Up in Smoke (Kisses and Crimes Book 2)

by Natalie E. Wrye

Scotty was nowhere to be found.

  I had searched, my eyes scanning the floor until I believed that they might truly roll out of my head. I didn’t see him. I didn’t smell his cheap cologne, and there was a noticeable absence of the word “fookin’” resonating down the hallway.

  He was gone.

  And as the realization hit me, I looked over a white coat-covered shoulder and saw the flat line on Danity Fletcher’s cardiac monitor.

  She was gone, too…

  ***

  There was a breeze that swept across the Tombs, I noticed.

  Cold and drafty, even my now ill-fitting blazer could not ward off the chill that wafted inside those walls—a chill that smelled strangely of deprivation and crushing depression.

  I never liked this place.

  I’d driven by it multiple times never really noticing it. And now that I was inside, there was no ignoring it.

  That need to escape was palpable.

  It wasn’t just the inmates that felt it, but the visitors, too. You could cut the desperation with a fork.

  This was the second time I’d been in the Manhattan House of Detention, better known as “the Tombs” and I knew without a second thought that it would be the last.

  The first time I’d been here?

  I’d negotiated the release of a questionable inmate, a character named Scotty Anderson.

  The second time? I was pacing, waiting impatiently in the hallways of the Tombs because that same character may have made a deadly power play—one that seems to have resulted in the release of a current, innocent inmate.

  The inmate that I was waiting for right now.

  We never did find Scotty.

  Seven weeks had passed since the elusive Brit had vanished into thin air.

  We searched high and low, but the bushwacking bastard had disappeared, dropped off the face of the earth, Margot Dietz-style. Never to be heard from again.

  I still had no idea what went down after I sent the sneaky prick to Danity Fletcher’s room—after the elevator doors closed on that ghost of a smile on his face, an apparition-like smirk spreading on his slightly smug expression.

  Maybe I’d never know.

  But when Danity Fletcher died, the truth of her involvement in the assassination attempt on Robert Fletcher died with her, as did the criminal investigation.

  Ultimately, the blame and onus was pinned on a woman who was painted by the media as a wife plotting murder-for-hire, a strategic Anna Nicole Smith-type trying to maximize from a money-hungry marriage.

  Part of that was right. I still wasn’t sure about the other parts…

  I think back on that dreadful day in the hospital as I walked away from the site and sight of Danity Fletcher’s lifeless body.

  Heading towards the elevators with my head held high, I had walked as fast as I could without attracting any attention.

  My head on a swivel, my eyes in full search-mode, I took the elevator, breathing panickedly, my head hurting from the information that my harried brain couldn’t seem to process.

  I reached the fifth floor again and scanned the hallway for Sienna, hoping to grab my secretary and get the hell out of dodge before the shit hit the fan.

  Or the “fan” in the form of one angry knocked-out security guard woke up and hit me.

  We were on a ticking time clock… and missing one very obvious Brit.

  I started to turn a bend on the fifth level when I was almost bowled over. A chestnut wave of hair nearly knocked me on my ass, coming hard in the other direction, rounding the corner just as fast as I was.

  I reached out and found myself grabbing a pair of breasts.

  Shit!

  “Sienna!”

  “Miss Castalano!”

  My secretary was in a panic. Her big brown eyes were wide open and she was looking over her shoulder as if something were after her.

  I went into full protective mode, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the guard? Is it Scotty? That bastard. I’ll kick his fucking…”

  “No,” she interrupted. “It’s fine. The guard… He…”

  “He what?” I demanded.

  “He ran out.”

  I looked over her shoulder, staring.

  “What do you mean ‘he ran out’?”

  “I saw this trick once,” she exhaled, her pretty mouth pursing. “It was in this movie ‘Wedding Crashers.’ This guy… He put eye drops in another guy’s drink to… you know, send him to the bathroom, and…”

  I glared back at her.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  She nodded slowly. “I did.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be repulsed. Maybe I was a bit of both…

  “Where is he now?” I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to the question.

  “Well… Shitting,” she said, wringing her fingers. “Shitting all over the place. In the hallway. I slipped those drops in the coffee I’d brought him.”

  I hung my head, and she kept going.

  “I had to do something,” she stated louder. “The flirting was working too well!”

  “So…?” I beckoned.

  “So, they sent him to the ER. The orderlies led him away while he was leaking…”

  I couldn’t contain it anymore. The laughter burst from me like a faucet that had been backed up for far too long.

  Pressure from a thousand fears, even more tears, and a half a dozen near death experiences in the span of one week made ours a roaring laughter—a ridiculous laughter.

  I laughed so damned hard I cried. At least, that’s what I’d convinced myself was the reason…

  It was a release of tension, nerves, and the very wrecking reality that in the stories of our lives, we would never forget this chapter.

  I didn’t tell Sienna. At least, not right then.

  I didn’t tell her the entire story until we were back in Queens, far away from the news cameras that were sure to follow, far from the Manhattan mayhem that threatened to swallow us every time we set foot in the damned place—a place that I’d thought of as home for far too long.

  A place that no longer felt like anything of the sort.

