by Joyce Lamb
Bailey heard the between-the-lines scolding for the last time she’d landed in the hospital, when she hadn’t called her friend at all. She quickly slammed the door on that memory. “Well, you can see now that I survived.”
A.J. sat on the edge of the newly made bed, dark eyes narrow and scrutinizing. “Physically. I’m not so sure about emotionally. What’s up?”
Bailey waved a dismissive hand. “I’m tired. You are, too. That wreck was a doozy, huh?”
A.J. nodded, frowning. “The worst part was the smell. Some of the cars caught fire.”
“Oh, God.” Bailey had already read A.J.’s story about the pileup, but hearing the catch in her friend’s voice made her ache all over again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Nature of the beast, isn’t it? You can’t expect to be a journalist and not run across something gruesome at some point in your career.” She got up and began stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase. “Speaking of gruesome ... you spent the night with Cole Goodman.”
Bailey groaned. “Could we please just not talk about that? He was there when no one else was. End of story.”
“Yet you two seemed awfully cozy when you walked into work together.” A.J. started on the second pillow. “And he was reluctant to let me take you away from him.”
“He’s a sucker for a damsel in distress, apparently.”
“That man doesn’t strike me as a sucker for a damsel in anything. You know Rachel in graphics? She’s thrown herself at him more than once and says he barely even glanced at her cleavage.”
Bailey pursed her lips. “Her cleavage is mighty impressive.”
“I know, right? My eyes go right to it every time I see her. I think she might think I’m interested.”
Bailey laughed. “Well, you were complaining about not having a date last weekend.”
“Well, you can bet your ass that if Cole Goodman were on the dating menu, I’d be placing a to-go order.”
Bailey picked at an imaginary thread on the arm of the chair. “He’s not that hot.”
A.J.’s jaw dropped. “Have you looked at him?”
“Yeah, he’s ripped.” Bailey tried for a casual shrug even as she remembered him standing shirtless in his dining room. And if that weren’t sexy enough, there was the diagonally cut grilled cheese he’d made for her. “So what?”
A.J. put her hands on her hips. “You’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
A.J. peered closer. “Yes. You are. What happened between you two?”
Bailey abandoned the comfy chair, managing to suppress her wince, and walked into the living room. She had to fight the urge to flatten her damp palms against her flaming cheeks. “Nothing. Geez.”
A.J. followed close behind. “I know you, woman, and something happened.”
Bailey’s resolve crumbled, and she faced her friend. “You’re obviously forgetting that he’s a friend of Daniel’s. And not just casual, work friends. I saw a picture of them. They were college roommates and obviously the best of buds.”
A.J.’s shoulders sagged. “Oh. Crap. Guess that explains the attitude.”
“Yeah.” Bailey rubbed at the tense knot at the nape of her neck.
A.J. gestured at the denim sofa that matched the chair in her bedroom. Big red pillows were cocked just so at each end. “Want to sit and talk about it?”
“I’m tired. I’d rather—”
“You won’t be able to relax. Not unless you unload.”
A.J. knew her too well. Bailey sank down onto the sofa and stared at the catalogs—Pottery Barn, Williams-Sonoma, Crate & Barrel—scattered across the white, wooden coffee table that had probably come from one of them. While many women bought shoes and clothes, A.J. invested in furniture and kitchen gadgets.
“Let’s start with the mugging and break-in,” A.J. said, deadly serious now. “The mugger took your camera bag, and whoever broke in – maybe the same guy – took your Mac and backup hard drive. It seems obvious that someone is after some pictures.”
“But of what? I don’t have anything that—”
“Someone thinks you do.” A.J. settled onto the white wicker chair adjacent to the couch. “Who could that be?”
“I don’t even know where to start. Cole said we should go over my assignments for the past couple of weeks.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“My schedule is on my phone. I won’t be able to remember everything.”
“When did you back it up last?”
“Last night on my Mac.”
“Damn. What about online backup?”
