by A. C. Arthur
What was she doing here?
In this hotel and with this man, what the hell was she doing?
Bailey stood at the window staring out at the bright lights and clusters of people walking up and down the streets. Bailey had come from a quiet town in Houston. She’d lived in a house big enough to lose herself and her two brothers for at least a day or so. She attended private schools where she maintained good grades even though she slept through most of the boring lectures. Her mother made her go to cotillions and other country club events. She’d dressed up and smiled, doing what she’d been told, hating every second of those events as well. But when her friends talked about going to college in New York or Los Angeles, or even to Paris to take a year off or study abroad, Bailey had known instinctively that she didn’t want to do either of those things.
Bailey wanted to work in the field of law. Her mother’s goal was for her to become the first woman attorney in the family. Her father had thought she might consider working at Donovan Oilwell once she obtained her law degree and passed the bar. So Bailey had enrolled in the criminal justice curriculum at Baylor, but after a year of campus life and classes, and watching her friends either get in trouble with the law and flunk out of school, or get pregnant and flunk out of school, or simply flunk out because that’s what they wanted to do, Bailey decided to quit while she was ahead. Besides, she’d decided by then that her idea of working with the law was a more hands on one. She wanted to walk the streets, to try and uphold justice that way.
Without telling her father that she wasn’t enrolling for the second year, Bailey used some of her trust fund money to get an apartment and apply to the police training program. Three months after the application process she was on her way to training to become a police officer. Those dreams were stilted two days after her graduation from training classes when Trent, Brock and Brandon showed up at her apartment.
One of her instructors had been in the Navy with Trent and they’d apparently run into each other the day before. Her instructor assumed Trent had been an influence on Bailey and had congratulated Trent on Bailey’s success. Needless to say, her cousin had been furious, not only because she’d gone through with the training, but also because she’d kept it a secret all this time. They’d insisted she drop the idea of becoming a cop, even recruiting her father who was all too quick to go along with Trent’s idea that she work for him in his PI firm instead. Not wanting to upset her father and thinking this could be an even faster route to the FBI than she’d originally thought of taking, she’d done as they said. They’d suggested she work in the Greenwich, Connecticut office with Sam Desdune. She knew that was because they thought it was quiet there. Safe and away from anything remotely dangerous. Bailey could only sigh at the thought.
If they only knew.
Stewart Austese was dangerous. He was as fine as any black man she’d ever laid eyes on and the son of a very prominent attorney in town. But he was trouble, with a capital T. Bailey only wished she’d known this the first time he’d approached her. She should have known though. Thinking back, there were signs. The fact that Stewart hadn’t finished college and had no intention of doing anything but living off his father’s money, to start with. The possessiveness and paranoia were the next giveaways. But she’d fallen for his edgy personality and his disdain for people trying to dictate the way he lived his life, because she shared that trait with him.
The physical aspect of their relationship had been electrifying, until the possession and anger crept into bed with them. Then it was tense and sometimes scary for her. So getting pregnant by him was the last thing Bailey had intended to do. Her aunt Beverly would say that was a lie since Bailey had not been using any form of birth control the five months she’d been with Stewart. The day she told him about the baby would forever be emblazoned in Bailey’s mind and would go down in history as the scariest day of her life.
“Whose fuckin’ baby are you carrying?” Stewart had asked the moment she’d made the announcement.
He’d been sitting on his white leather couch in the living room of his condo. Bailey had a key to his place for the times he wanted her there when he came home. From where, she’d never really known, since he didn’t have a job. When he’d offered her the key to his condo Bailey had mistakenly thought that meant something good. As the weeks went on it really only meant that Stewart could demand her presence there whenever he wanted and she couldn’t use the excuse that he wasn’t at home. Later, she would realize that telling her to meet him at his condo when he wasn’t there was just Stewart’s way of controlling her. Because if she was waiting for him at his place, she couldn’t be with anyone else.
“It’s your baby, Stewart,” she’d replied. “Our baby.”
“That’s some bullshit!” he’d immediately yelled. “You think I don’t know you’ve been sleeping around? Hell, even my mother knows. She’s the one that told me I needed to watch out for you. The poor little rich girl that her family didn’t know what to do with after she dropped out of college, so they sent you here to live with people they didn’t even know that well.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she’d asked. “I have a job with my cousin’s company. That’s why I’m here.”
“Lies! That’s all you’ve ever told me!” He’d continued his rant by waving a hand as if to dismiss her.
But Bailey was not going to be easily dismissed.
“First of all, whatever your mother is feeding you is a bunch of lies. And I really don’t know any grown man that would believe everything his momma chooses to spoon feed him about women,” she said. “Second, I don’t have to lie. I don’t cheat. You’re the only one I’ve been with for the past five months. This baby is yours.”
“I ain’t got time for no baby,” he spat.
By this time Bailey was in the full fed-up with this fool’s BS mode.
“Why? Because you’re working so hard. Oh, wait, I forgot, you don’t work,” she snapped.
