And I flew at him.
Ten times worse than Sienna had. I open-handedly slapped at him.
Swearing. Swinging. Not giving a fuck about where my hits landed, I charged, throwing everything I had at him.
Fists. Feet. Fingers. Elbows.
The brown bag dropped from his hands to the floor, and still I kept hitting him, sending every limb I had his way, crushing the weight of my hands over his head.
But he did nothing to stop me.
He withstood the blows, letting them rain down over his body, and I hated him even more for it.
I pounded on this—this stranger in front of me with a million hits. I pounded until I couldn’t swing anymore.
Mostly because Shelly Price and her housekeeper were pulling me back.
I wriggled and shook loose, shrugging from their grasps, screaming at Jeff with everything I had.
“You set him up, you dirty bastard! How could you? After all Jackson has done for you? You frame him for the senator’s murder?!”
Or “attempted murder.” I didn’t care. Jackson was in jail, and all because he put his trust in a man that couldn’t be trusted.
This Jeff guy—whoever-the-fuck-he-was—was a phony and a fraud, a master of disguise working with Jackson under the guise of being a partner, a confidant… a friend.
I wanted to kill him. I’m pretty sure I tried to.
He looked at me with melancholy in his eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Penelope.” Even the way he spoke was fucking different. He moved in closer.
“Don’t.” I held out my hand. “What am I finding out exactly? That you’re the most heartless person on the planet?”
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the woman in the corner of the room. Her face was stoic.
“Shelley?” I looked at her. The formalities went out the window. I had no more political correctness for the politicking Mrs. Price.
I wondered seriously where the former Secretary, Mr. Price, was.
“You shouldn’t have found out this way, Penelope. I’m sorry. I should have found a way to tell you.” She painstakingly brushed the lint from her shoulder as if it were guilt.
“Sorry what? That you screwed me? Or are you sorry that you’re screwing Jeff?” I peered back at him. “If that’s really your fucking name.”
He stepped forward. “Nobody’s screwing anybody, Penelope.”
“No, except for Jackson, am I right?”
He shook his head. His serious expression was sad.
“That’s not the reason I’m here. You see, I work for Governor Price.”
I raised an eyebrow, lowering my voice. “And what kind of work do you do for her?” I was done with playing nice.
“Keeping an eye on the senator’s affairs.” He gave a shy, wicked smile. “Making sure that when he’s ‘coloring’ that he stays inside the lines.”
I planted my hands on my hips, digging my fingers into the cotton of my blue jeans. “That’s bullshit. It is about screwing. It’s always about screwing when you get high enough on the ‘power totem pole’, right? Someone’s always screwing up, screwing over or getting screwed. For poor Margot Dietz and Jordan Chambers, it was a case of all damned three.” I stopped. “And that’s what this is really about it, isn’t it?”
I looked at the governor.
“Robert Fletcher never learning to ‘share his toys’?” I scoffed. “Fletcher wanted to fuck the man who was fucking his favorite little toy. And so that’s why he fired Jordan.” I walked closer. “But he screwed up. Fletcher couldn’t fathom that Jordan actually loved her—that she could love him. And that all his high-powered, private little pillow-talks weren’t so hidden anymore…” I pointed at her, feeling fuck-less. “And Jordan had to die because he knew the biggest secret of them all.”
I felt emboldened, raising my voice.
“What? The secret of the senator’s little love child bad for business? Admit it, Shelley.” I leaned over. “You wanted that nasty little detail to remain buried as much as the senator did, didn’t you? With your office being so closely tied to his? You would have done anything to save your own ass.”
Shelley Price tilted her blonde head.
“Things are always more complicated than they seem, Penelope.” She side-eyed Jeff, then glanced back at me. “It’s just politics. One hand always washes the other. You know that. It’s the business. And we’re businesswomen… You, of all people, should understand.”
I hated the way I saw myself in her eyes. She was seeing me as her.
Twenty years ago.
