by Roxie Rivera
“I’m trying something different. My stomach has been a mess the last few days. I think I need to clean up my diet.”
He suspected there was something more to her stomach problems than her food choices. The stress she was under with school, work and now all of this legal shit was enough to send most people into a breakdown. Worried about her, he flipped the pancakes and considered what he could to do to help her relax.
“You want to go on vacation?” he asked when she returned to his side with two plates.
Clearly surprised by his question, she nodded and then grinned. “Yes. I would love to go away with you.”
“Where?” He transferred pancakes to the plates and ladled the remaining batter onto the griddle. “I know we can’t go away for a long time because of your class schedule and work, but maybe we could sneak out of town on a Thursday night and come back on Sunday evening?”
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yes.”
“That gives us a lot of options. Or,” she said, leaving his side to grab forks, “we could stay stateside. Maybe California? There’s so many romantic getaway spots there.”
“I’ve never been to California.” He flipped pancakes. “If you can find something that you like, we’ll go. My treat,” he added, pinning her with a look.
“Fine with me.”
As he plated the last of the pancakes, the doorbell rang. They exchanged nervous glances, and he shut off the burners. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”
Gripping a fork like a weapon, she nodded. “Okay.”
As he strode across the house, barefoot without a shirt and in just gym shorts, he hoped he wasn’t going to have to brawl with someone. After last night, there was no telling what kind of bullshit was on the other side of the door right now.
“Oh. It’s you.” Ben said, more relieved than irritated, as he discovered Besian on the welcome mat.
“Don’t sound so happy to see me, Ben.” Besian frowned and removed his aviator sunglasses, tucking them into the open collar of his shirt.
Ben gestured for him to come inside. “We had unwanted visitors last night.”
“I heard.” Besian looked him over, as if searching for bruises or injuries. “You both okay?”
“Aston’s lawyer handled it.”
“Good.”
“Santos was here,” he said, certain the boss would want to know that.
“I figured,” Besian grumbled.
“You want some pancakes?”
Besian shook head. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
When they entered the kitchen, Aston had taken up a perch on one of the white leather barstools at the marble island. She smiled as Besian appeared behind him. “Hey you!”
“Hello.” Besian hadn’t quite gotten comfortable with Aston’s friendliness yet. “I hope it’s all right if I stay for a bit?”
“Sure. You want pancakes?”
“No. Coffee?”
She stabbed her fork in the direction of the coffee bar. “Make yourself at home.”
Enjoying the sight of Besian perturbed at being told to make his own coffee, Ben slipped onto the stool next to Aston. She didn’t know—or maybe she did—that Besian was used to being served by women. It was his default setting to assume that she would hop off her seat and hurry to make him a cup. Later, the boss would probably have a comment about that. Not that he cared any.
“Is that Isaia?” Aston asked as she slathered a shocking amount of butter on her pancakes. She normally didn’t eat much, if any, butter, but this morning, she appeared to be craving it.
“This?” Besian touched his suit as he waited for his coffee cup to fill. “Yes.”
“It’s a great fit. That color is fantastic on you. Much better than the Brioni windowpane you had on the last time I saw you,” she remarked matter-of-factly.
Besian narrowed his eyes. “I like that Brioni.”
“I’m sure you do,” she replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean it’s the right suit for you.”
Besian glanced at him, and Ben avoided his glare. “Are there any other items of clothing you think I should pull out of my closet?”
“I’ve never seen your closet, but if you let me in there, I bet I’d find a few things that need to go.”
“Is she always like this?” Besian asked before grabbing his cup of coffee from the machine.
“Yes.” Ben smiled at her. “Always.”
“I used to shop for my dad,” she explained as Besian took a seat across from them. “He was built like you. Tall, lean but defined muscle,” she added and gestured toward him with her fork. “You should stay away from windowpane and pinstripes. Stick to greys and blues. Maybe try some lavender or pink solid shirts. They’ll look nice against your hair and eyes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he grumbled and sipped his coffee.
“Pink is Marley’s favorite color,” she said offhandedly. “Just, you know, a fact you might need some time. Not neon pink, though. She likes the softer shades. Like peonies.”
Ben smirked at her obvious hints.
Besian didn’t take the bait and ask about Marley. Instead, he cleared his throat and reached into his jacket to retrieve folded papers. He slid them across the counter. “I got these from Alina this morning. She’s the one who told me about the police trouble you had.”
“It was bluster,” Aston assured him. “Dick ran them out of here with their tails tucked between their legs.”
“They’ll be back,” Besian warned. “Especially Eric. He’s tenacious. He’ll grab onto you like a Pit Bull and sling you around by the neck until you break.”
“That’s a lovely image,” she groused and turned her attention back to her pancakes.
Shooting Besian an annoyed look, Ben snatched the papers. The last thing Aston needed was more fuel for her anxiety and stress. He opened the folded papers and quickly thumbed through them. The first was a photo of the man who had died in the front seat of the red truck. Paul Chen. Twenty-nine. Chinese American.
“I know him,” Aston said and grabbed the paper from his hands. “He was a TA in my stats courses.” She stared down at his driver’s license photo. “Why do you have this?”
