by Kate Hewitt
Louise shook her head. “Nora said her family wasn’t interested. Apparently they think she’s just off having a good time.”
“And maybe she is,” Chelsea said, but she sounded unconvinced.
“Until we know that for sure…” Louise began, nibbling her lip in anxiety. It seemed more and more likely something terrible had happened to Harlow—but what?
The last time she’d felt this kind of anxiety for someone else, Louise remembered, had been when she’d returned home at eighteen to find Chelsea gone. Louise had searched out her friends, her boyfriend, but nobody had known or even cared. She’d dropped out of school and disappeared, and Louise had blamed herself.
She didn’t want Harlow to slip through the cracks the way Chelsea had.
“What about the police, then?” Chelsea asked, and Louise shook her head.
“Nora and Addison have already contacted the police in London. They’re not interested either, and I’m not even sure I can blame them. From the outside it really does look like a beautiful young woman went on holiday with her rich lawyer boyfriend. No one’s officially reported her missing, not locally and not her family.”
“And Nora and Addison don’t count?”
“Apparently not.”
“You know this woman, at least a little bit,” Chelsea said after a moment. “Do you think she might have gone off with some boyfriend?”
Louise thought of Harlow, her reckless, heady, defiance, her impassioned determination to right the world’s wrongs. Her utter naïvete, born of immense wealth and privilege. “I think,” she said slowly, “she’s far more likely to pretend she’s got a rich lawyer boyfriend in order to get closer to whatever she’s found out.”
“So you think she has found something out.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? She was engrossed in her thesis on sex trafficking and then all of a sudden she announces she has an internship with Treffen, Howell, and Smith. I admit I was a little disappointed. I thought she was selling out.”
“But now you think she discovered something,” Chelsea said heavily, and Louise nodded, her stomach hollowing out with that realization.
“What if, while things were coming to a head here with Jason Treffen, she was in London discovering just how wide and sticky his web is?”
Chelsea was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. “You know, Treffen said something to me, right before we went off the air. I thought he was just full of shit at the time, and I was too triumphant at bringing him down really to think about it later.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he called me a stupid bitch, first of all,” Chelsea said with a wry smile, and Louise smiled back.
“I seem to remember that.”
“And then he said I had no idea what I was doing.” Chelsea paused, the furrow in her brow deepening as she tried to recall his exact words. “He said something about how I didn’t know what I was opening up.”
“Opening up?”
“And then he said ‘It’s not just—’ and stopped suddenly.”
Louise turned to her sister, her face pale, her stomach churning. “And then a little while later he was shot.”
“Frightening, isn’t it,” Chelsea said quietly. “It’s not just him, do you think he meant? It’s not just New York? What if someone is involved above Treffen? What if they were pulling Treffen’s strings?”
Louise rubbed a hand over her eyes, suddenly, overwhelmingly weary. “That’s a terrifying thought.” She took a deep breath. “It seems like this thing could be bigger than anyone imagined. Too big for us to handle, probably. But I can’t stand the thought of Harlow out there somewhere. I want to do something.”
“I can talk to Alex again. Maybe he knows someone who has access to shipping routes, port information, that kind of thing. We could find out where that yacht went, at least.”
“Alex has done a lot already. This isn’t his problem.”
“If it involves Treffen, he wants to know. And help.”
Louise nodded slowly, her mind still spinning. Shipping routes. Port information. Alex might not have access to that kind of information, but Louise knew someone who did.
The CEO of JR Shipping.
She battled with herself for the rest of the day about whether to see Jaiven. Reason told her to steer clear. Her heart ached just to see him again, even though she knew it would serve no purpose. Nothing could happen between them now.
Stupid heart.
In the end she told herself she was doing this for Harlow’s sake, and her former student’s safety was more important than any temptation she might feel in Jaiven’s presence.
It was only when she was in the cab on the way up to his place in the Bronx that night, that she remembered Jaiven was one of Alex’s best friends. Alex could talk to Jaiven about finding information on the yacht. She didn’t have to go see him personally.
Even so she didn’t ask the cabbie to turn back to Manhattan. She didn’t even consider it. She’d worked herself up to seeing him again, and there was no way she was backing down now. Maybe she needed this, a final meeting, for some kind of closure. Maybe she’d find some kind of peace, or at least stop thinking about him all the time.
Yeah, right. That’s what she’d told herself last time, when she’d been pulling off his clothes.
The cab pulled up in front of Jaiven’s brownstone, and she saw lights twinkling in the rooms above. It looked as if he was in, but what if his mother was over again? Or far worse, another woman?
At least she was wearing more than a trench coat and a pair of stilettos.
Taking a deep breath, Louise got out of the cab. She stood on the front stoop, shivering despite the warm air. The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, and then she heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. Felt him peering through the eyehole, even though she couldn’t see whether he was or not. Her mouth curved in a rictus smile.
And Jaiven opened the door.
“Louise.”
