“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tag drummed her fingers on the file, the fingers that had happy tattooed on them. “I get that you don’t want to admit it. I mean it looks pretty bad.”
“What does?”
“The way I understand it, you and Carissa went out, you got intimate, and you shot some video. Then she dumped your ass, so you leaked the video online.”
“She didn’t dump me. We weren’t really going out or anything. We just…you know...fooled around.”
Tag gave a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I saw the way you fooled around. Here’s what I don’t understand. Why the hell would you leak that video? You don’t come off very good in it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, come on, dude. You lasted what? Thirty seconds or so? It was embarrassing.”
“The hell it was!” He started to get to his feet, but Holmes took a threatening step forward and he sank back in his chair, watching him. “I’m not saying anymore.”
“Fine.” She took the photo of Ryan smiling for the camera and set it in front of him. “You don’t need to say anything. This says it all.”
Ryan stared at the photo and shifted uncomfortably.
“You heard of the revenge porn law?”
“What?”
“Yep. Whoever posts videos or pictures of an intimate moment with another for revenge can be prosecuted.”
“It wasn’t revenge.”
“But it was posted on a revenge porn site.”
“I didn’t post it.”
“Well, that should be easy to prove.”
Ryan buried his head in his hand. “What do you want? If you arrest me, I lose my scholarship.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you made a sex tape, huh?”
“I did it for the frat. They weren’t going to take me if I didn’t do something big, you know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Something outrageous, something...cool.”
“Cool? You think this is cool? You did this for a frat? You ruined a girl’s life to belong to a boy’s club?” Tag brought out the picture of Carissa and Ryan together.
Ryan gave Carissa’s picture a venomous look. “She was a whore. She didn’t care I took that video.”
Beside Marco, Devan shifted uncomfortably.
“She killed herself after you leaked it on-line.”
Ryan looked up at Tag, his mouth twisted. “That’s not my problem. Stupid bitch, what did she think I’d do? Everyone does it now. Everyone’s got a sex tape.”
“She lost an internship, people harassed her, they called her a whore and a slut on-line, they shared the video.”
“So what!”
“So what? She killed herself because of you.”
“That’s stupid. Prove it.”
Tag opened the file and removed the paper with the text messages on it. She slapped it down in front of Ryan. “We got these off her phone.”
Ryan read them, then his face lost color. “Okay, look, I shouldn’t have said those things, but she was harassing me, calling me all the time, crying and whining. I didn’t want to hear it anymore. It’s not like I could do anything about it. The video was already out there. It’s not my fault if people were sharing it.”
Marco closed his eyes, lowering his head. Devan made a strangled sound.
“Not your fault? How the hell is it not your fault? You tortured this girl. You destroyed her!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Ryan shouted, then he slumped in his chair. “I’m not saying anything else until my lawyer gets here.”
Tag shifted in her seat and looked at the two-way mirror. Marco turned to Devan. After a moment, the district attorney met his gaze.
“I’ll get a hearing with a judge on Monday. We’ll see if there’s enough evidence to bring the case forward to a grand jury.”
Marco nodded.
“I’m not promising anything, D’Angelo. I don’t think I’m going to get past the judge, but…” He looked into the room. “...let’s give this bastard a try.”
* * *
City View at Metreon was located on the fourth floor of the Metreon Mall. The loft space featured open ductwork and beams on the interior, then a garden terrace that wrapped around the front of the venue overlooking the City. Round tables had been set up throughout the space, each glowing with LED lights on the interior. Wait staff in crisp white shirts, bowties, and black aprons roved around carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne.
Dignitaries, business people, politicians all roamed and rubbed elbows, and the place echoed with fake laughter and too much perfume. Marco fussed with the tie on his black suit as they stepped out of the elevator and were greeted by a hostess. She asked for Peyton’s wrap and gave her a ticket, which Marco stuffed in his pocket.
“Enjoy,” she told them and motioned them forward.
Marco slid his arm around Peyton’s waist, bending close to her. “I hate this,” he grumbled.
“I know.” She turned and straightened his tie, running her hands up the lapels of his jacket. “But you’re the most handsome man here.”
He smiled down at her. She wore a little black dress with sequins sewn all over it. It shimmered when she moved and hugged her curves. The spaghetti straps showed off just a hint of cleavage and her arms were bare. The dress came to above her knees and she’d paired it with opened toed black heels, wearing her hair in loose ringlets down to the middle of her back. Except for a pair of earrings he’d given her, she’d added no other jewelry, but damned if she didn’t take his breath away whenever he looked at her.
“I’d rather be home with you.”
She smiled and he felt his heart catch. “I know. We’ll stay for a few hours, then leave. He won’t even notice.”
Marco caught motion behind her and glanced up. Devan was pushing his way through the crowd to get to them. “He’ll notice,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder, then turned. Devan wore a tuxedo in black with a white shirt and grey vest. His face lit up when he saw Peyton and he reached for her hand, kissing the back of it.