“He was one of the men who died at Phan’s,” Besian explained. “In the red truck.”
“Did you go to the pawn shop?” Ben asked.
“I did.” Besian’s expression made it clear that he didn’t want to be asked about Marley. “The video had a clear shot of the driver. It was Gary Metcalfe.” Besian’s gaze landed on Aston. “His wife works with you?”
She nodded, her focus still on the photo of Paul Chen. “For now.”
Ben raised an eyebrow at that reply. “What happened to standing up for her?”
“I will,” she confirmed, “but, ultimately, that decision ends with Oliver. I’m not the CEO. He is.”
“For now,” Ben parroted her early reply.
She tapped the paper she held. “So how are Gary and Paul tied together? Paul was working on his doctorate when I knew him. Something crazy complicated in math.”
“He was handling imports out of a small office on Harwin,” Besian said. “It’s on the third page.”
Ben found it and handed it to her. While she looked over the information, he turned back to Besian. “Where did Alina get this?”
“Her lawyer has been digging. She lost some money, and she’s not happy.”
Alina’s temper was legendary. She looked sweet and kind, but under that beautiful exterior was a woman who would burn your house down with you tied up inside it. If she felt wronged, she would go for the jugular.
“Paul was doing all of his import business in Asia, mostly Hong Kong and Macau,” Aston said thoughtfully. “Ben, when Detective Dawson came to see me at work, he was really keen on Asia. He asked me about Calvin traveling there and whether our firm has any offices there.” She paused. “You know, Calvin gambled there. A lot. My dad and stepmom had to get him out of a really bad mes
s once. Like calling in favors and flying out to China in the middle of the night kind of situation. They wouldn’t ever tell me anything about it. I always had the feeling dad had to cross one of his moral lines to handle it.”
“There’s a heavy Chinese presence on Harwin, right?” Ben tried to recreate that section of the city in his mind. “Some libraries and schools and shit like that?”
“There is,” Besian confirmed. He hesitated, his gaze lingering on Aston before he finally said, “There have been some indications that there might be an unknown presence trying to push its way into the city.”
Ben didn’t need any other clues to put a name to what Besian suggested. “Triad?”
The boss nodded stiffly. “Possibly.”
Aston’s eyes widened. “That’s, like, the Chinese mafia, right?”
“Yes.” He and Besian both answered simultaneously.
Aston’s expression turned pensive. “Maybe that’s the tie? Between Calvin, Gary and Paul. Maybe Calvin got in trouble with the Chinese mafia, right? And then he comes back home and he meets Gary because of the real estate his mom left to him in her will. He probably realized there was a way to use Gary to make money.” Her voice trailed away as she looked through the papers again. “What if Gary’s business is a front for money laundering?”
“Why do you think that?” he asked, loving the way her mind worked and feeling proud of her for jumping right on the problem.
“Because so many of Gary’s clients are Chinese. See?” She placed one of the pages down on the counter. Her finger followed the column of names. “Look at how many there are.”
“But what about these? These are all Latino,” he said, noting the names.
“Portuguese,” she corrected. “Macau was owned by Portugal until the late nineties. It was similar to Hong Kong and the British,” she murmured as if her brain was running ahead to another thought. “Look at the dates of these clients handing their money to Gary. It’s like a pattern. One Portuguese name in and two Chinese names out. This company sold a property and placed their money with Gary. They roll the funds to avoid taxes on capital gains. All legal,” she added quickly. “Then they buy from these two companies. See?”
“Yeah.”
“What was Paul importing?” Aston asked Besian. “That has to be the missing piece, right? Was it drugs?” She glanced at Ben. “That’s what Calvin was screwing around with, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Ben agreed, “but he wasn’t buying from any Chinese dealers. He was buying from the cartel.”
“Would they be his competitors? If he wanted to push his way into business here?” she wondered. “Maybe it was some kind of market research? Trying to figure out what the competition was in Houston?”
“I’m not sure if Paul was importing drugs.” Besian drank his coffee and cleared his throat again, as if debating whether or not to include Aston in what he was going to say next. “I think he might have been importing people, specifically young girls and boys.”
Aston blinked. “Trafficking?”
“Yes,” Besian confirmed soberly. “We’ve had a problem with it for a while. There’s an unwritten rule in this city that snything to do with kids is absolutely a death sentence.”
“But someone still has the balls to break those rules,” she said quietly. “And you think that Gary Metcalfe can tell us if Paul and Calvin were in on some kind of Chinese mafia takeover of the city?”
“I do.”
Aston chewed her lower lip. “There’s only one way to draw him out.”
Ben wasn’t surprised she had come to that conclusion. He had the same one.
“We aren’t going to hurt them,” Besian assured gently. “If we can find his wife and baby and hold them somewhere safe, he’ll come to us.”
“You’re going to kidnap them as collateral,” she said bluntly. “You’re going to use them as bait.”
“That’s the plan.” Besian clearly wasn’t thrilled by the idea of it, but he had come to terms with the necessity of it.
“And if she’s already being held by someone else?” Aston asked.