When he just looked at her as if she wasn’t even standing there in front of his wall mounted television, Bailey continued.
“Look, why don’t we just take this as a sign that what we had is done,” she said for the first time in the last six weeks that she’d been feeling this was true. There was something about verbalizing it that made her feel liberated, even though she was terrified about being a single mother. She knew she’d figure it out and that her family would be supportive. What she hadn’t known was that Stewart’s nonchalance was about to take a twisted turn.
In seconds he was up off the chair, his body slamming against hers and both of them tumbling to the floor. He had his hands around her neck squeezing until Bailey’s vision went blurry. It sounded far off, like she was stuck in a tunnel and someone was at the other end trying to talk to her.
“You silly little slut! If you think I’m going to let you trick me into trying to get your hands on my family’s fortune, you’re nuts! Fucking nuts!” He screamed and squeezed, screamed and squeezed until Bailey started to black out.
Out of pure preservation and a healthy dose of anger, she was able to move one of her arms. She pressed a thumb into his eye and applied as much pressure as she could muster. He yelled and cursed, but his grip on her neck loosened and she was able to lift her leg just high enough to plant her knee in his groin. It wasn’t a powerful shot, she knew, but it gave her time to roll away from him. By the time he lunged for her again, Bailey had reached into her purse and retrieved the gun she was licensed to carry. She heard the clicking sound of the safety releasing as she struggled to get to her feet. Her arms were as wobbly as her legs, but her fingers were wrapped tightly around her gun.
“Come one step closer and I’ll shoot your sorry ass,” she’d told him.
He’d looked like he was about to cry, still on his knees with one eye closed.
“For the record, I don’t need you or your father’s money. I’ve got my own remember, dumbass!”
Those were the last words B
ailey had ever spoken to Stewart Austese. She hadn’t even bothered to call him two nights later when she’d lost their baby.
A noise behind her pulled Bailey out of the troublesome memory and she turned to see Devlin heading for the front door.
“I’m just going out to make a call. Signal sucks in here,” he said.
Bailey had only nodded. The signal had been just fine in here earlier today when she’d called her neighbor to check on her bird. She’d been in the bedroom alone then. Devlin had been out here in the living area of the hotel room. When she’d come out here, he’d gone into the bedroom. This is what they’d done all day. When all night they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other.
As she watched the door close Bailey couldn’t help but notice the resemblances in her two most intense relationships. She noticed them and she despised them. Or rather, she despised herself for walking with eyes wide open into what might be the same type of situation all over again.
Could Devlin Bonner hurt her the way Stewart had? Could he do the physical things to her that Stewart had done? She shivered and moved away from the window, taking a seat on the couch and picking up the tablet once more. She needed to think of something else, someone else’s problems maybe. Anything, Bailey thought, to get her mind off the precarious situation she seemed to be in now.
No, she decided when she looked at the screen to Brynne’s message once more, Bailey needed to get the hell out of here.
That fact was becoming more and more obvious.
“Cops have been hanging around here day and night,” York told Dev. “They’re asking about the other body and if any of the guns that were used in the shooting were recovered.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dev replied as he walked from one end of the hallway to the other. “How’s Trent holding up?”
“You know he’s a vault,” York answered with a little chuckle. “He looks and acts like he’s telling the truth each time that sheriff gets in his face. He’s licensed to carry so you know he already handed over his gun for inspection.”
“Right,” Dev said. “But Trent never got a chance to fire his weapon.”
Tia had been gripping Trent’s arm the moment Jaydon fired. Trent’s gun hadn’t been aimed at anyone and then Tia had been shot.
“Nope,” York said. “He sure didn’t.”
“They want to talk to Dane, but they can’t seem to find him,” he continued.
Dev cleared his throat. He knew exactly where Dane was, what he didn’t know at this moment was what he intended to do about that fact. “Yeah, that’s because he’s been busy burying his sister,” he said anyway.
“I knew she was dead,” York replied. “Is he looking to press charges?”
Shaking his head, Dev made another loop around, this time stopping to push open one of the exit doors and checking around quickly to see if anyone was in the stairwell. There wasn’t.
“Funny thing is,” he started, “the guy didn’t seem too shaken up by her death. I mean, I’ve seen people who have lost siblings and lost part of their minds in the process. This guy’s cool though. He didn’t even ask about what happened at the cabin again.”
“Wait, you saw him? Where?” York asked.
“Never mind all that,” Dev told him. “I saw him and he didn’t tell me where he’d buried Jaydon and he didn’t say anything about pressing charges against anyone.”
“Ooookay,” York said, dragging the word out, as if he wasn’t totally sure what he was agreeing to. “Well, I guess since the cops don’t have a dead body, they can’t move forward with charges on their own.”
“No, they can’t,” Dev replied. “And I kinda think Dane knew that.”
“But that’s strange. You’d think a dude that fought so long to find out who his real father was would want some type of justice or revenge? Besides, I’m thinking the only reason he showed up there was because he knew about the kidnapping. Maybe he thought he’d be coming up there to remove another body instead. Bailey’s body.”
