Millie didn’t want to be labeled by anyone else. She stuck out her hand and interrupted, “A college student and an aspiring businessperson. Annie’s right. There’s a lot we need to know in order to help you, but we don’t want to put anyone in danger.”
“I’m going to need a drink,” Vincent said and he left them sitting there alone in his sunken living room while he disappeared and messed around in a liquor cabinet in the other room.
Millie called out, “Hey, Vincent! You don’t happen to have another sister? Lives in Portland and works as a nanny?”
“Just me and Lucia!” Vincent called back.
Erin shook her head and Annie leaned close. “Someone text Gloria and get them to ask Holly a bunch of questions. There is no way that woman is who she says she is…and if she’s also looking for the boy, then we may already be in trouble.”
Two hours later, they left Vincent Applegate’s house just as the sun was starting its path around the horizon. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was worth a picture anyway with its few streaks of color across the sky. Without a word text, Annie sent the image to Benson.
He read it. He didn’t reply.
Annie sucked in a deep breath and held it for as long as she could until little dots appeared in her vision and her chest forced an exhale. It was only about sex. Just sex. You got attached. That’s your own fault. You said it was just about sex to him. YOU did this. She’d dug her own grave with glee only to decide at the last minute she didn’t want to die.
Erin drove back to Annie’s house—half the team left. Different cars would take different groups of people home. Only Maeve was waiting back at the house when they pulled in, and they had to quickly get back to Portland.
Maeve and her husband Derek were on a strict sex schedule. One year, lots of sex, no baby yet, but Maeve told them they really did like trying. During her sex drought, Annie hated hearing about the kama sutra for baby making Maeve and Derek tried. There was even some shit out under the moon on their property, and the Love is Murder Social Club got the details.
“We good to leave you tonight?” Maeve asked, staring at the boarded-up window of her ground-floor apartment.
“I’m tough,” Annie said, not quite believing it herself.
“Doesn’t feel right,” Erin said.
“Go,” Annie encouraged. “I’ll be fine.”
She only partway believed it.
Alone, Annie paced.
Less than five minutes after all her girlfriends left, she called Benson.
He answered on the first ring and she tried to push aside her growing anxieties about his shift in texting and his overall attitude with her. She knew she had to focus on what they learned through Vincent.
“I have a Schubert-Price update,” Annie said quickly, without giving him time to wonder about the nature of her call.
“Oh yeah?” Benson said. He sounded like he was out and about somewhere in public.
“Do you have time to talk?”
“Sure, sure,” Benson said, but he didn’t sound like himself. “What have you learned?”
“If you’re out with colleagues, I can call back.”
There was a pause and someone within range began to laugh and the voices began to die away—Benson was on the move, away from the people he was with.
“No, that’s okay,” Benson said when the din around him gave away to silence. “My boss pushed my pitch meeting to the morning because I wasn’t ready…I’m just out for drinks with friends.”
Friends, but not friends with names. Annie took a breath; it’s okay, she told herself, but she missed him and he felt far away, distant, and unreachable. She didn’t like that feeling and she hated the void.
“What if…” she gauged, looking around her dark and empty apartment, “…I drove down to Portland tonight? You available to talk about the case?”
There wasn’t an immediate answer and Annie took a breath and immediately retracted her offer. “Never mind. I can tell I bothered you.”
“No, stop,” Benson said with a quick plea. “I was trying to think about the state of my place in Portland…”
“It’s okay. I can talk about it over the phone.”
“I’ll get us a hotel—” he said as she overlapped him.
“—I should’ve known by your silence that you aren’t interested…”
Both of them went quiet.
“Annie,” Benson whispered into the phone. Annie’s chest pounded. “Shut up.” It was the kindest shut up she’d ever heard and she didn’t want to defy it. “Your mouth and how you run it is absolutely one of the things I love about you.”
Her heart beat in her throat and in her vagina; she felt a searing of love for him right down the middle of her body.
“And if you drive into Portland tonight, I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime, for any reason. You understand? So, stop. I love so much about you,” he said it over the phone, love, love, twice now, “including the weird insecurities you have…but if you want to sit and talk Schubert, fuck, yes, Annie. Don’t you know me at all by now? I’m where you are, okay? That’s all I want. I want to be where you are.”
She realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time and biting her lip, biting back tears.
“Okay,” she finally sighed. “Yeah, okay.”
Two hours later, Annie knew right where to go. She called on the way up and made a reservation, checked in and sent him a text.
Fifteen-minutes later, he showed up at the room number she’d texted him and he’d leaned against the doorframe. She was in a robe and underneath, a black negligee, and once Benson was inside the Benson Hotel—aptly named and too joyous to pass up—she shed the robe and stepped over it.
Only then did she see the full extent of Benson’s injuries. He had bruises on his face and a small cut on his lip; his wrist, as advertised, was in a white plaster cast.
“Benson,” Annie said, shedding the seduction and moving to concern. “You didn’t make it sound so…you look…”
“I won’t make a joke about you seeing the other guy. I was woefully unprepared.”
Except they shouldn’t have been. Everyone warned them.