Bailey massaged her eyes. God, she was an idiot. “I didn’t think I needed that with the external hard drive. I usually keep that at work, but I took it home a few weeks ago to update the files. I just hadn’t taken it back to work yet.”
“That bites.”
Bailey’s laugh was abrupt. “Yeah.” An incredible understatement for twenty-five years’ worth of photos. And it hit her that they were gone. Pictures of her family, before it had been torn apart. Pictures of her father, so alive and full of fun. Pictures of James, before his life had gotten so complicated. Pictures of Austin growing up. Oh, God, so many pictures of Austin when he had been all hers, before she’d had to give him back to his father and everything inside her had begun to splinter.
A.J. knelt before her and grasped her hand. “Bailey.”
She forced a smile. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.”
A hitch of emotion caught in her chest. “Everything I had was on that Mac and hard drive.”
“They’re pictures, honey. Photocopies of memories. No one can take those.”
Bailey knew she was right. But sometimes it seemed that all she had were those damn photos. And now they were gone, like so many other things. Like her mother. And her father. And the baby …
Oh, God, the pressure inside her was building.
A.J.’s fingers tightened on hers. “Hey.”
Bailey had to force herself to focus on her friend.
A.J. gave her a sympathetic smile. “This is important. I want to know the real reason you blushed when we were talking about how ripped Cole is.”
Bailey laughed softly and swiped at her eyes, grateful that A.J. always knew when to back off. “I saw him without his shirt.”
A.J.’s eyes went wide. “No kidding?”
“You know how good he looks in those crisp white shirts he wears?”
“Uh huh.”
“Without the shirt is way better.”
A.J. started shaking her head. “You are one cruel bitch.”
Chapter 16
Standing before the door of Daniel’s apartment, Cole took several deep breaths. It had been a long day. He’d barely made the deadline for his piece on the senator, by far not his best work. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to concentrate. He kept seeing the scar marring Bailey’s smooth skin, kept hearing the crack in her voice.
See that scar? You don’t get one of those from an abortion. Ask your buddy about it.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he told himself he’d let himself get sucked in. Hadn’t he sworn he would never let that happen again?
But Bailey was different. He was sure of it.
No, he thought, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He wasn’t sure at all. He simply wanted her to be different, and wanting something didn’t make it so. He’d wanted his mother to stick around. He’d wanted his sister to realize what she’d left behind and return to her three children. He’d wanted to have kids with his wife and live happily ever after. He’d wanted Sally McCoy to stay on the turnaround track and not mess up her life again. None of those things had happened. He was an idiot to expect Bailey to be different.
But he kept seeing her with Austin, and there was no doubt in his mind that she loved that kid with every cell. And how could she love a child like that yet do what Daniel had said she’d done because of her career?
He acknowledged that th
ere were all kinds of arguments. The timing might have been off. Maybe she hadn’t been ready to be a mother or there had been other extenuating circumstances. He could accept that, legally, abortion was a woman’s choice. But the father should at least be involved in the decision. And that was really what was at issue here: Daniel had said that Bailey hadn’t even told him they’d made a life together before she’d ended it.
He took a breath and knocked.
Daniel opened the door and broke into a grin. “Cole! What the hell?”
Cole tried to grin back, but his facial muscles felt stiff. “Hope it’s cool I didn’t call first. My cell battery’s down to one bar.”
“No prob.” Daniel stepped back to open the door wider. “Come on in.”
In gray sweat shorts and a teal-and-white Miami Dolphins T-shirt, Daniel looked as though he’d just had a shower after a workout, his blond hair damp and his face red and splotchy. The TV blared a football game, probably a replay of a Gators game. Daniel loved reliving the glory of past wins by their alma mater.
“I was just getting ready to pop open a beer,” Daniel said. “Want one?”
