The sun was just starting to come up. Hopefully the few people who were still out at this time of day would be too drunk or too preoccupied to remember seeing him.
What the hell? Why was he feeling guilty? If the lump in his throat grew any larger, Caleb wouldn’t be able to breathe. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t killed Weber. Weber had been drunk and tripped.
However, if anyone could place him on the yacht around the time of Weber’s death, Caleb was fucked.
McKenzie Price didn’t move. Sitting on the closed toilet lid in the john, her thin legs were pulled up and her arms were wrapped tightly around them. She’d heard everything. She had no idea what time she’d passed out, but when she woke up, she’d stumbled into the bathroom to relieve herself.
When she heard angry voices, she peeked through the crack in the door. Although she didn’t know Caleb O’Toole, she’d seen him at a couple of Weber’s parties.
When Weber fell, she didn’t think much about it. He was drunk like he usually was.
She held her breath until she heard Caleb’s footsteps go down the stairs. She had just started to creep out of the bathroom and heard footsteps. Panicked, McKenzie quietly closed the door and waited.
She’d waited twenty minutes after she heard Caleb leave before she slowly crept out.
Cautiously, she tiptoed to where Weber lay. Leaning over his body, she whispered, “Jack?” Leaning closer, she saw the blood. “Oh, God.” Trembling, she stood up straight and covered her mouth, forcing herself to swallow her scream. The last thing she needed to be involved in Jack Weber’s death.
She wrapped her arms around herself, not able to take her eyes away from the blood that continued to pour out of his head. Turning away, she needed a hit. Christ. Was Weber really fucking dead?
Shaking, she pulled out a few pills from her pocket and stuffed them into her mouth. She weaved toward the bar, found a glass half-full of clear liquid, and chased the pills down with gin.
She had to get out of here. Already having a police record for theft and possession of paraphernalia, McKenzie didn’t need this shit. Tears streaming down her face, she turned on her heels, fell, and scrambled to get up. Not only was she shit-faced, but her bouts with anorexia had left her frail.
There was no way she would tell anyone what had happened. She’d learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut.
She stared down at her worn tennis shoes hurrying down the pier. Pushing her unkempt, strawberry-blonde hair back over her ears, she felt the Valium start to kick in. When O’Toole had said something about a ticket is when Weber had become enraged. She’d also seen Caleb going through Weber’s pockets. Ticket? What kind of a ticket would make both of them so angry?
Paranoid Caleb might be watching, McKenzie jogged down the street, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. She needed to get back to her safe place.
A cold chill ran through her veins when she thought of Weber lying in his own thick pool of blood. Whatever the hell they’d fought about had to be important, as O’Toole hadn’t even tried calling for help, and Jack Weber was dead.
know what you did, Caleb read the note again. Meet me at two p.m. tomorrow in front of The Crab House. I’ll find you.
Every time Caleb read the words, it felt like a knife slicing through his chest. If this had something to do with Weber’s death, why had someone waited for six months to blackmail him?
When he came down the stairs this morning, Caleb had found the paper pushed under his door. Combing his fingers through his hair, he rested his hand on the back of his neck. Did this have to do with the lottery ticket? Caleb’s eye began to twitch as he paced to the floor-to-ceiling windows and back to the kitchen.
Anyone who lived in the building needed a security code to get in which meant that unless the person who wrote the note lived here, someone would have had to let him or her in.
This had to be about Weber, Caleb speculated. Caleb was being blackmailed. Damn it. He closed his fist, wadding up the note in his hand. He’d checked the God damned boat. No one was there, unless … they’d been hiding.
He’d paced his condo most of the day, trying to think who would have been on Weber’s yacht that night. He had nowhere to go until it was time to meet Ling as he’d quit his job a couple of months ago. Between the publicity he received for winning the lottery, along with his positions on numerous boards that wanted his money more than his input, he didn’t have time to work. These new responsibilities had become a full-time job.
At five, he took a shower. He was not about to let the note ruin tonight, Caleb thought as the warm water pulsated over his tight neck and shoulder muscles. He’d been planning this night for weeks. He pulled a navy blue V-neck sweater over his head. After he’d met Ling, he’d replaced his wardrobe to better match her classic, yet less formal, style, trading suits for slacks and sports jackets, and button-down collared shirts for casual, yet expensive sweaters. Ling dressed in conservative pieces that were tailored to her small frame.
After Caleb applied gel, he finger-combed his thick, blonde hair into place, and then slipped into his twelve-hundred dollar John Lobb loafers. On his way out the door, he pushed the note into his pocket and set out for the pier to meet Ling.
It was almost six when he spotted her walking toward him. Even though he was a total wreck, his heart melted. “Hey, you,” he said, leaning over to kiss her briefly on the lips. “You have anyone special in your life?”
“I do.” Ling’s eyes sparkled.
He put his arms around her and brought her close. Until he’d met Ling, Caleb never knew that he could love someone this much. “I have reservations at a very special restaurant.”
Ling was impeccably dressed in a baby blue suit and black patent-leather heels. Her skin always looked dewy, as if she’d just stepped out of a shower.
