Scandal: The Complete Series

by Alison Foster

  “I ain’t shit,” I say. “And neither are you.” I get up and take a step to the door. My chest begins to tighten as the lack of sleep and the agitation of the moment come together in my blood.

  “Jack,” I hear my uncle’s voice behind me. “Work out the probabilities.”

  His two goons look at each other questioningly as I exit the building, unsure if they should stop me or let me go. At least, Lucius hasn’t instructed anyone to restrain me, yet.

  Fatigue has hit me hard but I can still make my way to Elaine’s car and hot-wire it in a snap. There’s no power in this world that can keep me away from Ella Wade.

  When they arrested me, she was ready to gouge Esposito’s eyes out. I haven’t forgotten her loyalty. She’s the air I breathe. Her eyes are what I see when I close mine. Her delicate hands, her perfectly-shaped breasts, the lines around her mouth when she smiles—all of these things are worth dying for, but it’s her heart that has given me life all these years. I cannot let anyone or anything stop it from beating.

  The phone rings and I have to dig deep in my back pocket to get it out.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” Brad says. “I heard they let you loose. You’re like the cat with the nine lives.”

  “If only it worked like that,” I say. “Listen, dude, I’m on my way to find Ella. I’ll catch up later.”

  “Yeah, about that… Heads up. Ella’s having a hard time right now. She got her hands on your iPad. She knows, man.”

  —four—

  Ella

  All my hopes for a cool head and a calm heart have already died a peaceful death when I arrive at the Daily Scandal’s offices. My heart’s pounding like crazy and my knees are shaky as I cautiously walk through the glass door to what seems like a previous life.

  It’s mid Monday morning which is usually the busiest time of the week, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to sneak in and out without much ado. All I want is to get the latest information on the status of Jaxson’s arrest before I face him. I don’t want to be blindsided ever again and if there’s a place where this kind of information can be found, including parts not officially released to the press, it’s the Daily Scandal.

  Jaxson was arrested on Saturday but while at my mother’s place for the weekend, I completely avoided tuning into the news, afraid I might hear things I’d rather not. But all that’s done now. I’ve had my moment of shutting out the world and now it’s time to get back in the saddle and be a professional as well as deal with the urgent matters in my personal life.

  “I did not expect to see you here.” Mark Devlin of all people has caught sight of me as I’m trying to get to my cubicle with my head down and shoulders hunched. He may not have been expecting me, but I bet he’s been waiting for me all the same.

  “Hey, Mark,” I say. “How is it going?”

  “You tell me,” my editor-in-chief says, giving me an urgent look that means I better come clean if I want to keep my job.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t check in on Saturday. I drove up to Santa Barbara to spend time with my mother. This has been tough on her.”

  Mark furrows his brow, saying nothing for a few seconds. “Come with me,” he says in the end.

  As I follow him to his private office, I can’t help but admire the way he comports himself, always keeping a perfectly straight back and an energetic gait, dressed in casual looking suits and sportswear that fit him like a glove. Mark looks like a younger George Clooney without the gray hair.

  “Take a seat,” he says. “We have a lot to go over.”

  I do as he says but he himself doesn’t sit down. Instead, he stands by the long, vertical window, gazing outside.

  “Why the formalities?” I say, getting antsy about what he has to say.

  He finally turns to me. “I thought we had an agreement, Ella. You were supposed to cover the investigation and give your personal account of it as someone closely related to the victim and I was supposed to promote you to an editor. What happened?”

  What happened… right, it’s a fair question. Except I don’t even know where to begin, or how much I should say, or how much he knows already. I decide to start with the obvious. “Things changed when Jaxson Cole was arrested for Madison’s murder. It came as a total shock. I didn’t know how to write or even how to feel about it.”

  “You could have called. Better yet, you could have chronicled the arrest, don’t you think? I’d have given you the top post on the site.”

  So he knows I was there during Jaxson’s arrest. Esposito did not keep his word to hide that detail. It makes sense that he’d change his mind and report my presence at Jax’s condo. I wonder, does the whole country now think I screwed Madison’s alleged killer and boyfriend?

  Jax is neither—in my heart of hearts I know that, but I don’t know what good can come from what my heart feels.

  “You’re being cruel, Mark,” I say, my voice barely clawing its way out of my throat. “Did you have someone else write the piece and get the top post of the day at my expense?”

  Mark shakes his head. “I see you don’t even check the website. How do you expect to make a career here?”

  I want to inform him that I don’t expect to make a career here, but that’s not at all important right now. “Like I said, I’ve been out of town and trying to console my mother,” I say as calmly as humanly possible. “I’m begging you to tell me what was said about me on the news.”

  Mark takes his time to scratch his upper lip while he locks his eyes on mine. “What makes you think there’s anything on the news about you?”

  God damn it, is he playing games with me? “You just said,” I say but then stop. All of a sudden I’m not even sure what he said.

  He finally takes pity on me. “Relax,” he says. “Nobody knows you were found at Jaxson Cole’s place when he was arrested. Detective Esposito specifically told me I could not use that piece of information.”

  “But he told you?” I say, confused. “Why?”