Uncompromising. Untrusting. Sheltered and shielded in a world where there wasn’t room for anything else but my own self-interest.
And she was right.
I had been that woman. I’d used every excuse in the book to stay that way, and when Jackson put my faith in him to the test, I failed miserably.
And, after all, what was true intimacy without trust?
Nothing, I now knew.
I didn’t know my own employer, a woman who’d groomed me since I was a girl—wet behind the ears. Hell, I didn’t even really know myself.
But I knew I wanted to…
I threw my last little bit of caution to the fucking wind. I leaned over, bending slightly at the waist, boring my eyes into hers.
“Oh, I understand perfectly, Shelley. For years, I wanted to be like you. You wanna know why we businesswomen have it so hard? Why we can’t find the ‘balance’? Because of the sexist, chauvinist pricks that think we can’t… and the self-serving bitches like you.”
I grabbed for my purse, a tiny clutch that had fallen to the floor. I tucked it beneath my arm.
I gave the room the once-over.
“At least, Margot Dietz got out of this shit while she still had the chance.”
I turned on my heel, heading for the door. I was just outside of the doorway when a hand grabbed me from behind.
It was Jeff, and I snatched my arm back as if he had burned me. He practically had.
“I only used trackers, Penelope,” he shouted. “I didn’t frame Jackson… but if you want to find out who did, I think you’re going to need to stop pointing the finger at me and learn a lesson or two about real trust...” he said, pulling on me.
“Get away from me,” I barked. “I don’t need to do anything. The governor is a snake,” I hissed. “And you’re a two-headed one. Trust? Trust is what got me fucked in the first place.”
He tightened his grip. “Yes, it is.” His bright eyes flashed in my direction. “And now your lack of trust might get you killed…”
He reached for my shoulder and I recoiled. “You have to trust yourself, Penelope.” Jeff dared to stare. “You have to tune out the noise and trust in your instincts. Trust in the people around you that have proven themselves. Like Sienna… and, most importantly, Jackson.” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re the only one who can help him now.”
I turned, staring. “What the fuck do you care?”
His handsome face contorted with concern. I almost believed him.
Almost.
I let him talk.
“I care more than you know, Penelope. About you. About Jackson. About Bishop and his beautiful wife.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I’m sure you do. You inserted yourself into our lives to spy on us.”
“Only to ensure your safety.” He narrowed his eyes. “While I reported back to the governor what the senator was really up to…”
“Which was?”
“A whole lot of no-good shit.” He glowered blankly. “And it isn’t over yet.”
“How do you know?” I stood closer, facing him. Sudden courage strengthened my backbone. “How do you know any of this? How do you know any of us?” I looked him over, gauging him. “Just who the fuck are you, anyway?”
He barely blinked. “I’m a professional liar, Penelope. I forge when necessary. I force when pushed. Bishop and Dani didn’t require me to do either, but you do. And if you want t
o keep your friends alive, you’ll listen to what I’m telling you.”
I peered over his shoulder.
“And what about working with Governor?”
“My business with her is finished. Now I’d like to help my friends. I now consider you all my friends.” He began to walk down the stairs from the terrace. “And if you’re going to strike, what better time than when the most powerful man in New York has no friends left…?”
He raised an eyebrow and continued strolling his way through the veranda. His clues were vague, at best, and he sauntered away as if he didn’t have a care in the freaking world.
As if he had just dumped them all on my shoulders, and, hell, maybe he had.
I called after him.
“At least, tell me your name.” I paused for effect. “Your real one.”
He turned to me. The somber look on his face was gone. In its place was one of mischief.
He flashed me a devastating smile.
“My name is Giovanni DeSalt. But when Bishop’s wife came to know me, she called by my nickname.”
He winked.
“Feel free to call me ‘Gi’ as well.”
BURNING THE BRIDGES
PENELOPE
Getting to Sienna’s little studio in the heart of Queens was never a picnic.
