by Mia Taylor
I can’t just lie here. I need to do something.
She swung her slender calves over the side of the California King bed and rose to her feet, stuffing her manicured toes into a pair of fuzzy slippers. She pulled a silk robe over her sheer nightie and wandered into the sitting room and out into the main part of the penthouse.
Without preamble, she walked directly into the spacious, restaurant-style kitchen and opened the fridge.
I need to bake a cake, Victoria thought with conviction. That will make everything better.
She began yanking ingredients from inside the stainless-steel appliance, piling everything onto the island in the moonlit kitchen.
“Victoria! What in hell’s name are you doing?”
Light flooded the kitchen from the silver track above her head and Victoria blinked several times to adjust her eyes.
“Ah, Lenora. Perfect timing,” Victoria replied, flashing her mother-in-law a brief smile. “I’m baking a cake.”
Lenora slipped further into the room, the saloon style doors swaying gently.
“Victoria, step away from the flour,” Lenora told her cautiously, reaching out to remove the whisk from her hand. Victoria maintained the maniacal smile upon her face and continued to crack eggs into a mixing bowl as if she had not heard.
“Victoria!” Lenora snapped. “You’re acting like a lunatic. Stop this right now.”
Victoria whipped the eggs into the dish, their delicate shells shattering in the carefully measured concoction.
She glared at Lenora.
“What would you have me do, Lenora?” she challenged.
“I would have you stop acting like a useless Stepford Wife. Baking muffins isn’t going to accomplish anything,” Lenora shot back. “I understand you’re upset but there is nothing that you can do about it now. Hire a good attorney for Ryker and hope those treacherous witches grow a conscious.”
Victoria began to laugh.
“I can do more about it than that,” Victoria muttered, but Lenora was still speaking.
“You must make a decision, Victoria,” her mother-in-law continued. “You cannot sit around acting like Suzy Homemaker while your husband rots away in jail.”
“What decision is that?” Victoria replied, turning back to the mess on the counter. “Hire a lawyer? Something Ryker is against, by the way. He thinks he can handle the trial himself. But even so, how is that me being proactive?”
“The decision is simple,” Lenora stated calmly. “You can either continue to act like the frivolous, needy, inept female which my son is hoping to create of all American women…”
Victoria didn’t bother to correct Lenora, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Or?”
Lenora sighed heavily as if the next words were painful to speak.
“Or you can do what any self-respecting woman in your shoes would do. File for a divorce immediately and wash your hands of this mess.”
~ ~ ~
The offices were surprisingly inconspicuous, hidden in a residential area of Brooklyn, away from prying eyes.
It didn’t stop Victoria from feeling as if the entire world were watching her as she slipped from the town car and swished toward the entrance in the rain. She glanced at her cell phone and confirmed the address for the third time, looking back at the numbers on the turn-of-the-century townhouse.
Is this the right place? she wondered for the fourth time, but Google maps never lied. The street view provided exactly the location in which she was standing.
Glancing conspicuously about, she ensured that no one had followed the town car from the penthouse, but even though she saw nothing, she could not shake the sense that she had been observed.
She had purposely left her own vehicle, certain that the press would be hot on her heels if she attempted to sneak away. It was impossible to feel at ease when reporters staked the exits of every public space she attempted to use.
It didn’t matter—she was there now. If she had been tailed, they would have already seen her standing out front of the house, water dripping down the neck of her brown leather coat to collect uncomfortably at the base of her skull.
Inhaling sharply, she closed her umbrella and rang the old-fashioned buzzer to announce her arrival. Almost immediately, she was greeted by a woman in a maid’s uniform.
“Mrs. Smith?” the petite housekeeper asked. Victoria nodded and was ushered inside a twenties-style foyer.
Am I in an alternate reality? Victoria wondered as she stared in awe at the beautiful interior. She almost expected a flapper to do a swing step down the wide steps leading to the second floor.
“Right this way, Mrs. Smith.” Victoria shifted her attention back to the housekeeper and followed her down a narrow hallway toward the rear of the house, behind the ornate staircase. They stopped at a set of double doors, slightly ajar.
“Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Smith has arrived,” the maid called, pushing the red wooden doors fully open.
Behind a huge pine desk sat Benjamin Hamilton, his head bowed over a file.
His too long auburn hair fell into his spectacle-covered eyes while a hand repetitiously tried to keep the straight strands from obstructing his gaze. A pencil was clenched firmly between his slightly crooked teeth and Victoria was reminded of a frolicking puppy.
For a moment, she could only study him with slight awe, a flutter of emotions swelling inside her. There was something about him, something…
It was gone before she could identify it.
Benjamin glanced up at the announcement and tried to smile, apparently forgetting that the writing utensil was clamped in his lips. He spat it out unceremoniously and offered Victoria an embarrassed grin. With surprising agility, he sprung to his feet, a long, slim hand extended.
“Thank you, Edith. Hello, Mrs. Smith,” he greeted, his guileless blue eyes crinkling in the corners. There was something unassuming about him but Victoria’s well-honed instincts told her that he had the core of a killer.
