Wicked After Midnight (Midnight Blue Beach Book 1)

by Olivia Jaymes

  “If I ever meet that detective I’m going to string him up by his balls,” drawled Peyton who was walking in high heels. She was sensitive about her height and wore them pretty much everywhere except the beach and bed. “He sent us on a wild goose chase. We don’t have time for this and my feet are killing me.”

  There were a few storefronts but several of the buildings appeared to be abandoned. It was no wonder these businesses closed down if the crappy signage was any indication of how they ran things.

  Willow stopped and stared at a boarded-up window. “Maybe we should call Chase—”

  “There!” Peyton crowed, pointing down the block where they’d been originally. “Someone just went inside that rickety door and they were wearing workout gear.”

  Willow groaned at her own naïveté. “We’ve been living in Florida too long. This is how exclusive clubs work here. It looks like shit on the outside and a million dollars on the inside. Let’s go.”

  Payton laughed and tucked her own phone back into her purse. She had been ready to rip Ellis Hunter a new asshole. “We have lived there too long. It’s the same way in some of the other cities I’ve visited.”

  Luckily, the door wasn’t locked although the stairs looked a bit dodgy. Willow breathed an internal sigh of relief when they reached the second floor – a door to her left and a door to her right. Both unmarked.

  “Do you feel lucky?” Peyton muttered under her breath, her gaze drifting back and forth. “What is your intuition telling you?”

  “You’re the one that believes in psychics. You tell me.”

  Frowning, Peyton tapped her foot as she weighed her options. “I didn’t say I believed in psychics. I mean, I do believe in them but I think real ones are extremely rare. Most are just con artists.”

  Willow had dated more than her share of those. “So which way is your psychic energy leading us? Right or left?”

  Straightening, Peyton pointed left. “This way.”

  Willow reached for the door handle. “Let’s see if you’re right. If you are, I’ll buy dinner and dessert anywhere in the city that you want. Drinks too.”

  It looked like Willow would be picking up the check tonight. They stepped into a small room with a dark granite counter at the far end. Comfortable chairs were positioned up against the wall and their shoes sunk into the deep carpeting that covered the floors. Even the air smelled expensive, a subtle perfume.

  Vanilla. Espresso. Leather.

  Peyton smiled at the skinny woman behind the counter. “Hello. I’m hoping you can direct us to Martina Dorrell.”

  The woman blinked a few times but didn’t throw them out immediately. It was a good sign. Peyton was good at charming people. She looked harmless and it lulled them into a false sense of security. “Do you have your membership cards?”

  Another disarming smile from Peyton. “We’re not members. We’re old friends of Martina’s and we’re in the city to surprise her. Please don’t ruin it. We won’t take much of her time, I promise. We just want to see her and then invite her out for some cocktails later tonight. A celebration.”

  Apparently the receptionist liked surprises because a smile lit up her face and she nodded in agreement eagerly. “She loves surprises. If you go through that door and down the hall, take the stairs at the end up to the third floor. She’s in workout room K.” The woman checked the clock on the wall. “She and her client should have just finished and she doesn’t have another for thirty minutes. Have fun!”

  Muttering their thanks, they quickly went through the far door and down the hall, finding the stairs with no problem. Loud music pulsed from a few of the closed doors with small signs indicating that a session was in progress.

  “I know I shouldn’t encourage you as a liar but damn, you are good. I think you could talk your way into any venue you wanted, maybe even the White House. Or a Kenny Chesney concert.”

  Peyton waggled her eyebrows. “I feel like a spy from the movies. Call me Mata Hari. I’ll tell you a few stories over dinner. The one you’re paying for.”

  Willow was feeling adventurous herself which wasn’t a common occurrence for her. She took chances but they were carefully calculated and always well-thought out. This little charade was completely off the cuff.

  On the third floor, there was only one door on each side – J and K. J was closed and no noise was coming from the room but K’s door was slightly ajar, a pop tune from the 80s drifting into the hall.