  Maybe my sister, Del, was right…

  There were better places to live. Like New Jersey. Ok, maybe not New Jersey, but…

  Somewhere else—somewhere far from the smoke—the angry ashes left over from the life I once had.

  That wasn’t my life anymore. I wasn’t that woman anymore.

  I was Jackson’s woman now.

  And before I left Manhattan for good, I had to realize that after all was said and done, after discovering who I was and what I really wanted, that being his woman was the one thing I was happiest to be.

  So, I let it happen.

  I let us have that moment in the hospital hallway, giggling our girly guts out.

  The good, the bad…

  The shitty.

  We found funny in a hopeless place. And I knew that hope was all I had to hold onto.

  Well, that… and the man who was currently walking towards me.

  His face was serious.

  A five o-clock shadow on his angular chin had turned into midnight overnight, and the hair on his head—that dirty golden color—was brighter than usual, contrasting against the powder blue in his icicle-colored irises.

  There were waves within the strands above his ear. Overgrown locks had inched their way down his forehead, and he looked handsomely rugged, his eyes lively, his shoulders straight and broader than they’d been just weeks earlier—his muscles bulging beneath the dark brown, mesh fabric sleeves.

  Physically, time hadn’t changed him.

  He was still the beautiful boy from his youth—that brawny, strong-minded man I’d fallen in love with.

  And I wondered if he would notice that time had changed me.

  I was self-conscious in my tightened clothes, almost wishing that I were the lithe, limber version that he’d pressed against in the opera house ju
st a month and a half ago.

  I didn’t have more time to think about that night. There was no more room in my mind for anything else but him.

  He was watching me… and my skin tingled under his gaze.

  He reached for me, grabbing me. His face finally split into a grin.

  “Hi,” he said to me.

  My answer was instinct. “Hi right back.”

  FAHRENHEIT 451

  JACKSON

  March winds really did bring April showers.

  The evening was rainy—weeping worse than Penelope had been earlier that night. It was the hormones.

  By the time we had packed our belongings, hugged Delilah and Melanie, and gotten ready for our road-trip, Pea was a ball of confusion, barely holding her bundle of emotions—joy, sadness and anticipation—together even as we turned up hand-in-hand on the Governor’s front door in a last-minute attempt to thank her for everything that had been done right amidst the wrong.

  We knew it’d be the last time we’d see the powerful Mrs. Price ever again.

  On a damp front porch, in the middle of a dank and dreary night, we waited in front of her door as a chilled wind whipped shivers down our spines.

  With my woman in my arms and the elder woman in my head, I squeezed Penelope’s hand in mine, feeling my heart do the same. My jaw tightened, too, and the anger for one woman and admiration for the other warred violently inside of me, clashing in a conflict of emotion that rumbled and raged as we waited and waited and waited…

  The minutes felt like an infinity. And just when my patience had reached its peak, the door opened. A maid ushered us quickly inside, and we bypassed the elaborate front entrance, traversing silently.

  Our solid steps were quiet across the hardwood. The sound of our soles turned muffled as they finally crossed the plush, thick carpet.

  We reached the library.

  And then we finally reached her.

  Regal, ready, and elegant. The sensational Mrs. Shelley Price.

  I could tell why, for so many years, Penelope had admired her so. The woman was a force, fierce and formidable all on her own.

  A tough broad with brass… and sophisticated, to boot.

  She nodded with approval.

  “Thank you, Sandra.” With a tilt of her head, the maid was gone, and the three of us remained in the study, standing before each other, seemingly not knowing what to say or where to start.

  Naturally, the governor was the first to speak. Her voice was calm.

  “I’m guessing that this is the end.”

  Pea smiled. The expression was sad. She never let go of my hand.

  “I wouldn’t call it ‘the end’,” she answered. “In fact, it’s just the beginning… Only this is a new beginning. The beginning of a new life. One we never even realized that we wanted to start.”

  She looked at me, and I saw my world encompassed in her blue eyes. I stroked the skin of Penelope’s hand and brought it to my lips.

  She didn’t speak until my mouth withdrew. Her grin was more a grimace.

  I could see the apology written in her stare.

  “I’m… I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” Governor Price flashed a simple smile. “You have to do what’s right. Do what’s right for you. We all have to, sometime.”

  Her style was simple. Shelley Price’s blonde bob was lightly curled above the collar and the white sweater over her brown slacks paled in comparison to the brightness of her straight white teeth—teeth whose tips were barely visible behind a pale, pink-stained lip.

  She was the gracious employer accepting the resignation of the sorrowful employee. And she was soaking it all up.

  All the praise. All the self-satisfaction. All the gratitude.

  It made me sick to watch her relishing in it.

  Penelope kept going.

  “We just wanted to say thank you—Jackson and I. We want to thank you for getting him out. We want to thank you for clearing his name. We want to thank you for being a friend. We don’t have many…”

  The sentiment was real, and as Penelope stepped closer to Shelley Price, I hesitantly let go of her hand.

  The older Price embraced my beautiful Penelope and when she let her go, I felt the temptation to snatch her back into my hands.

  To reclaim what was mine.

  Then I realized I didn’t have to.