She held up a bag of groceries. “I was hoping we could just to go your place.”
“You’re cooking?” It would be easy to cancel the reservations, and besides, Caleb wasn’t up to being around a lot of people tonight.
“You can be my sous chef.”
He raised an eyebrow, and took the bag from her. “You mean like, cut up stuff?”
“That would be the deal.” Ling put her arm through his.
It was rush hour and, as usual, the streets were crammed with drivers trying to honk their way forward. Caleb didn’t notice the people who hurried past them as he only had eyes for Ling.
“Everything okay?” Ling asked. “You seem like you’re in another world.”
“I have an idea I want to talk to you about.” He put his free arm around her. He had to get the note off his mind. “I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
When they reached his condo, she hurried up the stairs to change. When they’d committed to being exclusive, Ling had brought over a few casual clothes to change into when she slept over on weekends.
He opened a bottle of wine and poured it into the wine glasses. “I assume you want white wine?” he called out, hoping Ling hadn’t smelled the gin on his breath.
“You know me too well.” She bopped down the stairs wearing cut-offs and a tank top, pulling her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a scrunchie. Then she nodded at the only chair in the great room. “Think we should start looking for some furniture for you? That chair looks lonely.”
“Maybe.” Caleb handed her a glass of wine. “What are we cooking?”
Ling took out shrimp, fettuccini, fresh garlic, green onions, and cilantro from the grocery sack. “Pasta dish. Mom’s recipe.”
He took a sip of wine and put his glass down on the marble-topped center island. “What can I do?”
“Cut up the onions.” She took out a paring knife and handed it to Caleb.
After Ling filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove, she lit the burner while Caleb chopped the bunch of green onions.
“I want to talk to you,” Caleb said.
“About?”
Trying hard not to think about the note, h
e smiled. “I’ve been thinking.”
“It’s good to think.” She opened the refrigerator and put the bag of fresh shrimp inside.
“Remember when you told me you wanted to bring orphans from China to the states? Place them with American parents?”
Ling bent over and took a skillet from a cupboard. “Uh huh.”
“Well, I’ve done some research.”
Ling abruptly stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “On?”
“You could be a go-between for an adoption agency in China. The adoptive parents’ spokesperson. Like a middle man.”
“That would take lots of time and money.” Ling turned and took out the olive oil from the pantry.
“I have a lot of time and money.”
“Caleb.” She put her hand on her hip. “You can’t be serious.”
Caleb set the knife down on the counter. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Ling lit the burner and put the pot filled with water on it. “That’s my dream, not yours, and I’m perfectly capable of—”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “And now it’s our dream.” Caleb touched the end of her turned-up nose with the tip of his finger.
“You don’t have to do this. I’m already in …” She looked away.
“In love with me,” he finished.
She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe.”
“I’m not trying to buy your love. I want to do this.”
A serious expression came over Ling’s face. “I have around a hundred grand saved, and—”
“Stop.” Caleb put his finger gently on her lips. “We’re not using your money. I’m the lottery man, remember?”
“That wouldn’t be fair. I want to do this someday, and use my own money. I just have to work a few more years and—”
“One more thing.” He took out a small, dark blue velvet box from his pocket. “I think we should do this as a team.” He opened the box.
She looked down at the diamond solitaire and gasped. “Are you—”
“Proposing?” He slowly went down on one knee, his eyes not leaving hers. “Yes.” Oh, God, what if she said no? Maybe he should have waited for a—
“But,” Ling said and hesitated, “we’ve only—”
“Known each other for a few months? I have the answer to any argument. If you say one more ‘but,’ I won’t be responsible for what I do.” He was starting to choke up. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”
The condo grew silent for a few seconds and Caleb saw a tear roll down Ling’s cheek. “Me either,” she whispered.
Caleb let out the breath he’d been holding and reverently took the ring out of the box. His hands trembling, he took hold of her left hand. “Ling Jameson, will you be my wife?”
Her tear filled eyes searched his and she nodded.
He slid the ring onto her finger, stood and kissed her gently on the lips. Caleb didn’t want her to see him fall apart. Until he’d read the note this morning, his every waking moment was spent thinking about Ling.
She held her hand up, admiring the shiny diamond on her petite ring finger. “Caleb,” she said, and looked up at him, “it’s beautiful, but the stone is so big. I just want—”
“Be quiet.” Caleb covered her lips with his.
Later that night, when he’d gently made love to her, he felt more passion than he’d ever felt before. Caleb wished they could get married tonight as he never wanted to be with her all the time. He didn’t know what he’d do if she changed her mind.
After they dressed, he walked her home. She had an early meeting in the morning and Caleb was grateful that she hadn’t wanted to spend the night. He had some serious thinking to do.
“I can’t believe I’m getting married,” she told Caleb when they reached the door to her apartment.
“Second thoughts?”
“No.” Ling shook her head. “I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever get married. I’ve really never let anyone into my life before.”
“Why me?”
Ling gazed into his eyes. “My father has never said an unkind word to my mother. He treats her like a queen. I never thought I’d find someone like Samuel Jameson.”