  “Good, she’s done with her client,” Willow said as she knocked on the door. “Martina? Can we come in and talk to you for a moment? We only want a few minutes.”

  There was no answer so Peyton pushed open the door a little more and called out. “Ms. Dorrell, I’m Peyton Nelson and this is Willow Vaughn. We just want to talk to you. Is that okay? Martina?”

  Not a sound but the music. “Maybe she’s in the ladies room or something,” Willow shrugged. “Do you think we should go in and wait?”

  Willow didn’t like to barge in where she wasn’t wanted but turning around and walking back to the receptionist wasn’t an option either. They couldn’t meet up with Martina in front of anyone. They’d know that Willow and Peyton had lied to gain entry.

  “I say we go in. We don’t want to miss her by walking around and trying to find her. The woman up front said she had another client in thirty minutes so she’s bound to come back here at some point.”

  That was a good enough argument for Willow. She pushed the door open wide and they stepped into the room, the music much louder now. The beat pulsed beneath her feet as her gaze swept the area. Large red mat in the middle. To her right were a few cardio machines and some aerobic steps in a stack. Willow remembered taking those classes quite well. Good exercise and a lot of fun.

  It was Peyton’s gasp that snapped Willow’s attention from the treadmills and to the other side of the room where a rack with hand weights stood along with a few heavy balls and a couple of jump ropes hanging from the walls.

  Plus a body.

  Distracted with her own thoughts, Willow had almost missed her. The figure was wearing a red track suit and against the red mat she hadn’t stood out. Her body was curled up in a fetal position and crimson blood pooled underneath the head, the hair tangled and matted. The strong smell of metal turned Willow’s stomach and she had to swallow the acid that had gathered in the back of her throat.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Willow breathed, her chest tightening painfully. “Is that…?”

  “I think so,” Peyton said faintly, her hand pressed to her mouth as if she might be throw up. “Oh God, we should call 911.”

  Willow had already pulled out her phone. “Go get that woman at the front desk. I’ll call 911. Then we need to call Bailey and Chase right away.”

  Someone else was dead or close to it.

  It wasn’t even July twenty-first yet.

  The next twelve hours seemed to move in slow motion for Bailey as she struggled to come to grips with what had happened. That blessed numbness she had come to know and love was nowhere to be found and she’d had to deal with the maelstrom of emotions that had been evoked by Willow’s simple statement.

  The swim coach is dead. She was shot in the back of the head.

  Another casualty of…what exactly? Bailey didn’t know but she was more determined than ever to find out. The universe was fucking with her again but she wasn’t about to back down. This wasn’t some freaky coincidence. This was murder.

  Luckily, her innate practicality came to the forefront when she desperately needed it. She and Chase calmly decided it would be better to meet Willow and Peyton back in Williamsburg rather than in New York City. The two women had spent all evening and most of the night at the police station giving their statements over and over but were finally allowed to leave, mostly due to the fact that the estimated time of death was an hour before they’d arrived but also because the tests for gunpowder residue came up negative. They’d been ruled out as suspects but the police said th
ey might be in touch at a later date and time if they had more questions.

  Or their quick release might have had something to do with the high-priced attorneys that Peyton and Willow had phoned when it looked like the police wanted to pin the murder on them. The ladies had magically been allowed to leave less than thirty minutes later. Bailey didn’t much care of the reason as long as they were back together again. They had a great deal to talk about and they needed to regroup. The case was getting away from them.

  Fiddling with her fork at the table, Bailey sat up as straight as she could in her chair to see the front entrance of the hotel. They were all meeting for a late breakfast and she was getting anxious. Willow and Peyton should have been there fifteen minutes ago.

  “They’ll be here.” Chase placed his hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly. “They sent a text when they landed. They’re probably caught in traffic.”