One ridesharing app tap, a taxi and a dirty bus ride later, I was standing in front of my secretary’s tenement, running off of fumes and the ramblings of a foreign Mr. Ripley named Jeff, otherwise known as Giovanni DeSalt.
My patience was thin. My faith was even thinner, but it was all I had left, and it was carrying me to a part of town I wouldn’t have visited in my nightmares.
I rode up a shoddy elevator, walked through a piss-stained hallway until I stood outside of her door, knocking on a red paint-chipped door.
She answered on the third knock, not inviting me in.
Her cocoa-colored eyes went wide.
“Ok, Sienna, before I come in. Here’s the deal,” I exhaled while she faced me. “I need you. I desperately need your help. I should have been honest with you about what was going on. With me. With my life. With Jackson.”
I looped a piece of red hair behind my ear, rattling off the biggest story of my life.
“Here’s the thing: I may have gotten Senator Fletcher killed…” I thought about stopping, but kept going. “Four years ago, a member of the senator’s staff named Jordan Chambers began sleeping with the senator’s mistress—a woman named Margot Dietz. When the senator found out, he fired Jordan in an attempt to separate the staffer’s, uh… staff from his mistress, but Chambers didn’t go quietly and sued the senator for wrongful termination. At the time, I was the lead attorney who represented the Senator in the case and when Jordan’s lawyer abandoned him, Margot Dietz suggested that he contact me. Only…”
I took a deep breath, not wanting to go further.
“I knew I shouldn’t have touched his case because it was a conflict, but in the process of listening to Jordan, more information about Fletcher’s corruption was revealed than I ever could have imagined. I found out about his double dealings. His pay-for-play…” I fidgeted. “And, most damning, about a secret love-child that Jordan revealed under oath during a recorded deposition for the trial. Jordan’s lawyer dropped the case, double-crossed him and blackmailed Fletcher. He figured he could extort money from him, banking that the senator wanted to keep his dirty little secrets just that.”
I bit my lip.
“And he was right. Anyway, Jordan’s lawyer handed the deposition over to Fletcher and then skipped town. Not long after, Chambers died —well, was murdered. Jackson, Bishop and I tried to retrieve the coveted document. A few weeks ago, Margot Dietz gave me the tip to recover the missing depo and now she’s gone missing. Looks like she may have flown the coup, and it looks like she may be behind the assassination attempt on the senator. I inhaled deeply. “And as you probably already have sensed, I’ve fallen back in love with Jackson.”
I unfolded my fingers, slapping both of my hands on the sides of my hips.
“That’s it,” I finished.
Sienna just stared. And stared. And stared some more. She barely blinked.
Then she stepped forward. She hugged me. The brown curls of silky strands at her hairline tickled the skin along mine.
She pulled back, bear-hugging me before stepping back again. She clasped her hands together.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you had a man? And what a man he is,” she beamed. “Jackson is fucking hot.”
I grinned, wondering if she’d heard another single word I’d said. I looked over her shoulder and through her front door.
“You’re one to talk,” I commented cautiously. “You have a man of your own to worry about.”
She glanced behind her towards the small living room at her back.
“Yeah, I guess… I do have a man. But I wouldn’t exactly say he’s mine.”
“Hey!” I heard from further in the recesses of Sienna’s small studio. “I can hear ya, ya know? I’m happy not to be yer man if it means I’d have to keep sleeping on this fookin’ floor. Is this any way to treat an employee?”
Sienna beckoned me inside, and we both entered her tiny apartment where Scott was handcuffed—wrists and ankles—to an aging heating unit.
We’d bound Scotty to that rusting radiator last night after the visit to Margot Dietz’s loft, and, after Jackson’s arrest, there he remained, while I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, seeking help to get Jackson released.
But Sienna seemed fully in control as she looked down at our prisoner/new employee, a man we’d been paying and pumping for information.
Margot Dietz’s place had been dead end.
Unfortunately, after the day I’d just had, I wasn’t about to put my last bit of faith in this guy.