“I can’t believe it,” she started and approached him, still in her nighty, and gingerly touched the bruises on his face and his arms. She kissed each cut and pulled back, near tears. She had a broken window. Benson hadn’t been quite as lucky.
“I wasn’t expecting the…” he motioned to her lace. “I thought you said you had stuff to share about Lucia Applegate and Missy Price and…”
“Will this help take your mind off the pain?”
Annie ran her hands down her hips, unhooking the garters, shimmying out of her lace underwear.
“What pain?” Benson asked with a wink.
She walked over to him and unbuckled his pants, sliding the belt all the way off, listening to the thwaps as it hit every belt loop. Then she unbuttoned the pants, tore down the zipper, and pulled down everything in one fell swoop.
This was becoming their tango. She undressing him in this hurried manner, his hands reaching out for her breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples already alert. She shied away from the rough plaster and he laughed, tucking his hand behind his back.
“This isn’t just about sex,” Annie blurted as he took his cock and stroked it a few times, rubbing precum on the tip.
It wasn’t.
She didn’t want it to be.
“Is this,” he said breathlessly, going in to kiss her neck, his penis on her thigh, rubbing, “about the Schubert murder, then?”
Annie reeled back a bit and nodded her head. “Actually, I do have news about that…what’s your pleasure? You want the news before or after sex?”
“Let’s go with after,” Benson offered. He grabbed her by the waist and began to move her toward the bed. He tore off his shirt and hers and examined her naked body, from her toes to her shoulders.
“What?” Annie asked.
“I just love looking
at you,” he whispered.
Annie closed her eyes and held out her hands. She noticed they were shaking. “Benson,” she said, not looking at him, “what if instead of trusting the process….I trust you instead?” She opened her eyes and found Benson standing a foot away.
He moved closer, not answering.
He kissed her, his mouth seeking hers and holding on to the moment for as long as possible.
“The pitch meeting went poorly,” Benson said. He took his left hand and ran his fingers through her hair. He took his cast and touched her shoulder. “Peggy didn’t think the Love is Murder story had enough traction yet and I didn’t know you’d made progress with Missy’s identity.”
He kissed her shoulders, his cock still standing at full attention, undeterred by the detour in conversation.
“I’m sorry,” Annie said. She reached down and began to massage, gently, the head of his penis. He pulled back a bit, grabbing at her hands.
“I have twelve hours to write a column,” he said and he sucked on her index finger and then the other, running his hands along her bare thighs. “But first, I want to taste you.”
And he scooped Annie upward and carried her to the bed, laying her down upon the king-sized mattress, the sheets still tucked in carefully, the pillows still arranged at the headboard.
He grabbed the tip of himself and directed it across her labia, not entering her, but rubbing her, teasing her. She squealed and shimmied her hips.
“Annie, Annie, you make the earth glow,” he mumbled and with that declaration, he buried himself deep within her, alternating between bringing her pleasure with his cock and his mouth.
Long before he came himself, she twitched and bucked and pushed against the pressure building in her body. Then she cried out and screamed an orgasm and heard a bang from the wall next door.
They were pissing off someone nearby and Annie thought it was hilarious. God, couldn’t people be happy for lovers? She went to pound back, but Benson blocked her with his cast and she fell back, feigning injury.
Freshly fucked, covered in sweat, and out of breath, Annie laughed. She clutched her stomach and laughed. And Benson dipped his head and laughed, too. He turned to her, a big smile showing her a dimple she hadn’t noticed before. She kissed his cheek and rolled on to her back.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Annie asked.
“Like what?” Benson waited, mouth shut.
“Like you think I’m going to disappear.”
“Maybe,” he leaned down and kissed her cheek, “because I think you’re going to disappear.”
Then he rolled off the bed and went to retrieve his shirt.
“Come on,” he instructed. “Now you’re in my city. No one to hide from…I want to take you on a real date and I’m calling it in right now.”
“Calling in a date?” Annie asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “Do I owe you one?”
“Yeah,” Benson said with a shrug. “You never want to be seen at the beach, but you’re in Portland and I know good hiding spots. Go on, get dressed. This,” he pointed to the bed and her lingerie, “will all be here when we get back.”
Without hesitation, Annie hopped up. She walked over to her small rolling suitcase and unearthed a small cotton black dress. She slipped it over her body and it fell into place over the curves of her body. She had no intention of wearing underwear. She grabbed her coat.
“Okay,” she said with a cute and flirty flounce. “I’m ready.” She put her hands on her hips and waited. “So, it’s your night. Where do you want to take me?”
Chapter Eighteen
The pirate-themed miniature golf course in the heart of the city was loud, noisy, and sold alcohol. Benson bought her a bottled cider and let her choose her ball, then he led her on a competitive tour of pirate ships and zombies, all popping up when they least expected it.
While they waited to take their turns, Annie updated him on the Applegate connection.
“That guy lost a connection to his sister long before Missy turns up in Cannon Beach. So, what’s the story?”
“He says she ran away from home. Gets pregnant. Calls their mom to basically say, I need to come home and hide with you with my baby and her mom says no.”
