Make Me Up

by Avery Flynn

  “That’s comforting in a twisted, it’s-opposite-day kind of way.” She tightened her hands into fists to stop her thumbs from jiggling with her nerves.

  “Relax.” A click sounded, and he turned the knob. “We’re in.”

  She gave one last glance down the empty hallway, then rushed into the room. Her feet moved as fast as her heartbeat. The door swung closed behind her.

  “Holy shit.” He didn’t say the words so much as he exhaled them with a whispered awe.

  She peeked around his broad shoulders at the rest of Fergus’s apartment and almost swallowed her tongue. The apartment may have looked like a normal middle-class apartment from the outside, but inside, it was a whole other story.

  Everything was high-end. The Sub-Zero refrigerator. The seven-feet-long ultra-definition smart television. The handmade Persian rug in the living room. Modern art covered the walls and created pops of bold color amid the taupes and stainless steel color palate.

  “I think our boy Fergus is playing fast and loose with his tax records.” He let loose an admiring whistle. “That TV alone costs ten grand.”

  “Yet he doesn’t spend money on an alarm system?” The place didn’t even come close to the luxury of her clients, but it made her small one-bedroom apartment look like something in Destitude Weekly.

  “There’s no accounting for some people’s brains.” He shrugged as he scoped out the gleaming kitchen. “The guy is hanging out with Diamond Tommy’s people. That in itself shows he’s not exactly Mensa material. Let’s hurry up and get a good look around before he comes home.”

  They’d sat in the cafe across the street for an hour until Fergus left the building. He was carrying three reusable shopping bags and headed toward the neighborhood farmer’s market. If Fergus stayed true to what he’d told her about his weekly trips to the market, he’d be gone for hours.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the nerves that lately had become as natural as breathing. “So what does that make us for being here?”

  He backed out of the kitchen and headed down the short hallway off the living room. “Desperate for answers.”

  As she followed Cam, she looked over her shoulder with every other step, certain Fergus would appear out of thin air. “So where do we find them?”

  “Look for a computer. A desk where he’d keep papers. We need a paper trail or anything else that either puts him at the top of our list or scratches him off.” He paused outside a bathroom done up in stark black and white and gave it a quick once over.

  She continued on and gave the walk-in linen closet a quick peek, poking inside the stacks of steel gray towels. “How long do we have?”

  She heard the unmistakable sound of rattling bottles and jiggling pills as Cam went through a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He said, “The perimeter monitor I hooked up at the bottom of the stairs will text me a picture of anyone who approaches the lobby elevator or stairs.” He sauntered out of the bathroom and made a beeline to Fergus’s room. “That should give us a two minute window to blaze.”

  “Plenty of time.” Her eye-roll was wasted on his muscular back as he prowled down the hallway.

  “Less bitching. More looking.” He laughed and disappeared into the bedroom.

  Like the rest of the apartment, Fergus’s bedroom felt starched. Crisp white linens. Brown and gray taupes on the walls and curtains. Stark black furniture with sleek, swooping modern lines. It was a one-eighty from what she would have expected of the snarky-humored butler she knew. She was a crappy judge of character. Why this still shocked her, she had no fucking clue. Really, she needed to get a better shit detector installed.

  Fergus’s laptop sat center stage on his dresser. She powered it up, but a password login appeared on the screen. “Problem, Cam.”

  He looked up from the closet where he was working his lock pick in and out of a portable fire safe’s tumblers. “What?”

  “We need a password.” The clock by the bed read 10:46. “Is there enough time to reach out to Carlos for some code breaking?”

  He shook his head and twisted his wrist. A click sounded, and he opened the safe. “Try ferret.”

  Her strung tight nerves plunked with annoyance. Fergus was allergic to ferrets. He’d never make it his password. “Quit joking. How do we get ahold of Carlos?”

  He retrieved a folder from the safe, opened it, and then started taking photos with the burner phone. “Just try it.” He flipped the page and took another photo. “He volunteers with some ferret rescue group.”

  Maybe a group to wipe ferrets from the face of the earth. “No way. He’s super allergic to them.”

  That got Cam’s attention. “How do you know?”

  “The Orton’s had one for a while, and he broke out in hives the size of softballs, but Natasha wouldn’t get rid of it until it bit Fergus. He threatened to sue for workman’s comp.” He probably should have. The wound had been bloody and gross. “Despite the shitty way she treated everyone in that house—including Fergus—on a daily basis, it was the only time that I know of when he came close to walking out. So what makes you think ferrets?”

  “I gotta hunch—something that stood out on his charitable donations.” Cam replaced the folders in the safe, closed the lid and engaged the lock before sliding it back in place at the back of the closet. “Trust me.”

  She hesitated, her fingers above the laptop’s keys. Oh, fuck it. F-E-R-R-E-T. A rotating circle on the screen spun for a few seconds before the lock screen faded and revealed a photo of the Sydney Opera House on Fergus’s desktop. She did a quick happy dance in her chair that involved lots of hip shimmying and a little shoulder bopping. Finally, something had gone their way.