He’s one of us, she realized.
He gestured for Victoria to sit and nodded at Edith, who retreated through the doors. Victoria perched on the edge of a leather wing chair, removing her damp gloves from her fingers. Benjamin sat back, peering at her quizzically.
“Thank you for coming to meet with me. I understand your reluctance to meet face to face but that is the only way I do business,” Benjamin told her once they were alone. “There is nothing like a face-to-face encounter to give you a feeling about someone, don’t you agree?”
Victoria nodded, running her fingers through her platinum hair as she met his eyes.
“I understand,” she replied. “That being said, I hope you understand the sensitive nature of what I am asking of you.”
Benjamin nodded, walking around the outside of the desk toward the buffet in the corner. Several bottles of liquor sat atop the piece with three crystal glasses.
“Of course. My entire business is based on discretion, Mrs. Smith,” he assured her. “Drink?”
Victoria started to refuse but changed her mind as she realized she was trembling.
“No—yes, please,” she answered. “A vodka martini with a twist, please.”
Benjamin nodded pleasantly and Victoria marveled at the skill with which the man created the drink. Silently, he handed it to her and sat back to study the tall blonde pensively.
“I don’t really know how this works,” Victoria admitted after taking a sip. It was divinely put together. She hoped that his other skills were as adept as his mixology.
Benjamin shrugged and smiled.
“It’s really very simple,” he replied lightly. “You pay me a very handsome retainer and I give you results.”
Victoria wasn’t sure if he was trying to be condescending or cute but she felt her back arch slightly as if he was mocking her. She’d had enough of being condescended to for an eternal lifetime.
“I confess, I haven’t had much occasion to use the services of someone in your profession,”
she replied coldly. “So, you will forgive me if I ask for more details.”
Benjamin shrugged and took a swig of his own straight vodka, finishing the drink in one swallow.
“I find it hard to believe that someone in your position would not have retained the use of a professional like me somewhere down the line,” he replied and Victoria restrained herself from leaping to her feet to glower at him with her fangs flashing.
How dare this being claim to know the first thing about me?
“What do you know about my position?” she snapped, slamming her beverage onto the end table at her side. Benjamin seemed unperturbed by her anger.
“Victoria Katrine Ewinger, born January 17th, 1783 in Munich, Germany. Parents are Otto and the late Bertha Ewinger, deceased April 14th, 1992. Emigrated to Los Angeles in February 1923 to pursue a career in modeling—”
“You can use a search engine, how wonderful,” Victoria snapped sarcastically. “I’m hardly a closed book to another shifter.”
She jumped to her feet, her body trembling again.
“I made a mistake coming here,” she told him, reaching for her purse. Benjamin’s perplexity was genuine as he cocked his head to the side.
“How did you make a mistake?” he asked, picking up the glass and handing it back to her. Victoria gaped at him.
“I don’t need your services after all,” she replied, suddenly uncertain from his quiet confidence.
Benjamin shrugged his shoulders and moved back to his high-back leather office chair.
“That is your choice, Mrs. Duvall, but I can tell you this—if you want to find out who is responsible for framing your husband, you will never find a better private investigator than me.”
Victoria sank into the chair again and looked at him, her shiny eyes alight with hope.
“So he is being framed?” she whispered. Benjamin raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Did you question his innocence?” he asked, leaning back, interest on his face.
Like a blow to her stomach, Victoria suddenly realized that she had been subconsciously wondering about his guilt all along.
Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes and before she could stop herself, Victoria began to sob. Humiliated, she buried her face in her hands and willed herself to calm down.
Benjamin Hamilton sat back quietly and waited for her to finish. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stared at him.
“Please help me find out what is going on,” she whispered, reaching into her purse for the cash she had withdrawn from the bank en route. “I don’t care about the cost. I just need the truth.”
Benjamin smiled and handed her a tissue.
“That is what I do, Mrs. Duvall,” he said quietly. “Uncover the truth.”
Chapter Eight
Shifter Undercover
Benjamin had not been lying to Victoria Duvall when he told her he was the best in the business. It was word of mouth which had landed her on his doorstep in the first place. He had been a private investigator for over a hundred years and his track record was almost flawless.
Almost, Benjamin thought, gritting his teeth, but he pushed the bile back down in his throat. The memory of Jules Landry still weighed heavily on his mind as if it hadn’t been fifty years earlier. Sometimes, he could still smell her when he closed his eyes.
Ben shook his head vehemently as if trying to shove the thought from his mind. He didn’t have time to mourn the one that got away. He had work to do.
He pulled into the apartment complex and found the visitors’ parking without incident.
Checking his pockets quickly, Benjamin jumped out of the nondescript sedan and headed for the lobby. A quick search of the directory landed him the name of the woman he was seeking and he punched the code into the ancient system. The number appeared to be disconnected, dropping the call, and Benjamin tried again, ensuring he had used the correct digits. Once again, he was met with dead air. Brow furrowing, he found the superintendent’s code.