“Sure.” Cole followed him into the kitchen, noting that Daniel was a better housekeeper by only a hair than Bailey’s brother. The place smelled faintly like dirty socks, and clutter consisting of newspapers, sports magazines and unopened mail was piled on every available surface. Crusty dishes filled both sides of the stainless steel sink. More dirty dishes were stacked on a countertop that looked like it hadn’t seen the soapy side of a sponge in weeks.
“Don’t mind the mess. Maid comes tomorrow.”
Lucky her, Cole thought, accepting the bottle that Daniel handed him. The first crisp swallow of beer went down like cool water on a flaming hot day. He hoped the alcohol calmed the nerves in his gut.
“Sit.” Daniel gestured at a couple of tall directors chairs at the breakfast bar.
Cole settled onto the black canvas seat and took another healthy swig of beer.
Daniel did the same. “So what’s up?”
“Bailey Chase.”
Daniel, about to drink again, stopped with the bottle poised before his lips. His features went hard and dark. “What is she saying about me?”
“Nothing. I spent some time with her recently, and—”
Daniel set his beer on the counter with a thunk. “Man, that’s not cool. That bitch is bad news.”
Cole stiffened. “Don’t call her that.”
Daniel got up and began to pace. “Fuck. She’s gotten to you. She’s all vulnerable and sweet and funny and, well, Christ, her ass alone is enough to make you forget—”
“Dan.”
Cole’s sharp tone had Daniel swinging around to face him. “Whatever she told you, I did not hit her.”
Cole’s stomach jerked. But instead of walking away now, while he still had time to save himself from a shitload of drama, he waited for Daniel to give in to his own hatred of silence. It didn’t take long.
“That’s what she’s saying, isn’t it? That I hit her?”
Cole didn’t respond until he was sure he could speak evenly. The thought of this huge, muscled guy taking a swing at Bailey, or any woman, made his whole body go hot with rage. “She hasn’t said you did anything.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I saw her scar.”
Daniel’s face went white.
“She suggested I ask you about it,” Cole added.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed, and then the color returned to his cheeks, his eyes widening as if he’d just worked out a riddle. “You son of a bitch. You messed around with my girlfriend.”
“I didn’t—” Cole broke off, confused and irritated at the mixed signals coming off the guy. “Ex-girlfriend.”
“Like that matters? You know she screwed me over, and you still went for it. How did you expect me to react?”
Cole finished his beer and carefully set the bottle down. “I have somewhere else to be.”
Daniel followed him to the door. “What do you want from me anyway? I already told you all about it. She’s a fucking bitch.” He gave a mirthless, ugly laugh. “And when I say ‘fucking bitch,’ I put the emphasis on fucking. She’s a tiger—”
Cole pivoted and punched him.
Chapter 17
James Chase sat in his red, beat-up Toyota Corolla and squinted into the sun as it floated toward the line where the Gulf of Mexico met the sky. Dark pink streaked toward the horizon as if fingertips had smeared watered-down blood across a light blue canvas.
He was waiting for darkness, when the seniors and vacationers headed to nearby restaurants for dinner. Then he would get out of his car and wander out to the beach in front of the Sandpiper Resort on Kendall Falls Beach. There, he would meet the man who (please, God) would help him dig out of this particular sand trap he’d landed in.
Luck was not on his side.
But, then, it rarely had been.
The one time he’d been truly lucky was the night he’d pulled over to help a woman change a flat tire during a driving rainstorm. That woman had been Theresa, and he’d fallen for her fast. A few months later, she was pregnant. He’d proposed on one knee, right at the water’s edge only a few yards from where he was parked.
When he’d slipped the ring on her finger on their wedding day, he’d never been so happy. Unfortunately, Theresa died an hour after delivering Austin. The doctor had explained something about excessive bleeding that couldn’t be stopped. And James went from being a husband, proud papa and luckiest man alive to being a stricken single parent.
He’d thought he’d been lucky again when Payne Kincaid helped him out. His father had seemed pleased that his best friend had offered his son a job—that’s what family did, and Kincaid had always been considered a part of the family.