“Yikes,” Benson grimaced. Neither of them could judge any family decision, but it wasn’t hard to connect the dots and assign some blame. If Lucia was Missy and Missy died protecting a child her own family had refused shelter for? He tried to play it through.
“Missy’s son is missing. Lucia went missing while pregnant.”
“She was afraid of the son’s father. Vincent knew that much.”
“Vincent?” Benson asked.
Annie laughed and hit her knee. “God, are you jealous all the time?”
“I just said his name.”
“It was the way you said his name. He’s cute and all, but Erin was looking at him…”
“Aw, so if she wasn’t interested, you might be?” he teased. He wanted it to feel good-natured because no, he wasn’t jealous. He saw the way Annie looked at him and he hadn’t seen her look at anyone else the same way.
Annie lined up her ball and took a swing. It bounced off some fake crates and wound its way down a tunnel, flowing straight into the hole. She jumped up and down and raised a single finger.
“I did it!” she screamed and wrote a ‘1’ for Hole 6. Benson kissed her and she ceased her jumping, falling into the kiss.
When they pulled back, Annie didn’t budge from his arms. Even in the shadows of the black light, the white on his collar bright and purple, she could see his face examine hers.
“You always look worried, Annie,” Benson said, unhurried to try his own hand at the hole. “But you don’t right now.”
Annie stood up a bit taller and kissed the end of his nose. “Take your shot, Benny. People are waiting.”
A perfect date in Portland. Mini-golf. Powell’s. A walk along the east bank esplanade—where he pushed her up against the bridge when no cars were passing and rubbed his hand along her pussy—then he took her back to the hotel.
The whole way, they talked murder.
“Hold on, hold on,” Benson said as they hit the button for the fifth floor of the Benson and held hands the entire way up. “You think William Schubert and Missy Price were connected…over the child.”
“Hear me out…”
“How did Vincent track Lucia to Cannon Beach?”
Annie used the room key to open the door and they both pushed their way inside, sitting down on the bed, taking off their shoes.
“She called a friend on a burner phone but mentioned the city where she was staying. Said she wouldn’t be there for long and was moving on.”
“Time between that phone call and Missy Price’s murder?”
“Four days.”
“What did the brother think?”
“Lucia and Missy were women of mystery,” Annie replied. “But someone stole all of our files…and my brother wants me to stop looking into Robin and the files. My dad, too. So, what do you think?”
Benson held up his broken wrist. “There’s only one thing anyone could still be looking for. The kid.”
“Yeah,” Annie was starting to understand. “Wait. What if…Missy was hiding here. She’s Lucia. She’s hiding here as Missy.”
“I’m following,” Benson said.
“The person she’s hiding from finds out where she is and the only thing she does next is hide the boy.”
“Where does William Schubert fit in?”
Annie shook her head. “Maybe it was always random. Maybe the connection was a red herring.”
Benson didn’t buy that part. “Linda said they didn’t know each other at all and I don’t why, but I believed her. Remington didn’t want me looking into the case either…” he started to say, but then he realized he had never told her about his failed Twoly date and Linda Remington’s surprise visit.
She noticed that he trailed off, and immediately
she locked into the left-out facts, narrowing her eyes and trying to figure out the details.
“When did you talk to Linda Remington?” Annie asked. He could tell by the tilt of her head that he’d surprised her.
Benson scratched his chin. “I tried to use Twoly. Signed up online,” he said. “She nixed it right away.”
“Even after I said to leave it?” Annie asked.
“Yes,” he admitted, but he brought up a quick finger, “but before you and I started…to get together.” He moved his hands between them, to stress the importance of the timeline.
“Ahh, I see. So, you’re only loyal if you’re messing around with someone. Good to know.”
He went in to kiss her, but she moved him back with a single finger.
“Wait. No. Now you owe me a story.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” he dismissed and tried to bypass her finger to lean in for another kiss.
She ducked out of the way. “She said don’t write about me and she said, oh, William and Missy didn’t know each other, no big deal? You kept that from me. I was the one who gave you this story.”
“And Peggy didn’t want it,” Benson said defensively. He didn’t mean to make it sound like his editor’s refusal of the pitch was her fault, but she kept assuming that her brilliant club was a slam-dunk, and that hadn’t been the case. Peggy thought the girls sounded too gimmicky and that people would wonder why the police couldn’t just do their job.
His phone vibrated and he checked it. Peggy. It was magic—he said her name and she appeared.
There was no chance she was calling to change her mind and say he could continue to write the piece. She was checking on the status of the column he promised her by the morning. Thirty inches of copy. Benson silenced her call and tossed his phone, with his jacket, to the corner of the room. He didn’t want to screw up again.
“You should’ve told me,” Annie said. She went to her own purse and punched in a number, crossing her arms and pacing the length of the room. “Hey, Erin. It’s Annie. Linda Remington, our connection. Did we run some surveillance on her?” A pause. “You’re kidding.” Another pause. “Alright. Keep me posted.” A longer pause. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to tell you more about it later.” She hung up.
Savage Distractions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 3) Page 22