Marco tried not to whack him with his cane like an errant puppy.
“You are gorgeous,” he said, eying her up and down. Then he glanced at Marco. “D’Angelo.”
“D.A.”
“There’s food and drink everywhere, help yourselves.” He snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray and handed it to Peyton. “Damn, you really are beautiful.”
She leaned back into Marco and he slipped his hand around her waist again. “Where’s your wife?”
Devan gave a forced sad look. “She’s home. This late in the pregnancy she just isn’t feeling well. I told her it would bore her anyway.” He glanced around the room. “The mayor couldn’t make it at the last minute, but the President of the Board of Supervisors is here in his place. Come on, I want you to meet him.” He slipped her arm through his and pulled her forward. “D’Angelo, there’s a bar on the terrace if you want something harder than champagne.”
Peyton pulled back. “I think I’ll stay with Marco.”
Devan gave Marco a shuttered look.
“It’s okay. I’ll get a drink. I’m not into mingling.” She looked reluctant, but he ran a hand down her back under her mane of hair. “It’s okay. We’ll meet up later.”
She hesitated some more, so he walked off, headed for the terrace. The entire wall of the building was made of glass. Beyond it, the City shown in all its high-rise, sparkling glory and the night was mild as he stepped onto the terrace. A few women gave him appraising looks, but he ignored them, moving toward the glowing bar in the corner. Leaning on the counter, he braced the cane against the underside.
A handsome bartender with a neatly cut beard moved toward him. “What can I get you?”
“A shot of Jack.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten, placing it on the bar.
The bartender returned with the shot and
set it in front of him. Marco stared at the amber liquid for a moment, then he reached for it and threw it back.
* * *
Peyton let Devan usher her around the room, introducing her to one person after another, but she couldn’t remember any of the names. She was more worried about Marco and wanted to get back to him. Devan kept a proprietary hand in the middle of her back, something that annoyed her. Hadn’t he married his wife, Rani, in order to have a trophy to show around like this?
And the people didn’t give a damn who she was. After Devan announced that she was FBI, the conversation became stilted as if they weren’t sure how to act around her. She didn’t really care. In this room of politicians and high rollers, there must be any number of criminals, but tonight she wasn’t on the clock.
As soon as Devan got caught up in a conversation with a media mogul, Peyton slipped away, headed for the terrace. As she approached the wall of glass windows, a man grabbed the door handle and held it open for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he answered, giving her a wink.
Peyton stepped onto the terrace and glanced back at him. Was he flirting? She was so unused to men flirting with her so blatantly, she wasn’t sure? He closed the door behind her and his eyes roved downward, over her ass and legs. Peyton gave a little laugh, turning back around to search for her fiancé. Moving toward the edge of the balcony, she marveled at the beauty of the City rising around her, resplendent in lights and ethereal in the slowly advancing fog. Night hid much of the rawness of its underbelly, but up here it was all sparkle and fantasy.
Glancing along the terrace, she saw a tall figure leaning on a glowing bar and she started toward him.
“Well, if it isn’t the stunning Inspector Brooks,” came a smoky voice at her back. She’d recognize this voice anywhere and a thrill raced up her spine, causing goose flesh along her arms.
She turned and gave him a smile. “Joshua Ravensong, imagine you at a function like this.”
He was beautiful, dressed in a navy blue suit, his pale blue shirt open at the throat and showing a glimpse of bronze flesh. His dark hair was loose and flowing over his shoulders, a peek of silver shimmering at his ear. He held a glass of clear liquid and his smile softened his sharp, angular features as he moved close to her. A year ago, she and Marco had worked his case, proving him innocent of killing his ex-wife. Somewhere in the journey of that investigation, she and Ravensong had developed a friendship of sorts. It was more like a sexually charged acquaintanceship, but he definitely tripped buttons in her.
“I was promised a nice donation to my charity if I attended,” he said, then his eyes lowered over her. “You are stunning, Inspector Brooks.”
“Actually, it’s Special Agent Brooks. I’m with the FBI now.”
He gave a surprised look. “Congratulations. Giving them hell at the federal level, huh?”
She laughed. “How are you? How is Tiffany and Elena?”
His daughter Tiffany had been instrumental in solving the case for them, and his significant other, Elena, had never lost faith in his innocence.
“Well, Elena and I married at Christmas.”
“That’s fantastic. I’m so glad, Joshua.”
He gave a nod. “She’s also pregnant. That’s why she’s not here. First trimester and she’s not feeling great.”
Peyton grabbed his arm with her free hand. “Oh, I’m so happy for both of you. Are you nervous?”
“Scared to death, but I’m good. Really good right now.” He glanced at the hand that held her champagne glass. “Looks like you’re engaged.”
She nodded.
“Who’s the very lucky man?”
“My partner...well, ex-partner, Marco.”
He smiled and tilted back his head. “I thought I saw something there.”
She laughed. “I’m really glad things are working out for you, Joshua. You deserve it.”