“Yeah?” a surly woman demanded through the intercom.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Benjamin started.
“We ain’t got no rentals,” she snarled, but before the landlord could disconnect, Benjamin jumped in.
“No, ma’am, I’m looking for Leah Waterson. I can’t seem to connect to her buzzer.”
“You damn reporters. That’s ‘cause she don’t live here no more!”
“Oh no?” Benjamin was surprised by the information. He was certain she had been there only last week. He had personally done surveillance on her leaving the apartment.
“Did she leave a forwarding address?” he pressed, sensing he was seconds away from losing the building manager. There was a snort of contempt.
“She went and moved to those fancy buildings on LaPorte by the bay. Up and left her entire apartment too. If ya see her, tell her I’m sellin’ it all on Craigslist. She best not come back around looking for anythin’.”
Benjamin listened to the dial tone in his ear, processing what he had been told. A cockroach scuttled across the floor near his shoe.
Well, that’s interesting. How does a banquet server from Bayonne go from living in borderline poverty to living on waterfront property almost overnight? I wonder if it has anything to with the upcoming case against Senator Duvall.
Benjamin intended to find out.
~ ~ ~
Victoria was shocked at Ryker’s appearance. His face was gaunt and he looked as if he had not slept since he had been taken into custody.
“Victoria!” he exclaimed as he collapsed into the chair. His face registered relief. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Were you expecting someone else?” she asked jokingly, but her heart was heavy with distress. She had never seen him look so haggard. As she peered closer, she saw he had a fresh but healing cut on his upper lip and another near his eye.
He’s just been in a fight. He hasn’t even had a chance to heal.
It took every ounce of strength in her not to look away, her stomach churning with worry. The longer he remained in jail, the higher his chances of being discovered as a shifter. It was something she hadn’t even considered until that moment. She didn’t bother to ask him.
Ryker forced a smile.
“Every other hour someone’s lawyer is in here trying to pitch their services,” he replied, trying to smile, but there was no light in his eyes.
“I keep telling them that I’m a one-man show but somehow that doesn’t register. I think Sam keeps sending them to me, honestly. You’d think the old bear had more faith in my abilities.”
Victoria paused and stared at her husband, overwhelmed with a combination of emotions. She wanted to scream at him to swallow his pride and take the help. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg him to do anything to end this insanity. Overriding all those desires was her suffocating urge to smash the unbreakable barrier between them and embrace her husband in her arms and bury her face into his chest. Of course, she did none of those things and instead returned his fake expression of comfort.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have some backup counsel,” she offered instead. Immediately, Ryker lost the grin and scowled, shaking his head.
“Please don’t you start also. I’m hearing it from everyone and I can’t bear to listen to it out of your mouth, Victoria. I don’t need help with this. Their case is weak. The two accusers have shady pasts at best and—”
“Ryker, I don’t think that victim blaming is the smartest route to go with your defense,” Victoria warned, her eyes widening. “That was what got you in this mess to begin with. You need to show some compassion and empathy so the jury doesn’t look at you like a rich, entitled ass.”
Even if you are one.
Ryker’s frown deepened and Victoria saw his fist clench around the phone.
“Victoria, I don’t need you to tell me how to run my defense. I have never once told you how to stitch an inseam,” he snapped back. Victoria tried to check her temper.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I guess I am in over my head here. I’ll consider getting one of Sam’s recommendations in here to help me.”
A flood of relief washed over Victoria. She hadn’t told Ryker that she’d hired Benjamin Hamilton. It had been two weeks since she had met him at his home and she had not heard one word from the PI since. If he had not come so highly recommended from a shifter chatroom she trusted, Victoria would have been certain that she’d just been scammed for ten thousand dollars.
I must be patient, she told herself. When Benjamin finds something, I will be the first to know. If Benjamin finds something.
In the meantime, waiting to hear from the investigator was almost as excruciating as waiting for Ryker’s trial.
“It’s only two weeks away,” Ryker was saying and Victoria focused on his voice, tossing her own thoughts temporarily onto the backburner.
“Do you think you’re ready?” she asked, but Victoria already knew the answer—he was going in blind no matter how confident he thought he was.
Ryker nodded enthusiastically.
“Trust me, those women won’t know what hit them,” he told her and Victoria cringed again. She was certain if he overtly attacked the accusers on the stand, the effect would be devastating. She did not bother to argue with him again. She hoped he had a better defense strategy than what he was telling her.
Our only hope is Benjamin Hamilton right now and those odds don’t look promising. Should I be preparing to see my husband locked up?
~ ~ ~
“Ms. Waterson?”
“I’m not seeing any reporters!” She tried to slam the door in Benjamin’s face but he jammed his foot in the doorway, smiling warmly.
“No, ma’am. I’m not a reporter,” he assured her. “I am Joe Jacobs from Victim Services.”
He flashed an identification card in her face and Leah Waterson stepped back slowly, examining the card. She glanced up warily at Benjamin and allowed him to enter.