  Penelope Castalano was mine—all mine, and the governor would never be able to dig her claws into her again. I was going to make sure of it.

  I let the conversation between the two successful women play itself out. I watched with a curious and wry amusement, knowing exactly what I was going to do.

  The “thank you’s” stopped after a few minutes. I knew we were preparing to step out.

  I took my time and I waited. Penelope rejoined my side.

  “We’ll send word whenever we land,” Pea gushed.

  The governor grinned. “Please do.”

  It was as if I had written this scene. The governor was playing herself right into its script, and I couldn’t have penned a better screenplay.

  Falling straight into character, she played the hell out of the pitying boss proper, and I couldn’t wait to pull the rug out from underneath her.

  I pulled Pea closer, whispering.

  “You go on ahead. Warm up the car. I want to have a word with the governor. I want to share with her just what I think of her… I want to thank her for every single thing she has done. I think we—I owe that to her.”

  My glowing, beautiful Pea beamed.

  I touched her skin, knowing that there was so much more I wanted to do. Then my hand rested on her soft belly.

  She smiled.

  “We’re on a strict schedule,” she reminded me. “The open house won’t stay open for long, and if we want to get a shot at this condo, we’re going to have to play by the rules. No more ‘winging it.’ No more seat-of-the-pants, Jackson Reed-style ‘Unholy Trinity’ bullshit.” She smirked wide, and I joined her.

  “Pea, you don’t have to worry about that with me. I’m a changed man. Because of you…” I brushed her lip. “And the only Holy Trinity I worry about right now is you and me…”

  I grazed her navel with my thumb and pointed.

  “And this little Jackson or Pea rolling around inside right there. Other than that? I couldn’t give one good Goddamn.”

  I kissed her lips and licked the bottom one. My pregnant Penelope moaned, so soft, and I almost pulled her back into my arms before she could retreat.

  She slinked out from my hands, and this time I decided to let her. I looked into her eyes.

  “I promise I won’t take long.”

  She regarded me warily, but then she backed away, belly and all, and walked to the side of Shelley Price to give her one last hug.

  And with that, Penelope was gone.

  Governor Price remained in her place, her stare stoic, her face unmoving. She faced me, unafraid, waiting to hear what I had to say.

  She seemed harmless.

  The smell of cinnamon permeated the hallways of her understated but huge house, and every piece of it—every ornament, every candlestick, the very fabric that covered her curtains and ran along her carpet—was carefully crafted or picked. Designed to give the onlooker the impression that the woman who lived inside was as warm as the golden hues of her full and stylish hair.

  She was an artist—a master manipulator. Fear wasn’t something that came easily to her. She showed no alarm even in the face of an unknown confrontation.

  It never even occurred to her why I stayed behind to speak with her.

  I cut my eyes in her direction.

  She would soon find out…

  I cleared my throat, stepping closer.

  “You know, I never got the opportunity to thank you, Governor. Really. For all that you have done…”

  “It was nothing.”

  “No, honestly,” I cut in. “Thank you for taking Pea under you
r wing. Thank you for making her the woman she is today. My woman.” I straightened under my jacket. “Neither one of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

  Her smile was tight. “It was my pleasure.”

  “I mean, you have showed infinite patience, infinite grace in the middle of chaos. The senator… your great friend…” I trailed off, my gait slowing. “I’m sorry about what happened to him.”

  She shook her head, shrugging. “You didn’t do it, Jackson. You shouldn’t have had to spend a day in jail for it.”

  “No…” I lowered my head for the briefest of seconds. I placed my hands in my jeans’ pockets. “But you should.” I reconnected my eyes with hers.

  Shelley Price’s body froze.

  “You were so close to him. So close. Too close. It took me some time to put the pieces together, to get to this place—a long time to get to the bottom of the fucking truth, Shelley. I should have known that the bottom was you…” I came closer. “You were the caller, the liar, the assassin.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, you might not have pulled the trigger, but you took the shot all the same.”

  The pale-haired Price’s brown eyes grew cold. I kept going, despite the chill stretching through the air.

  “What was it? What ultimately made you decide to kill him?” I inched nearer. “Was it the corruption? Had the stench of his sins made showering them off every morning impossible? I mean, there must have been a reason. You’d been letting Fletcher’s evil slide like water off your back for years…”

  I sniffed.

  “Or was it Jordan Chambers? His murder finally got to be too much for you? Maybe that’s why you had Jeff—excuse me, Giovanni—steal the file with the deposition from underneath my fingers…”

  I treaded close. Too close. I could reach out and touch the governor if I wanted to. She shivered.

  And I knew it wasn’t my proximity that was causing it. It was my words. They touched her like nothing else could. Hitting her with the force of truth was more brutal than any blow, and she flinched as if struck, wincing as I continued.

  “Or maybe it was the son—your son… The senator’s son.” I scoffed. “That’s the thing about affairs,” I smirked knowingly. “They sometimes have these little side-effects called children. Bet Mr. Price believed that the child you’d both given up all those years ago could remain secret. And I’d double the bet that the former Secretary of State didn’t know the most important detail: That he wasn’t the father and that the child wasn’t even his…”