He leaned close and kissed her cheek. He smelled of sandalwood and forbidden desires. Leaning back, he looked her in the eyes. “I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you.”
* * *
Marco glanced over as Devan leaned on the bar next to him. “What are you drinking?”
Marco tilted his glass. “Jack.”
Devan motioned at the bartender. “Refill my friend, and I’ll have a rum and coke.”
The bartender poured another shot into Marco’s glass, then fixed Devan his drink and placed it before him. Devan threw a twenty on the bar.
“Where’s my fiancée?”
“She found someone more interesting.” Devan picked up his drink and shifted, pointing down the terrace.
Marco looked over his shoulder and saw Peyton talking to the rockstar Joshua Ravensong. “Oh.” He grabbed his drink and tossed it back.
Devan gave a surprised laugh. “You really are secure in your relationship, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s Joshua Ravensong, man.”
“Yeah, so?”
Devan gave him a speculative look. “Okay?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s Joshua Ravensong.”
“I got that. Why do you keep saying it like that?”
Devan shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “If she was still mine, I’d be worried, knowing their history.”
Marco straightened away from the bar. “Their history? What the hell does that mean?”
Devan’s mouth opened and he took a step back. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Devan held up a hand. “Look, D’Angelo, forget I said anything. I’m sure it’s all in the past. In fact, I think I heard he got married, so I don’t think you have anything to be worried about.” His eyes tracked back to Peyton and the rockstar, then he looked down.
Marco glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Ravensong lean forward and kiss Peyton on the cheek.
* * *
It was just after midnight when Peyton and Marco made it home. She parked the Charger in the driveway and turned toward him. The car ride home had been silent and tense, and as soon as she turned off the ignition, he opened the door and got out. She wasn’t sure what had happened.
After she talked with Joshua, Devan had commandeered her around, meeting more people until dinner was served. She’d finally gotten to sit with Marco, but he wouldn’t talk to her and the noise in the place made it almost impossible to speak anyway. Then they’d had to sit through speeches before she could suggest they leave.
She opened her own car door and climbed out, watching him as he maneuvered his way to the ramp. Halfway up, he staggered and caught himself on the railing. She hurried after him, slipping her hand under his arm.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Peyton,” he said, pulling away from her. “The damn ramp gets slippery in the fog.”
“Okay? Are you angry with me?”
“Why would I be angry with you? We hardly spent any time together tonight.”
She searched his face in the half-darkness. “I’m sorry. I tried to get away from Devan, but he made it so difficult.”
“I told you I hate those things.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Really? It won’t? I won’t have to watch you surrounded by your ex-boyfriends anymore?”
“What?”
He started moving toward the door again, grabbing his keys. “Forget it.”
“No, what does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Clearly, it does. What ex-boyfriends?”
“Let it go, Peyton.” He shoved the key in the lock and turned it.
She followed him into the house. Pickles danced around their feet until he sensed the tension, then he sulked away, hiding under the sofa table and watching them.
“Let it go? You’re the one that brought it up. What do you mean by ex-boyfriends?”
He turned to her, slamming the do
or. “Devan and apparently Joshua Ravensong.”
“Joshua Ravensong? We were just talking.”
“Really? Does he always talk with his lips pressed to your face?”
Peyton threw her wrap down on the sofa table. “You’ve had too much to drink.” She moved to go past him.
“Devan seemed to think I was being very progressive, letting him manhandle you, but I didn’t exactly know everything, did I?”
She whirled to face him. “Know what? What exactly is it you think you know?”
“Not enough apparently. Devan mentioned you had a history with him, but stupid fool that I am, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Did this history begin when he was a suspect in our murder case? When we were investigating him?”
“No.”
“No? But there is history there?”
She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. All she’d thought about all night was him, worried about him, wanted to be with him and he was accusing her of...what? She didn’t even know. “Whatever there was between us didn’t happen when we were on the case, but I can tell you this, it happened before you and I were anything, so it’s none of your damn business.”
“That’s how you’re going to play this? That’s what I get from you? None of my damn business!”
“It was nothing, Marco. Why are you doing this to me?”
“It didn’t look like nothing from where I was standing, Peyton!”
Tears threatened in her eyes, but she wasn’t going to give in, not here, not now. He was drunk. That was the problem. He didn’t even know what he was saying. She pushed past him. “I’m taking Pickles for a walk.”
“I’ll take him. I need to clear my head anyway.”
He reached beyond her and grabbed Pickles’ leash. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, fighting the tears, but she let him go.
As she changed out of her dress and heels into his jersey, she fought to keep from crying, but as soon as she climbed into bed and turned out the lights, the sobs came, tearing out of her. She didn’t know what to do for him anymore, she didn’t know how to help, and it felt like everything was coming apart around them.
She’d fallen into a half-doze when he climbed into bed. She felt his hand slide across her waist, pulling back her hair and pressing his lips to the spot between her throat and shoulder.
Zombies in the Delta (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 1) Page 19