  Plus exhausted. Bailey doubted that her friends had caught much sleep on the flight back and after they ate would probably want to crawl into bed and get some much needed rest.

  “I just– I just can’t believe that poor woman is dead. You know it has to have something to do with Gwen and Frank. It can’t be an isolated incident.”

  Chase’s expression was more closed than she’d ever seen it. Since she’d given him the news, he’d been a rock of support but he’d also been quiet, keeping his own emotions under wraps. Funny how she’d only known him a short time but already she needed to speak honestly with him and share her thoughts and fears. She wanted him to feel the same way and she couldn’t deny that it stung that he didn’t. He didn’t trust her with what was going on inside of him.

  “It could be,” Chase said, his words carefully measured and his tone calm. “It might simply be a—”

  “Coincidence,” she finished for him. “Do you really think that? Because I don’t. It may not be July twenty-first, but come on… What are the chances?”

  His expression was far away and she didn’t know how to bring him back to where she was. He was gone to another place and time and nothing she said seemed to snap him back to awareness.

  “Remote, I’ll grant you that. We need to calm down and look at things from a purely intellectual level. We’re letting our emotions get ahead of us.”

  He wasn’t, so he must be referring to her. She hadn’t realized he turned into a robot when the shit got real.

  “Excuse me for having feelings,” she snapped, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. “Just call me the hysterical female and be done with it.”

  His gaze rounded on her and she had to squirm in her seat as it seemed to bore a hole right through her. It was as if he could see everything she was thinking and feeling.

  “You’re hardly hysterical, Bailey. In fact, you’ve been quite calm and logical. But I think that perhaps your imagination is taking you to places that it ought not to. Not yet, anyway. The leap you’ve taken is a big one.”

  “What leap is that?”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, his expression softening. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  She sighed and let her head fall back, her eyes closed.

  “What if the person who killed Gwen killed that poor woman? What if they killed Frank, Alex, and Greg too? Who else will they kill to cover their tracks?”

  She’d said it out loud and a shudder ran down her spine. She’d known all along that there was a killer out there but somehow she hadn’t thought that they would be willing to kill more. Others. But Guy’s serial killer theory was looking like a definitely possibility; however, he’d been wrong about his number one suspect.

  “It’s a possibility, I won’t deny it but we have to move slowly here. If we go off half-cocked it might send us in a completely wrong direction. We’re looking for a connection between Gwen and Frank’s deaths and I’d like to remind you that we still don’t have any evidence that his or the other men’s deaths are anything but an accident.”

  “You don’t believe that. You know they can’t be.”

  He scraped his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I think anymore. I’m so damn confused and this case is fucking with my head. We need to get some food in our stomachs and then sit down, preferably with Ellis who is a real detective, and try and lay this all out. We need a new plan of action because frankly I don’t know what to do now.”

  Bailey sipped her glass of water, the cool liquid sliding down her throat and calming her jangled nerves. Sadly, it was too early in the day for a stiff shot of whiskey. That would have hit the spot.

  “What do you think about the Evandria Council? Is it just a coincidence that they were all members as well? Guy said they were ruthless. Could they be capable of murder?”

  Lips twisted, Chase looked less than enthused about her theory. “Guy is also a disgruntled ex-member with a history of substance abuse. I’m not sure we can count on everything he told us being true. Besides, he didn’t seem to think they were involved in any way and you can tell he doesn’t like them at all. Also, I doubt the swim coach was a member. The yearly fees are in the seven-figure range and I don’t think personal trainers make that much but I could be wrong.”

  “You ask everyone we talk to about Evandria though,” she argued. “If you don’t think they have anything to do with this, why do you keep bringing it up then?”

  “Is that why you’re suspecting them? Because of me?” Chase groaned and leaned down to drop a kiss on the tip of her nose. “This is all my fault. The reason I’m asking is because I’m curious. I was at that summer camp every year and I had no idea. None. Frankly that bugs me. My friends never talked about it. My parents and grandparents never talked about it. How is that possible? That’s why I’ve been asking. Not because I think there’s some vast conspiracy to kill its membership one by one.”