Dev went silent. That thought had crossed through his mind as well. It was part of the reason he’d been so determined to get to New York to pull Dane up in person. But he hadn’t been able to shake the fact that after standing in Dane’s house just a few feet from the guy and looking him in the eye, Dev wasn’t totally sure about that presumption anymore. And the picture he’d taken from Dane’s bookshelf was causing even more questions in Dev’s mind. Nothing was as it had seemed anymore. Absolutely nothing.
“I’m not so sure he was involved. I originally thought he was, but now…well, let’s just say I have some evidence that the guy might not be thinking along the same lines as his mother,” Dev told him.
“If you say so. Does that mean we’re not going to keep tailing him?” York asked.
“No. I already pulled our guys off him. The FBI’s involved now. They can keep track of him. It’s probably better if we start handling this case on a more legal track anyway. Don’t need any of us catching any unnecessary charges, especially since our operation isn’t approved.”
What Dev didn’t say was that he’d thought about it throughout the night—in the moments when he held Bailey in his arms. If he faced Roslyn he would no doubt pull his gun the same way he’d done with Dane and with Cade. He was on the edge. Volatile and ready for the fight. Tia lying in the hospital and Bailey having been way too close to the crossfire was wreaking havoc on the semblance of calm he’d worked so hard toward over the past years. He knew what that meant. He remembered feeling this way only one time before. And then, Dev remembered being charged with murder. No, letting Cade Donovan and the Feds take over was the best thing to do. Besides, Dev knew there was now something else, something very personal going on.
“That never stopped us before,” York was saying. “Damned Feds always hornin’ their way into somebody else’s backyard.”
The stairwell had been clear. The hallway was too. This was the third time he’d checked today. In the middle of the night Dev had eased out of the bed without waking Bailey to check the hotel room. He’d looked out the window to the hundreds of buildings, the cars speeding by, the bright lights, the glitz and glamour of this place and knew that someone was out there. The one that had been sending him those text messages was out there and he was watching. Dev couldn’t stand that thought. He wouldn’t stand for it. Not this time around.
“Listen, I gotta go,” he said to York. “I’ll touch base again soon. You call me if anything changes with Tia’s condition.”
“Will do,” York replied.
“And get Cleary to hurry up with his findings on the bodies he’s handling for us. I want to have something concrete to pass on to the Feds,” Dev stated.
“Already on that, boss. I sent him a text this morning, gave him a deadline that he basically laughed at. I guess it’s a good thing there’s no love lost between him and the local cops in L.A. or he’d be bitching about protocols and nonsense,” York said.
“There’s no protocol when it comes to our own men. He knows that. Hell, he taught it to us. Just hurry him along without pissing him off. Keep reminding him that it involves Trent and his family, that should be enough motivation,” Dev said.
“Yeah, our team and all the other teams on the west coast hold Trent in high esteem. Nothing is too much to keep him and his people safe. It’ll work out, I’m sure. Cleary just likes giving me a hard time.”
Dev agreed. Dan Cleary could be an asshole when he felt like it. So many of the guys in their line of business could be. Dev wondered if it wasn’t a prerequisite to getting the job done. Then, he wondered if it wasn’t also a price they all had to pay.
“Okay, keep me posted,” Dev said before disconnecting.
He looked up and down the hallway once more and was just about to head back into the room when his phone vibrated. He looked down at the phone and frowned as he saw he had an email. Reading who the message was from had him wondering and feeling on edge and itching to kill again.
He snapped another picture, clenching his teeth as he watched Bonner walk out the door through is lens. He was checking the perimeter no doubt. The guy was so damn predictable and so phony.
After all the things Bonner had said to him in the past, look what the liar was doing now. Pulling his camera away from his face he had only to push a button to scroll through all the pictures he’d taken in the past few days. They showed exactly what he’d known all along, that Devlin Bonner was a double-crossing fake that had no business trying to order someone else around when his own life was in such shambles.
Look at what he was doing to that woman, that Donovan woman to be precise. Trent Donovan’s cousin. He wondered if Donovan even knew that Bonner was screwing his cousin. Probably not. Those two—Bonner and Trent—had always stuck together. Even to the point where there’d been questions about them too.
He remembered them vividly.
They were in the shower at the gym. A large enough space to give each heterosexual man their desired space and yet, Donovan and Bonner had stood closer than the others. He hadn’t planned to watch, but to just snap the picture, to go along with the story he was going to tell. After all, Bonner deserved it after the way he’d verbally attacked him and then threatened him the night before. They both deserved to get what was coming to them, and he was glad to be the one to set the ball in motion.
But he hadn’t been able to stop staring at them. Two tall, strong men, bodies bulging with muscles, Bonner’s a shade or two darker than Donovan’s. Skin complexion nor race, nor rank mattered. It was all about the connection. That’s what he’d tried to tell Bonner last night. One could not help who they were drawn to, or what their bodies yearned to do. That was a simple fact.