He looked, she saw with an ache of longing, beautiful. His hair was a little rumpled, his jaw darkened with five o’clock shadow. He wore a worn gray T-shirt that clung to his six-pack abs, and faded jeans that molded over his butt. She had to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to croak,
“Jaiven.”
His eyes seemed to glow or even burn as he looked at her. “How are you?”
“Um, fine. May I come in?”
“Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face and stepped aside. “Of course.”
She came inside, felt the heat and strength of him even though he was standing several feet away. Had to fight to keep from flinging herself into his arms and begging him to make love to her.
There’d be no love involved, anyway, she reminded herself, but that didn’t keep the savage beat of longing from pulsing through her veins. A longing that was mixed with trepidation and fear, because just the memory of the last time they’d been together still had the power to make her stomach churn.
It was over. It had to be over.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked as he headed up the curving, wrought iron staircase that led to the main living space, the open plan living and dining area she remembered from before.
Her mouth was still dry and she needed something to do with her hands. “Yes, please. A glass of water would be great.”
She stood in the center of the space and watched Jaiven move around in his kitchen, all stainless steel and granite counters, gleaming and shiny from, Louise suspected, lack of use.
Yet it was a surprisingly homey place Jaiven had, for the bachelor-on-the-prowl image he cultivated. She hadn’t really inspected it before; she’d been too occupied with Jaiven.
There was the semistandard huge entertainment system, of course, with two chocolate leather sofas framing it. In the corner there was a club chair with a reading lamp but no books that Louise could see; the bookcases that flanked a large fireplace were filled with small sculptures and artis
tic photographs. She stepped closer to examine a creation of smooth white stone and twisted wire. There was something surprisingly lovely and yet also haunting about its simplicity.
“Made by a friend,” Jaiven said as he came to stand next to her. He handed her a glass of water that Louise took with a murmured thanks; their fingers brushed as she took the glass and her heart lurched at even that small contact.
“I like it,” she said, and took a sip of water. Jaiven’s shoulder was nearly brushing her own, and she felt as if she might jump out of her skin. “It’s sad, somehow.”
“I think it’s meant to be.”
“As if the stone is trapped.” She let out a self-conscious laugh, hardly able to credit she was talking about the meaning of art with Jaiven. She risked a glance at him; he looked surprisingly serious, even subdued.
“That sounds about right,” he said, and moved away from her.
Louise watched him walk to the window overlooking the city lights stretched out in a glittering map, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans, which drew her attention to his butt again. She took another sip of water.
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, Louise,” he said after a moment, his back still to her, “but why are you here?”
“Right.” Her hand felt slippery on the glass. She was here for Harlow, even if her own selfish, stupid need to see him again had driven her across the city. “I wanted to ask you a favor…in a professional capacity.”
He turned around, his forehead furrowed in both surprise and concern. “What kind of favor?”
“A former student of mine went to London on an internship and she’s been missing for three weeks. It appears she was last seen on a pleasure yacht hired by a law firm. I wanted to know if you could find out where it went.”
He raised his eyebrows, nonplussed. “Why not just call the cops?”
“They’re not interested. As far as they’re concerned, she’s just living the high life.”
“And her family?”
Louise shrugged. “Same.”
“Why do you think she’s not just having a good time?” Jaiven asked, and Louise explained, haltingly at first, what Nora and Addison had told her, and what she knew about Harlow’s thesis and her determination to set the world to rights.
Jaiven was silent for a moment, taking it all in, and then he gave a little shrug. “I can find out where the yacht went, if you have a name for it. Or at least the name of the law firm that used it.”
“Treffen, Howell, and Smith.”
Jaiven arched an eyebrow. “As in Jason Treffen?”
“Yes… I guess you know about Treffen and what happened a couple of months ago.”
“It would be hard not to know, considering it was all over the news,” he answered drily. “Not to mention one of my best friends being engaged to the woman who interviewed him.”
“Right.”
“Who happens to be your sister. Why not get Alex and Chelsea on this? They’re more the investigative types.”
“I did. It’s thanks to them I know about the yacht at all. But they don’t have access to the kind of information I need now.”
Jaiven nodded slowly. “And if I find out where this yacht went? What are you going to do then, Louise? Chase after the bad guys?” He sounded both skeptical and a little worried—or was she just being fanciful?
“No, of course not.” She paused, considering. She didn’t really have a plan; she’d just been motivated to do something—and to see Jaiven again. That was the sad truth. “Alert the police, I suppose,” she said finally. “I don’t see what else I can do.”
“Not much,” he agreed. “But I’ll look into it. And who knows, maybe she really did just sail off into the sunset with her boyfriend.”
“Maybe,” Louise allowed, unconvinced. She’d drunk all her water and her mouth was still dry. She had no reason to stay here, every reason to leave, and yet she didn’t want to.
She should want to; she knew that. Knew she was being stupid and weak about a man who had humiliated and used her. Did she really need to walk down that road again?