  Slowly exhaling in relief, she slumped in her chair and laughed. “Only the ones who break the rules. I guess death would be one step past blackballing.”

  Chase stroked his chin, his expression thoughtful. “For some, death might be preferable. I imagine the social and business contacts of an organization like this are the lifeblood of many careers. Without them they’re screwed.”

  A flurry of activity in the corner of her eye caught Bailey’s attention and she was relieved to see Willow and Peyton striding through the lobby, heading straight for the restaurant.

  “They’re here, thank goodness. I can’t wait to hear all the details.”

  Willow had given them the bare bones but there hadn’t been time to do anything more.

  Peyton stopped in the lobby and dug into her handbag, pulling out her phone while Willow joined them at the table. Collapsing into a chair next to Bailey, she gave an exaggerated groan of relief.

  “We’re back and can I say I have never been so happy to see two people in my life. That was the worst trip I’ve ever been on.” Willow gulped down her entire glass of water and signaled to the waitress for a refill. “I’m starving. Let’s order one of everything on the menu.”

  Bailey was all in favor of that. She hadn’t been able to eat last night. “Is Peyton joining us? We should probably wait for her.”

  “She got a call. She’s in the lobby.”

  The waitress bustled up to the table and refilled Willow’s water before pulling out a pad and pencil. “Are you ready to order?”

  “We are but we’re waiting for someone who is taking a call in the lobby.” Bailey stood to get a better line of sight to Peyton. She could see part of her and the phone being tucked back into her purse. “She’s on her way so yes, let’s order.”

  The waitress tapped her order pad. “Let me tell you our breakfast—”

  A god-awful, teeth-rattling noise ripped through the air and the earth rolled and pitched violently under Bailey’s feet sending her to her knees, flying debris abrading her skin. The sound of shattering glass and cracking wood filled the air along with screams of terror and the poundin
g of running feet. Her ears rang painfully and her senses were muddled as she struggled to gulp air into her empty lungs.

  The acrid smell of smoke made her eyes burn and her throat seize up. She choked and coughed as her stomach roiled in protest, the acid churning in her gut. She felt herself being scooped up into strong arms, holding her close and safe while a soft voice crooned soothing words that she couldn’t quite make out.

  Chase. She’d know him anywhere.

  “What– What– Chase, what—”

  “There was an explosion. Stay down,” Chase hoarsely commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

  Her arms flailed, trying to find Willow and she sighed in relief as her watery gaze landed on her friend who was huddled close to Chase’s other side. Her heart had taken up a staccato beat against her ribs and she could hear the blood pumping through her veins despite the noise and chaos erupting around them. It was as if her world had narrowed to only the three of them as they hid under that table, Chase trying to cover as much of their bodies with his own as he could.

  Peyton!

  Jesus, Peyton is out there.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chase stared grim-faced at the double-doors at the end of the hall. Peyton was behind those doors, a team of doctors and nurses working to ascertain the severity of her injuries. In the meantime, he’d tried to keep Bailey and Willow calm when he was sure all they wanted to do was cry. In fact, he might shed a few tears himself later. The sight of some of the casualties in the hotel lobby would haunt him for a long time to come.

  Tightening his arm around Bailey, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s going to be okay. Peyton is a fighter.”

  A palpable shudder ran through her body and she buried her face in his shirt, a sob escaping her lips. “She was so pale and still. I said her name over and over but she wouldn’t wake up.”

  Peyton’s deathly white features had reminded Chase too much of Gwen’s all those years ago. Add in the blood that had covered Peyton’s face and it had been eerily similar in a way he didn’t want to dwell on. It didn’t mean she was going to die, however. Unlike Gwen, Peyton was breathing and had a pulse, albeit a weak one. She was going to be okay. She had to be.