“Like?”
“The FBI,” Ben suggested, remembering the gossip at the wedding. “Their house was raided yesterday.”
Besian drained the last of his coffee and stood up. “Then Gary Metcalfe is a dead man.”
Chapter Twelve
“Get in best bitch!” Marley greeted with a playful grin from behind the wheel of her Prius.
I laughed and settled into the passenger seat. I dropped my purse on the floorboard and reached for the seatbelt. “I’m glad it’s your turn to drive.”
“Tired?” she guessed, waiting for me to click my belt into place before putting her car in drive.
“Yep.” I leaned back against the seat and looked at her outfit. She had paired a long-sleeved steel grey crop top with high waisted jeans and black boots. “That crop top is cute as hell.”
“It’s Nasty Gal. Grabbed it on sale last week,” she added. “I figured our weekly Target run was a good time to wear it.”
“I couldn’t find anything to wear,” I grumbled and gestured at my basic black leggings and Rice University tee.
“I’ve seen your closet. You could lose a small child in there. How do you have nothing to wear?”
“I’m bloated.” I poked my pudgy stomach and frowned. “I tried to fasten my favorite pair of jeans and almost passed out because they were so tight. Even these leggings feel too small.”
Obviously not believing me, Marley eyed me more critically. “You haven’t gained weight in, like, five years. Why would you start now?”
“Maybe it’s that happy fat thing?”
“Happy what thing?”
“Happy fat,” I repeated. “It’s when you get comfortable in a relationship and start to pack on pounds.”
“You’re at the gym five mornings a week.”
“I must be eating more calories than I’m burning. This whole week I ate like absolute shit.”
“I guess,” Marley replied, unconvinced. A moment later as we idled at a stop sign, she asked, “Is it just your belly that’s bloated? What about your boobs?”
I glared down at them. “They’re spilling out of my bras. I was lucky my dress last night had a little extra room in it.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Sometimes, yeah,” I said, wondering what she was thinking.
“You were nauseated yesterday morning at the gym?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Does any of your food taste weird?”
I shrugged. “I had some champagne that tasted bitter last night. Ben said his was fine.”
“And, uh, when was your last period?”
Finally realizing what she was insinuating, I exclaimed, “I am not pregnant!”
“Are you sure? Did you take a test?”
“I had a period, like, three weeks ago. It was a few days late, but it came.”
“A normal period? Like, I’m sorry for being so TMI, but did you bleed the same amount?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “It was short and mostly spotting.”
“Okay, well, we are buying a pregnancy test at Target,” Marley decided. “Because what if that was implantation spotting?”
“Implantation what?” I felt as if I might start hyperventilating any moment. Was she right? Was I pregnant? Had Ben knocked me up on our first night together?
“Some women have it really early in their pregnancy. It’s when the egg implants in your uterus. You bleed a little. It can happen around the same time you expect your period.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, rubbing my face. Sore breasts. Nausea. Bloating. “Oh. My. God.”
“Calm down,” she urged, reaching over to grab my hand as she drove. “Listen, you’re not in high school. You’ve got a degree. You’ve almost finished your MBA. You’ve got a job. You have a home. You’re rich as fuck. You’ll be fine. And, if you don’t want to be a mom right now, you have options. Whatever
decision you make, I’ll support you.”
“We make,” I corrected, thinking of Ben. “If I’m pregnant, Ben has to be part of my decision.”
“Definitely,” she agreed, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, I’m glad you said something.” Even though I was panicking, I truly was glad. “If I’m pregnant, I need to know sooner rather than later.” A horrible thought struck me. “I’ve been drinking!”
“I’m sure it’s fine. You’re not a drunk.”
“No, but I do have a glass of wine with dinner and we drank at brunch yesterday.” Feeling like a monster, I looked down at my belly. Had I poisoned my baby? Had I doomed them before even knowing they existed?
“Aston, calm the fuck down,” Marley ordered. “You are young, healthy and fit. Lots of women drink before they find out they’re pregnant. It’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so,” I whispered, disappointment and dread making my chest hurt. How could I not know? How had I ignored the signs?
“You’re not calming down,” Marley persisted. “You’re going to have a panic attack, and I’m going to get yelled at by Ben.”
“Ben wouldn’t yell at you. He’d be too afraid Besian would punch him for it.”
“Not funny,” Marley said even though she laughed.
“He was at my house this morning.”
“Ben?”
“Your Albanian admirer.”
“Oh.” She pretended to not be interested. “And?”
“It’s a long story.”
She looked at all the cars surrounding us. “We’re stuck in traffic so…”
Wanting to think about anything except the possibility I might be pregnant, I told her everything. I started with Detective Dawson visiting me at work and didn’t finish until I reached Besian’s visit that morning. When I was done, I waited for her to say something.
“Holy shit,” Marley remarked. “What a mess!” She bit her lower lip. “Do you think Margie and her baby are safe?”
“I hope so.”
“Are we assholes for not calling the cops right now? To tell them that she and the baby aren’t safe?”
“If we do, Ben will know it was me.” I wrestled with the morality of it. “I don’t want her or the baby to get hurt.”