And yet he’d said he was sorry. He’d wanted to make things right. He’d even said he cared about her.
Don’t go there, Louise. Don’t start making excuses. Don’t start thinking you can be the woman to change him or heal him or whatever, because you damn well can’t.
And yet Jaiven was gazing at her with a quiet steadiness she wasn’t used to from him. He teased or blazed, but he didn’t look at her with something almost like sorrow. Except right now he was, and it made her ache in all sorts of ways.
“How are you, Louise?” he asked quietly. “This thing with your student aside.”
“I’m…” She stopped, because “fine” didn’t cut it. It wasn’t even the truth. She wasn’t fine, because she missed him, and she thought about him far too much, and yet she knew, she knew, there could be nothing between them. “I’m okay,” she said finally, and he nodded slowly.
“Good.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Louise could feel her heart thud with slow, heavy beats. Feel desire and an even-deeper yearning swirl inside her. Then, with a huge amount of effort, she came to herself, as if roused from a trance.
“I should go.” She thrust the glass toward him as he reached to take it; their arms collided and she was thrown off balance. Instinctively Jaiven reached forward to steady her, one hand on her arm, another on her hip. A shudder of pure longing ripped through her, and she knew he felt it.
“If I could change things,” Jaiven said in a low voice as he held her steady, “you know I would.”
Louise looked up at him, at the blaze of intent in his eyes. He was saying the right thing, but how could he possibly mean it? She might long for him, but she didn’t trust him. Didn’t believe him. Or maybe it was herself she didn’t believe, the part of her that kept insisting Jaiven was a good guy and she should see him again. “Would you really?” she asked quietly, and made herself step away.
Jaiven frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
“What are you really saying?” she countered. “You want to have another week’s worth of casual sex, figure out a few more fantasies? Thanks, but no thanks.”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t what I was saying.”
“Then what? You want to date me? You want a relationship?” She injected the word with incredulity, daring him to disagree with her.
“And that’s absurd, isn’t it,” he said flatly. “That’s what you’re really saying. You wouldn’t date a man like me.”
“What do you mean, ‘a man like me’?”
He folded his arms, his expression stony. “Face it, Louise. You might like to play at fantasy sex with a bad boy. You might be into the tattoo and the motorcycle and the fact that I’m from the Bronx, but I’m not the type of guy you’d ever consider seriously.”
She stared at him in surprise; she’d never expected this from him. “Do you think I care about where you’re from?” she finally asked.
“The whole package, then.”
She shook her head slowly. “This isn’t about a tattoo or a motorcycle, Jaiven. It’s about who we are as people. And what we want out of life—”
“Oh, right. So you want some nerdy professor with glasses and a stamp collection and I just want a stacked bimbo.”
She flinched. “That’s a bit crude, but I suppose yes, those are some of the differences between us.”
He shook his head in what looked like weary disgust. “Right. Okay,” he said, and turned away from her.
Louise stared at his broad back, the muscles taut with tension. “Are you saying differently?” she asked. She could hear the disbelief in her voice.
Jaiven didn’t even turn around. “I told you I cared about you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but…” She shook her head slowly, hope and fear unfurling inside her, twining together.
He turned around. “Didn’t you believe
me?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
Jaiven stared at her for a long moment. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” he asked. “What I want? Because it’s over anyway.”
And Louise knew he was right. It didn’t matter. But not because of him.
Because of her.
She took a deep breath. “Look, Jaiven, what happened between us—part of it’s about me. I reacted badly because of my history. My issues. What happened…what you did, how you made me feel…” He simply stared at her, unblinking, and Louise continued stiltedly, “It was as much about me as about you.”
“I’m not sure that matters, either,” Jaiven answered. “But in any case, it is about me.” He pressed his lips together as if he didn’t want to say any more, and both saddened and curious, Louise asked,
“Why do you say that, Jaiven?”
He shook his head, his expression closed. “I know I’m not good enough for you,” he finally said, and shock blazed through her.
Was that what he thought? Was that what she thought? She’d been thinking so much about her own reaction, her own fear and past issues that she hadn’t actually thought too much about Jaiven. What he was grappling with. What had driven him to humiliate her that night.
“I wish,” she said after a moment, “I understood you.”
Jaiven let out a sudden, harsh laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“Jaiven—”
“Trust me, you don’t.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Confused and sadder than ever, Louise followed him.
He opened the door, scanned the empty street. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“You don’t have to.”
He gave her a dark look. “Don’t argue. This isn’t the safest neighborhood at night. You know that.”
“I have pepper spray in my purse.”
“That wouldn’t do much good.”
“You have experience with criminals?” She was at least half joking, trying for some lightness, but Jaiven’s expression just turned grimmer.
“As a matter of fact, yeah, I do.” He slid his phone out of his pocket and started punching in some numbers. “I employ ex-cons in my warehouses.”
“You do?” Surprised rippled through her. “Why? I mean, not that they don’t—”