a coffee and a menu.
My own food is cold and untouched as I keep my eyes on the salon and watch Trace flick a narrow-eyed glance Paulie’s way.
“Something is up with Paulie. Trace has been giving her looks all afternoon, and Ronny seems to be enjoying whatever the heck is going on with them, that’s for sure. What did Miah say about it?”
“Nothing.” Jared shrugs, thanking the waitress for his coffee and placing a full lunch order. “He and Clari are still in that honeymoon phase, and a lot of his time is spent looking for Nick Grimes, as you know.”
“Still? I thought we decided to leave that to Case while we handle shit down here.”
Jared shrugs and rolls his eyes.
“You know how those idiots are about their women, man. Miah wants to find Grimes all on his own to prove to himself that he can protect Clari without help from the FBI and that agent, Steph Williams. He’s got a bug up his ass that she saved Clari before he could.”
Christ, I really hope that shit isn’t contagious, because I’ve met the new Tracy Mayfield, and for some odd reason, I get the idea that if I ever tried to play big strong caveman with her, she’d cut my balls off and make a necklace out of my manhood.
“What’s the difference as long as Clari is okay and he got her back?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. For instance, it still chaps my ass that Trace wouldn’t let me help her get on her feet when I left her, and ran back to her daddy instead.
Some things a man just needs to do for his girl. End of story. Not being able to take care of Trace after I hurt her was a major kick in the nuts, especially when she chose to go home to her father.
I know what Miah must be feeling right now, and I pity him because I’m certain Agent Williams already has Nick Grimes in her clutches.
That being said, we really do not have the time or the resources to have Miah mounting a one-man search and kill on Nick Grimes, and I told the fool that myself not two days ago.
“Jace, man, I know you understand what my twin is feeling right now. Just chill about the family and let’s focus on our own objective for now. Roman is still deep with the undercover shit, and he hasn’t been too forthcoming recently about what’s going on with Dobson and the other cops in his unit. I’m getting one of those bad feelings.”
Me t
oo.
Jared and Miah might be the twins in the family, but Jared and I are in sync when it comes to running ops like this one. We’re both in agreement here. Something is not right, not right at all, and I get the feeling that we’re being played by a lot of people who aren’t even on our radar.
Why I feel this way is anyone’s guess, and yet I’ve learned to trust my gut; it’s right more times than not.
“I’ve had a feeling since this mess started with Ellie and Lynn and it just keeps getting worse, man. It’s too coincidental that the family would start kicking up the dirt just when we’re running an op and trying to take down these asshole extremists.”
Another thing that’s been bugging me lately is the whole setup with Paulette Hayes and Cleo, not that I don’t like them or anything…I think…but it’s all just too easy and sewn up to suit me.
Why would Cleo go against her own and start feeding us info all of a sudden? And why the hell would she warn me to avoid my own father and the rest of the family, like Roman’s parents?
My father actually survived the wreck that killed my mom. Most folks think he died right along with her, since I went to live with Jude and George when I was too little to know different.
He did live, though, and seemed very eager to rid himself of me after losing Mom, something that’s made me hate the man for quite some time. My own father and Cleo seem to be real close, considering they’re only related through marriage and the children running around on that side of the lawn, and the fact that she’d just flip switches and start helping us after what Lynn did is weird.
“Yo, Jace, bro, you still with me here?” Jared calls, making me jerk back to the here and now just as Trace and the other women come skipping out of the salon.
“Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”
Trace hugs them both and they spend a few minutes talking animatedly before Ronny and Paulie climb into Ronny’s car. Trace makes her way to her own ride, and the three of them pull out, leaving in opposite directions.
JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) Page 3