  “So I could explain why you’re officially off this investigation,” a voice behind me says.

  Rick has materialized out of thin air, his light-colored jacket hugging his impeccable body, his dark hair carefully sculpted back.

  “Speak of the devil,” I say. As much as I hate being in this situation, I’d have to face him sooner or later.

  “Miss Wade,” he says, nodding.

  So we’re back to being formal and maybe that’s how it should be. “Detective Esposito,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here. I owe you an apology.”

  That probably surprises him because he clears his throat before he speaks. “What are you apologizing for?”

  “The other day, when you arrested Jaxson, I overreacted and I had no right to. You were doing your job and I was getting in the way. I’m sorry if I let emotions cloud my judgment.”

  “Apology accepted,” he says, but the distance and disapproval in his tone are too strong to miss.

  “Thank you for keeping your word,” I go on, not sure why I need his approval.

  “My word?”

  “Yes, about keeping my name out of your report.”

  “Not a problem,” he says. “It’d just cause unnecessary scrutiny from the press. Not much to be gained.”

  I nod, feeling like a complete idiot. Rick Esposito despises me now and there’s nothing I can do about it. I quickly decide it’s for the best.

  “I guess that’s the end of the line for our little collaboration,” he says, offering me his hand. “I wish you good luck. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to have a word with Mr. Devlin.”

  I shake his hand and turn to go but then I change my mind. “Can I ask you one last question?”

  “You can ask.”

  “What evidence do you have against Jaxson? What led to his arrest?”

  For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. He proves me wrong and offers me a little insight into what’s going on. “It’s called DNA.”

  I repeat the initials in my head. DNA
. His response has opened up dozens of questions instead of closing them. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Wade, but I’m not going to discuss an ongoing case with you. If you are interested, I suggest you watch the news.”

  His suddenly snobby attitude bugs the hell out of me.

  “Never mind,” I say. “I’ll ask Jaxson Cole himself. I’ll pay him a visit at your lair of operations.” I turn to Mark, fully aware I’m acting like a brat. “Would you be interested in a piece about that?”

  “Don’t bother,” Rick says. “Jaxson Cole was released early this morning on bail. I’m surprised he hasn’t reached out to you. Maybe there’s hope for him.”

  His sarcastic tone doesn’t escape me, but I’m done excusing myself to Rick Esposito or Mark Devlin for that matter.

  “Take the day off, Ella,” Mark says, ushering me to the door. “We’ll speak tomorrow when you have a clear head.”

  So now I have to figure out how to deal with this new piece of information. Jax was released hours ago and didn’t try to get in touch. I double check my phone for texts, voicemail, anything. There’s nothing, no signs of life from him all morning.

  If I’m being honest, I’m the one who stayed away all weekend and didn’t bother to check on him. For all he knows, I might have decided he’s guilty and taken my distance. I wouldn’t blame him if he thought that.

  I sit down at my cubicle, drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions. I’m mad at Jaxson for not coming clean, worried that the DNA evidence might be damning and even accurate, but at the same time I miss him and yearn for his touch and voice. His tenderness and persistence, his complete faith in me, his muscular body, his soft lips, the way he played with my body and claimed it for his own—all those things have stripped me of my defenses and I don’t know how to stop wanting him.

  I’m a mess. Mark was right, I need to take the day off. As I get up, Hanson peeks into my cubicle. Hanson, my coworker whose cubicle is the one next to mine, is the nicest guy in the world even if his monologues on the importance of keeping the fridge handle germ-free or how the toilet lid should always be closed before flushing can drive you insane.

  Hanson gives me a smile. “Ella,” he says, “I have a message for you.”

  “What kind of message?” I say, absentmindedly.

  “This lady came in looking for you. She said you should call her.” He hands me a piece of paper with a name and a number.

  Elaine Parker.

  I scratch my head for a second before I realize she’s the glamorous lady from the modeling agency. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “No,” Hanson says, “but I have to tell you, she gave me the creeps. She’s beautiful but she’s like a Stepford wife. Her eyes were too intense.”

  I shrug. “Something related to Madison I’d think.”

  “Ella,” Hanson says in a whisper, stepping inside the cubicle, his eyes darting around as if to make sure we’re alone. “Don’t think I’m crazy but something is off with this investigation. I’m hearing strange things. People don’t take me seriously, they think I’m kind of slow and into my own world but I pay close attention. I hear everything. And I don’t like what I’m hearing. Get away from this. Drop it like it’s hot. Don’t let Mark manipulate you.”

  Everyone knows that Hanson is a hypochondriac fantasy geek with a vibrant imagination. And yet, the unusual seriousness of his tone gives me pause. “What kind of things?” I ask.

  “It just doesn’t add up, you know. All of Esposito’s visits, his willingness to share information, it’s as if Mark’s holding something over his head. And then there’s the secret meeting they had without you. Why wouldn’t they invite you? You’re supposed to be leading the coverage.”

  “What secret meeting?” I sound more and more like an echo.

  “There was a meeting on Friday that Mark called. They specifically left you out. I wasn’t invited either but that’s because I’m never invited to anything crucial.”