“There are a lot of jerks out there, so I’m glad you found me, too.” He grinned. How could anyone like her be in love with someone like him?
He kissed her goodnight again, wishing he could get the note off his mind.
Walking back to his condo, he wondered who could have had been on the boat that night. Maybe the person was bluffing, and trying to squeeze money out of Caleb. No … someone had to have been on the yacht. The person must have seen Caleb take the lottery ticket from Weber’s pocket. Caleb was in deep. Whoever it was would only come back over and over again for more money.
“Whoever it is, you’ve gotta get rid of them.” Caleb heard and stopped walking. When he saw there was no one around, his heart started to palpitate.
Maybe he’d overheard a conversation when someone walked by.
“Take control, O’Toole.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“You’re such a pussy,” the voice whispered.
Caleb glanced in every direction, but no one was close enough for him to hear them talking. What the hell was going on? He felt the perspiration trickling from his forehead down his temples.
“For once, grab your fuckin’ balls and be a man,” the male voice told him.
cKenzie Price tore out a page from the used notebook she’d found on the window sill. She tore the paper in half and laid the two strips close together on the filthy wooden floor of the condemned warehouse.
Usually there were a bevy of homeless people sleeping head-to-head inside the brick building, but since it was nice outside today, no one was here but McKenzie.
The windows in the dilapidated warehouse were shattered, and the tattered wood floors were covered in a thick coat of dust. For the past six years, McKenzie had lived on the streets, bartering sex in exchange for drugs. It had been a treat to find a building in the Tenderloin where the cops hadn’t shooed her out, or arrested her for trespassing.
McKenzie got down on her knees beside the strips of paper before reaching into her pocket to bring out the small plastic sack. Holding the packet up to the light, she smiled at the two light yellow crystals shaped like sugar-cubes. Rummaging through a pile of rags, she found the pipe. It was only a matter of time before her street buddies found her paraphernalia, and, in turn, McKenzie would have to steal someone else’s pipe.
She hadn’t always been an addict. When she’d graduated from high school, McKenzie had gotten a job, secured an apartment, and even had a nice boyfriend. But that first hit of crack had sent her to a world she’d never been before. The drug had made her forget about the overdue bills, the fact she’d never made her mother happy one day of her life, and that her boyfriend had cheated on her with her best friend. Screw the good life her parents had told McKenzie she would have. It was a fucking zoo out there.
Her older brother was always preaching about how McKenzie needed to get her life in order. And she’d tried to get straight a couple of times. But the agonizing pain she’d had to go through while weaning off crack, along with the discovery that she was never going to get out of debt, landed her right back to the streets.
Damn, she thought as she took out one of the cubes from the bag, she hoped this was good stuff. So many people McKenzie used to know had died from drugs that had been laced with some serious crap.
After she dropped one of the sugar-cube squares into the opening of the pipe, she sealed the plastic bag and pushed it back into her pocket. She flicked the lighter and held the flame close to the opening of the pipe. Once the crack started to melt, she inhaled deeply and her eyes rolled back.
Reds, yellows, and blues swirled around her as she scooted back into the wall. Heaven. McKenzie’s mind became peaceful and her muscles relaxed as she went
to the place she called Nirvana.
When her eyes shot open, she had no idea what time it was. Paranoid someone had stolen her stuff, her eyes raked the floor. Relieved to find the lighter and pipe beside her, she glanced around anxiously to see if anyone was watching. When McKenzie found she was still alone, she slid the lighter into her pocket and pushed the pipe underneath the rags again.
Oh, God, what time was it? Had she slept past when she’d told O’Toole to meet her? She’d waited six long months before she’d gathered enough courage to write the note. McKenzie was entitled to some of O’Toole’s money for keeping her mouth shut. Given the amount he’d won, what she was asking for wouldn’t put a dent in his fortune.
Propping up on her knees, she squinted through the cracks in the window pane to the large clock across the street; five minutes until twelve. Thank God it was light out as that meant it was noon, and not midnight.
Weber had taken McKenzie to O’Toole’s place once before, so she knew where O’Toole lived. She doubted, however, that Caleb O’Toole remembered her. She was nobody; just a street whore who used to deliver Weber his drugs. To hell with the men who took advantage of her. Her life was about to change.
Early yesterday morning, McKenzie had frantically knocked on the front door of O’Toole’s condo building. Crying hysterically, she’d summoned the cleaning woman who was vacuuming the hallway. After McKenzie had given the employee a sob story that she needed to tell her sister that their mother had just died, the woman had let her in. Christ. Everyone was so fucking gullible. Once inside the building, McKenzie had slipped the note under O’Toole’s door.
She needed to get ready to meet Mr. Big Shot O’Toole. Stumbling to the stack of clothing she’d collected from dumpsters, she was jittery. Would he agree to pay her or tell her to get lost? He had to pay up or McKenzie would fucking turn him in. For once, she held the power.
Holding up a red dress with a low-cut neckline, McKenzie shook it out, the garment blurring from the effects of the drug. “No … no … no,” she slurred, “you won’t do.” When she came across the bell-bottom jeans and a paisley scarf, she smiled; casual, yet the scarf added a touch of class. Perfect.
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