He wondered what his father would have thought if he’d known that his best friend was not only the head of a major smuggling ring but also behind his son’s downfall.
To be fair, James couldn’t blame Payne Kincaid for all of his problems. Kincaid had not given him the drugs to which he’d become addicted nor had he known how James was spending the thousands he was being paid every week.
To be even more fair, Kincaid had not even led James into his life of crime. He’d originally hired James to do nothing more than drive a truck delivering fancy works of art to rich-ass customers all over Florida, which had suited James just fine. He’d had no plans to follow in Kincaid’s footsteps. In fact, he’d had no plans at all. His wife was dead. All he needed was a paycheck so he could feed and diaper his motherless son.
If he’d had a résumé, “become an importer of art” certainly would not have been the objective on it. The way he saw it, making art deliveries was simply a means to an end—until the day he found out the truth about his Uncle Payne’s business.
Payne Kincaid was indeed an importer of art. But art wasn’t the only merchandise on the manifest. When James had confronted Kincaid about what he’d discovered by accident, Kincaid had been beside himself with regret and anger.
“You weren’t supposed to be driving that truck,” he’d said. “You weren’t supposed to drive any of the trucks that had illegal goods on them. Damn it, I didn’t want you anywhere near this business, but your father asked me for a favor, and how could I say no?”
And then Kincaid—probably because he feared James would go to the cops, or worse, would tell his father the true nature of his best friend’s business—had made James an offer he couldn’t refuse: more money than he could ever have imagined.
James had jumped at it. Why the hell not? He certainly wasn’t going to rat out his father’s best friend, especially when the guy was offering to cut him in on a business that was going gangbusters. Sure, it was illegal, but it’s not like he was becoming a drug dealer or a hired killer. Besides, at that point in his life, he’d gotten nowhere by doing the right thing. He’d tried to play by the rules, and life had swatted him down like a badminton p
layer whacking the shit out of a shuttlecock.
So James had accepted the offer, with dollar signs dancing in his head and one big caveat: He’d wanted Kincaid to show him the ropes. Kincaid had agreed only reluctantly and, James suspected, only because he figured James would eventually get bored or have a guilt attack and move on. Instead, James stumbled right into his niche. He discovered he could close a deal with the best of them, and before he knew it, he was not only helping Kincaid run his business, he and Kincaid were talking partnership.
All was going well until James discovered how much he enjoyed cocaine and other recreational drugs. He could buy whatever he wanted with the money he made working with Kincaid. Drugs, women ... and a fancy car.
And now, a year after walking out of prison a free man, with plans to never dirty up his newly clean slate, James stared out at the water, his heart drumming louder in his ears the darker the sky became. What he was about to do was desperate, and his request would probably get shot down in a heartbeat.
But he had to try.
That’s what Bailey would tell him. “Maybe it won’t work, Jamie, but you have to try.”
God, why couldn’t he have been more like his sister? Nothing seemed to knock her down. After the accident, she’d been a rock. She’d taken care of everything. Gotten him a lawyer. Given his son a good, warm, loving home. Arranged the funeral and burial of their father. Never once had she lost her cool with him. Never once had she called him a weak drug-addicted son of a bitch father killer. Even though that’s what he was.
Bailey usually called them as she saw them. But not that time. At least, not to his face. Knowing her, he doubted she’d even allowed herself to think something so counterproductive. She was entirely focused on moving on.
Now, James vowed, now he was totally focused on being productive. He’d fix this. He’d repay Kincaid what he owed, and he’d make things right. He would never screw up like this again. Never.
Resigned, he stepped out of the car and shut the door. Taking a moment to calm himself, he lit a cigarette and concentrated on sucking the nicotine into his lungs. He could hear the water gently washing onto shore, the distant shrieks of little kids at a nearby pool. A mellow, salty breeze lifted the hair off his forehead as he crossed the white, shifting sand that crunched like sugar underfoot.