I crossed my arms, taking in the senator’s ex-henchman, Mr. Naked Brit himself. I sneered.
“You’re not an employee,” I said to him. “Employees don’t plot to kill you…”
Scotty’s eyes went round like saucers. He looked… offended.
“That’s not what I was…”
Sienna cut him off. “Pendejo.”
I interrupted her, placing a hand on her arm. “No, let him speak.”
Scotty swallowed, trying to sit up as straight as the old, rusted panels of the oil heater to which he was attached would let him. He hung his head.
“We were just ordered to follow. Not to… kill. Gary was always pushing the envelope, though.”
“Pushing the envelope?” I stepped closer, noting the still dark bruises on his face. Bruises the shape of Jackson’s knuckles.
“Yeah, you know…” He shrugged sadly. “He was a wanna-be tough guy.” He shook his head. “He was always eggin’ me on for stuff, busting my bollocks and shit.”
“Mr. Greasy Head from the bar?” Sienna piped up. “What’s with him, anyway?”
Scotty looked at Sienna’s angry face. “I think he was in the military or something. He said he’s killed before…” He trailed off ominously.
“Did he ever say he was military?” I asked.
“Once.” Scotty glanced up at me. “Said he once sniped a man.”
“Killing people doesn’t make you military,” Sienna interjected. “Just a murderer.”
I grew very interested in what Scotty had to say next.
“And where is Gary now?” I questioned.
“Don’t know,” Scott answered. “Wanker hasn’t answered his phone. I’m a bloody leper now. Fletcher’s in the hospital, Margot skipped town, and my arse is skint. Without a dime to my name.”
“Did you get forget about the ones we’re giving you?” I pointed out.
“And I’m grateful. Your boyfriend’s a right prick there. But his money’s green. Just as green as that dirt-fuck Fletcher’s. Even greener… and a whole lot cleaner.” He sniffed. “Not that anyone’s going to get their hands on his millions now that he’s on his death bed—a
t least, nobody but that tight, piece of ass wife of his.
He gave a derisive snicker.
Hell, I’d almost forgot about her. Fletcher’s wife. I’d always thought of the woman as a brainless trophy. Maybe she was more than that…
A woman of thirty-six, Danity Fletcher, “the walking check from Czech,” was a foreign former beauty queen and the daughter of a wealthy Slav politician. Like father, like daughter, her demeanor—cool and aloof—was icy enough to rival the winters of her childhood home.
A pampered princess through and through, Danity Fletcher was rumored to be an ice queen with even icier diamonds, as cold as the man who had raised her. But Mrs. Fletcher had learned quickly. Though my dealings with her were brief, I’d seen a change in the woman after years of watching her at Fletcher’s side. She adapted well, and though she gave many the impression of being dense, I got the distinct feeling that she was anything but.
She observed the on-goings around her with a quiet acceptance while living life on the arm of one of the most controversial congressmen in the entire country.
She smiled when beckoned, showed up when was called upon. She was the perfect arm-candy for the senator.
Shame that he was getting his notorious sweet-tooth satisfied elsewhere.
Not that she gave a flying fuck, it seemed.
Rumor had it… she was screwing some young mayor out of northern Virginia.
But Scott’s words struck a small chord in me. Did Fletcher have a pre-nup? Would his young wife—priority ninety-nine on a list of one hundred—get all of Fletcher’s money in the event that he died?
And what happened to his daughter? What the hell happened to…?
“Audriana,” I said out-loud. “Fletcher loves that girl more than anything in his selfish, self-serving life.”
“But Audriana’s missing for months. MIA again. This time, maybe even permanently…” Scott caught my eye. “The girl’s a piece of work. About as responsible as a busload of drunken teenagers on prom night.”
At least, that’s the impression the infamous daughter exhibited to the world. I, for one, never bought into it.
I knew Audriana Fletcher was sharper than the business end of a whip… and way more dangerous.
Up in Smoke (Kisses and Crimes Book 2) Page 19