  “Sylvie was right.” She grinned as she started to randomly click on documents since none were labeled Bad Stuff Here. “There is more to you than a hot bod.”

  Fifteen open documents later and annoyance began to creep in. There had to be a better way. She slumped forward with her hand in her chin and stared at the screen. She’d gone through the few items on the desktop and over sixty percent of what was in his documents folder. Part of her wondered if this was a decoy laptop.

  “What’ve you got?” Cam asked from directly behind her.

  She jumped and nearly tripped over her own feet. For a big man, he moved quietly and quickly. “Not much that I can see.”

  “Here let me.” His fingers flew across the keyboard like he’d been snooping in other people’s computers for most of his life, which really, he probably had.

  The screen turned dark for a second, then opened up a different desktop with a plain black screen and a single virtual folder.

  “What have you got here, Fergus?” He clicked on the folder and opened a spreadsheet labeled “Ferret Rescue Association.” It contained a list of names, each with a dollar amount and date next to them and a set of what looked like random numbers in another column. Bank accounts? Probably.

  She read down the list of familiar names. Some of whom were her clients, others who were in the society pages every week. “I know those people.” She pointed to the first name on the list. “The McCann’s are Harbor City old money, so are the Bergers, the Carlsons, the Soffers, and the Kittredges.”

  He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket, plugged it into the laptop, and downloaded the file. The transfer finished just as his phone vibrated twice. “Camera’s hooked up to my phone. That’s the signal. Fergus just got on the elevator. Let’s go.”

  With the efficiency of a man used to getting out of places fast, he clicked out of the open documents, removed the flash drive, logged out of the laptop, and put it back exactly as they’d found it.

  They hustled to the front door and yanked it open. That’s when they heard voices coming from the stairwell—one of which sounded an awful lot like the detective who’d questioned her at the Orton’s house. She froze in the open doorway, unable to go forward and too scared to go back.

  “Don’t give up now. We’ve got this.” Cam grabbed her ha
nd, and they backpedaled into Fergus’s apartment and shut the door behind them. “We have to hide.”

  “Where?” If a whisper could scream, that single word would have done it. They were trapped.

  The footsteps in the hallway grew louder. The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival.

  She clamped her jaw tight, sucked in a deep breath, pushed the panic to the background.

  Fergus’s too-cheery voice slithered in under the door.

  It was the detective who’d questioned her. The one Cam knew. The one who wanted to arrest her.

  What the hell was he doing here with Fergus?

  “I’d like a moment of your time,” the detective said.

  How could they escape? The front closet was a no. Too obvious. Her gaze bounced from one potential hiding spot to another as her heart banged against her ribs like a runaway freight train.

  “Of course,” Fergus said. “Here, let me put down these bags and get my keys. I always tell myself I’m going to only get what I need at the farmer’s market, but who can turn down jalapeño jelly?”

  Cam grabbed Drea’s hand and yanked her down the short hallway.

  Even as she sprinted in reverse, she couldn’t look away from the front door. The deadbolt turned counterclockwise. Fear squeezed her lungs tight.

  Cam pulled open the linen closet door and pushed her inside. Half a second later, he shut the door and the world turned to blackness so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  She closed her eyes more out of habit than necessity, then took in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders before the urge to hyperventilate took over.

  Muffled voices made their way into the closet. Fergus and the detective. She held her hand out in front of her and took a cautious step toward the door, determined not to miss a word.

  She made it a step and a half before running into a wall of hard muscle. Cam. She rested her palm against his soft cotton T-shirt and inched forward until they stood squished together, side-by-side in front of the closed door.

  “Mr. Fergus, sorry for barging in on you like this,” the detective said.

  “Not at all,” Fergus responded.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news yet today but we’ve issued a warrant for Drea Sanford’s arrest.”

  The words sent her pulse into overdrive again and jump started the urge to burst out of the closet and make a run for it—as stupid as it sounded to the logical part of her brain.

  “Terrible news.” Fergus made some sort of sad tsk-tsk noise. “I still find it hard to believe. She didn’t seem the type.”

  “How did she seem to you?” The detective made his request in a neutral tone, but she had no doubt about what he thought. He wouldn’t be trying to arrest her if he didn’t think so.

  “Overworked. Tired of her clients’ shitty attitudes—at least that’s what she always talked to me about—but I figured it was just grousing. I didn’t think she’d actually do anything.”

  Cam pressed a button on his phone, and its soft glow ate away at the darkness.

  “I understand Mr. Orton had quite the fish collection.”

  She pulled up on her tiptoes to better see what he was typing: ‘LOS! HIT THE SYSTEM NOW.

  “Yes,” Fergus agreed. “He did.”

  “Do you know what happened to it?” the detective asked.

  Cam’s phone vibrated in his large hand as a text came in: ANY SECOND NOW.

  “Mrs. Orton ordered all the fish removed. That was…” Fergus paused, “three weeks ago.”

  “Do you know where the fish went?” the detective asked.

  The apartment building’s fire alarm blared to life and drowned out whatever Fergus said next. In between pulses, she heard the front door shut.

  They waited a few minutes as the wailing of fire trucks grew closer, then Cam cautiously opened the door and peeked through the small crack. A second later, he opened the door.