  If I don’t watch it, Hanson will talk till Tuesday. “I appreciate the warning,” I say, “but you don’t have to worry. Esposito just fired me. I’m officially off the case.”

  “That’s good,” Hanson says, “but even still, be careful. I know your stubborn side.”

  I pat his shoulder as I go, a growing buzz echoing in my head. Outside, morning has turned into a scorching hot noon with temperatures climbing over one hundred. I feel like the world’s melting.

  Too much, I tell myself as I walk out under the burning sky, this is all becoming way too much.

  There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to wake up and realize it has all been a dream, the whole fucking mess that has taken over my life. All I want is to have a simple life where my worst worry is if I’m going to manage to pay the bills this month.

  I want Madison to be alive and I want Jax to be innocent and in love with me. But dreams are all hype and real life is a bitch with claws.

  Crossing the street to the alley where I park my car, I’m almost run over by a yellow cab that screeches to a stop. I stare through the windshield, but the sun glare hides whoever is inside the taxi.

  The back door opens. A tall man in sunglasses rises to his feet. “Get in,” Jaxson says. “Don’t fight me on this. There’s not a moment to spare.”

  —five—

  The whole world can go screw themselves

  His hair sits funny on his head, one side lower than the other, clear evidence of a sleepless, sweaty night. His nose is puffed up with a small bruise on the bridge like it’s been punched, yet he’s never been sexier. There is sincerity and determination on his face like I’ve never seen before.

  The memories of the Malibu mansion are hard to fight. My brain turns to goo thinking of Jax with his hands all over my body, his hot tongue devouring me like a melting Popsicle and the primal sounds he made me make.

  My impulses are all over the place. I’m totally aware of all the mistakes I could make if I’m not strong. Jax goes around the mansion, securing doors and windows, making sure all blinds and drapes are drawn, shutting the light out.

  “Are you preparing the house for a vampire?” I say to lighten the creepy mood his meticulous paranoia causes.

  “Better safe than sorry,” he says.

  That’s a weird thing to say. “Except that I am sorry,” I say, trying to redirect his intense energy. “I should have visited you in jail.”

  “You couldn’t visit me there,” he says. “The press would have eaten you alive and this would all be so much worse.”

  “What’s going on, Jax? What is all this? There’s no press outside,” I say as soon as he settles down on the couch next to me. I instinctively recoil a bit to avoid our bodies making contact.

  He glares at me, his eyes hazy and panicked to the hundredth power. “I want you with me,” he says. “Safe and in my arms. That’s what this is.”

  “Well, here I am,” I say, mockingly. “The answer to your dreams.”

  He fidgets for a while, eyes hooked on mine. Half of me resists touching him, the other half begs for his warm embrace.

  “Brad said you’re having a really hard time,” he says, licking his gorgeous lips to soften the tension of the moment.

  “Ah, your little snitch did his job,” I say, not entirely sure why I feel like provoking him.

  “It’s not like that, Ella,” he says but doesn’t elaborate. He stares at me and sighs before reaching out to take my hand.

  I yank my body off the couch as if hit by lightning. I stand at a safe distance so I can talk without being distracted by his fingers. “So this is damage control? Is that why you needed to see me?”

  “Ella,” Jax says. “I had to find you because my lungs felt like they were suffocating without you.”

  “Right. Because I’m so special.” My bitterness must be shining through. I don’t care. He’d better get to the point fast. I’m only giving him this one chance to come clean.

  “Yes, because you’re special
to me. I know I owe you an explanation.”

  I eye him even more suspiciously now. “You owed me an explanation a long time ago, Jax.”

  “We’re here now. I’ll be an open book. Give me another chance.”

  “Start with Madison,” I say. “Did you have anything to do with her death?”

  His face stiffens. “Ella, you must think I’m a fucking viper. I had nothing to do with Madison. I get you had to ask that, but I’m not going to lie, it still hurts that you did.”

  “Don’t start with who hurt who, Jax,” I say, tears welling. “You’d lose that battle by a million fucking miles.”

  “Ella, I’m sorry.” He moves to me.

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “We’re talking now,” I say. “That’s it.”

  He stops and hangs his head like a hurt puppy. “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you did it,” I tell him, “but you’re right. I sure as hell have the right to ask. Now tell me why an innocent man was taken into custody?”

  “A bullshit witness,” he says. “Who’s telling them they saw me enter Madison’s building around the time of her murder.” He pauses, taking in a deep breath, frustrated. “They also say my DNA was found on her body.”

  “Your DNA? So what? You saw her earlier that day. You two were friends and worked together. It doesn’t prove you killed her.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Except they think they found the murder weapon in her kitchen drawers. My fingerprints were on it. It’s all circumstantial but it could very well hold up in court.”

  I consider his words, humble and to the point. “How do you explain the fingerprints?”

  “I know this will sound like a bad movie line,” he says, “but someone’s trying to frame me.”

  “Someone from the club?”

  “Ella, I don’t even know where to begin,” he says, turning away and taking a few steps shaking his head. It’s as if he can’t face me or tell me whatever it is that is burdening him.