  He poked his head out. “They’re gone.”

  She pushed her way past his bulk and into the hallway. She’d never been claustrophobic, but she’d spent just about all the time in the cramped closet as she could stand. She took a right turn and headed toward the bedroom. “Fire escape?”

  He grinned. “Seems appropriate.”

  Trust him to make a joke out of almost getting caught. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  They sprinted to the bedroom and out the window. Once they were on the metal landing, the warm summer wind whipped at her hair. The building’s residents mingled on the sidewalk around the corner. A few looked up at the four-story brownstone, but most searched the distance for the first sign of Harbor City Fire Department. She held tight to the railing and quick stepped it down the fire escape and away from immediate danger, even if the larger threat still remained.

  Chapter Twelve

  “A woman is closest to being naked when she is well dressed.” - Coco Chanel

  The Harbor Inn didn’t advertise hourly rates on the blinking sign looming over the parking lot, but Drea wouldn’t have been surprised if the motel didn’t offer discounted short-term rates.

  When they walked in, the clerk barely looked up from the tele-novela playing in the office behind the registration desk. They checked in with little fuss. Cam paid in cash and the clerk didn’t blink an eye, just slid the plastic room key across the counter and shuffled back to the office.

  The light in their room flickered when she flipped the switch, but after a second it returned to full strength. The room was about what she’d expected. A thin floral quilt in orange and tan covered the bed. A TV was bolted to the wall above a two-seater table. Threadbare towels hung in the small bathroom. She’d stayed in better when her parents were alive, and she’d stayed in worse after they’d died.

  Cam shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked everywhere but at her. “I know it’s not much, but my place would be the first place Reggie would look for you.”

  She’d learned the hard way not to depend on people—especially not people who always looked for the easy way out. People like Cam.

  Or at least the Cam she’d thought she’d known.

  But after what he’d done to get her this far, to help her survive and clear her name, she had to wonder if she’d never given him a chance. She’d taken one look at the too pretty for words cocky guy in the hospital and judged him at face value.

  Now they were both running from the cops, and Diamond Tommy, too.

  “You’ve risked everything for me,” she said. The truth of it sucked the air from her lungs, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at all six-feet-five-inches of him. It was like seeing him for the first time.

  He reached out, and his strong hand grasped her elbow, sending shocks of awareness up her arm. The air sizzled around them. “Are you okay?”

  Totally fine. Except for almost losing her mind. Even his light touch made her want to finish what they’d started last night. Other than that, she was totally good.

  “Don’t worry.” She should step away from him, but she couldn’t. The feeling of his skin on hers was too good, too right. “I’m not going to pass out because of a hot mess of a motel room.”

  “I don’t know, did you look at the bedspread?” His tone was light, but the way his teal eyes darkened and his gaze dipped to her mouth—then further down, to the curve of her breasts—told another story. One she desperately wanted to hear.

  Heat rushed up and caressed her skin. “This bedspread?” She sat down on the edge, directly in front of him, and brought herself eye level with the outline of his fast hardening cock in his jeans. “It’s lovely.”

  He captured her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her head upward so she couldn’t help but look at him. “It is now.”

  The world stopped spinning, and the atmosphere lost all its oxygen. Part of her—the side that remembered what it was like to be abandoned by her parents and have her whole life opened up to the media—wanted to sprint out the door, Diamond T
ommy and the cops be damned. The other part of her—the one who finally saw beyond Cam’s pretty face and cocky attitude—just wanted to tumble back onto the bed and pull him with her.

  “You have to stop talking to me like that.” Half desperate plea, half hopeful request, the words came out quiet enough that she barely heard herself.

  “Why?” His thumb swept across her bottom lip and elicited a moan she tried—and failed—to restrain.

  “Because I’ll start to believe it,” she said. Too late for that. She already believed it, and that scared the shit out of her. But not enough to warn her off of Cam. Those days were gone.

  He leaned down and put his palms flat on the bed on either side of her hips—not touching, just close enough to remind her how talented he was with those strong fingers.

  “Would that be all that bad?” he asked, his mouth only inches from hers.

  She arched her back, tilted her chin higher, and brought their lips even closer to his. “It could be the worst.”

  “It won’t be.” He gave her the briefest of kisses. “Trust me.”

  “Not if that’s how you’re going to deliver your promises.” She sank her fingers into his thick hair and brought his lips to hers. They were as soft as the rest of him was hard. It was a challenging kiss, one meant to get him to take off the gloves and make her forget about everything else in the world but him.

  She tugged her red sundress over her head and revealed a silver satin bra with tiny teal blue ribbons that matched his eyes—a fact she could now admit to herself played into her decision to purchase it. “You’re not going to complain about going too fast tonight, are you?”

  “Hell no.” He reached his hands over his head, grabbed the back of his T-shirt and yanked it off. “At least not the first time today.”

  She popped the top button of her skinny jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. “You think there’ll be another night?”

  “Babe.” He swooped up her ankles, grabbed ahold of her jean hems, and dragged them off of her. “There’s going to be more than once tonight.”