RiverTime

by Rae Renzi

  Casey stared at Reed as if he’d just quacked at her.

  Ditsy was a little more vocal. “You sent the emails? And I thought you had no imagination whatsoever. I stand corrected. But, why on earth…?”

  Reed spared Ditsy a withering glance. “I thought as long as Casey was in L.A.…” He smoothed his hair with both hands. “It’s a long story. Can I beg some coffee?”

  “Of course. It’s already made.” Ditsy hopped up to get it.

  Casey continued to stare at Reed. His sending the emails made no more sense than anything else about the attack. Worse, it blurred what had been a clear boundary. In her mind, physically and conceptually, wherever Reed was, Jack was not. That the attack took place in L.A.—Jack’s domain—and that Reed was involved, signaled that her world had just undergone a seismic shift.

  Ditsy returned with a tray of coffee and plunked it onto the table, interjecting a dose of balance in Casey’s world.

  Reed distractedly nodded his thanks as he took a cup. “I had no idea that it was dangerous. I just thought something strange was going on.”

  “Strange, like how?”

  “Wasn’t sure, but I got an odd reaction from one of the other senators on just a routine call for support, so I thought I better check into it.” He told them about snooping in Senator Carr’s office and that he’d found an old address book containing names of the rich and powerful, and phone records that linked her to Westbrooke and also to Celestial Productions.

  Casey was shocked by Reed’s actions, and a little distressed. What he’d done was ethically dicey, and his justifications seemed weak—unless there was more to the story.

  “I don’t know how Casey fits into the mix and there are dozens of hits on the internet for Trixie Starr. Most of them look like childhood fantasies. That doesn’t fit the profile here. So, other than speculating that the names have to do with illegal campaign contributions, that angle’s a wash.”

  “And that’s why you sent the emails?” Casey asked. “You hoped that I would uncover something you could use?”

  “Something like that.” Reed looked embarrassed. “Since you were going to L.A., I thought if you had time to do some research on your project, Celestial Productions would be a good place to start.”

  “I don’t get it.” Casey leaned back into her corner of the sofa. “Why all the sneaking around? Why do you even care? You’re not involved in her political scheming…are you?”

  “No, I’m not. But it’s…complicated. I needed some leverage against her—that’s why I wanted to find out what she was up to. I didn’t think you’d actually be in danger, and I knew if you turned up something odd you’d tell me, just as a matter of curiosity. It seemed like an efficient way to look for information without being directly involved.”

  “An efficient way to look for information,” Casey said.

  Ditsy huffed. “I don’t suppose the incident with Casey’s brakes made you even a tiny bit worried something serious was afoot?”

  “It crossed my mind, but nothing really happened to Casey after that. It mostly reinforced my idea that there was something funny going on and Casey was getting close to it. I thought it would be good to explore further.”

  Good for whom? Casey wondered. “And your job?”

  “I…” His eyes darted sideways for a split-second. “I thought it would be good to leave before things got messy. I told the senator my mother was ill. The parents covered for me.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Casey asked.

  Ditsy stood. “My exit cue, I believe. I’ll be in my bedroom.”

  Reed turned to Casey. “I didn’t call you because I had to sort some other things out.”

  “Such as?”

  “I realized we’ve drifted far apart in our marriage.”

  Casey snorted. “Not exactly a newsflash. In fact, since you bring up the subject—”

  “I know. We need to recommit ourselves to the marriage and find a way to make it work.”

  “That’s not exactly where I was going with this.”

  Reed scooted closer and laid a hand on her thigh, as if he hadn’t even heard her. “I think we should move to Baltimore and start over. That will distance me from the senator and present a picture of unity. Maybe we should start a family.”

  Casey choked on her coffee. “Start a family? As in have kids? Oh, Reed, having children is not the way to heal a troubled relationship—any relationship. Anyway, I’m afraid there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Reed grabbed her hands, his handsome brow drawn up in worry. “No. Please, Casey. I know things haven’t been good but, please, don’t abandon me now. I need you. If you leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe, I don’t know…I might lose it, like your mom did when your dad abandoned her.”

  His comment hit Casey like a slap in the face. She pulled her hands out of his. “My mother? I…it isn’t the same thing. She didn’t have anyone. You have your family.”

  “I have parents, it’s true. When I married you—against my parents’ wishes—they withdrew their financial support. You know that. In the ways that matter, I’m on my own.” He rubbed his face with his hands and blew out a breath. “And now…I don’t have a job, I don’t have money, I’m on very shaky ground until this business with Senator Carr is resolved. I need you.”

  A leaden weight settled into Casey’s stomach. She tried to rid herself of a vision of her mother—frightened when she realized she was alone, defeated after she lost her job and, finally, despairing when the media hounded them out of town. All because Casey’s father left them. Abandoned them to pursue his own selfish dreams. Was she her father’s daughter? The thought made her sick.

  “Oh, God. I don’t know…”

  Her cell phone rang. A reprieve. She dove for her purse and pulled it out.

  “They put my house up for sale!” Her mother’s wail twisted Casey’s heart.

  “What do you mean, your house is for sale?” She shot Reed a look, calmed her mother and told her she’d call her back. She slammed her cell phone shut. “Reed? What the hell?”

  He shook his head and held up his hands defensively. “It’s a mistake. Just a mistake. I told the realty to get a listing ready, just in case. They weren’t supposed to move on it yet.”

  “Yet?”

  Reed twitched his chin and frowned at her. “I’m unemployed. I don’t know when I’ll get a job. I used my savings for your mom’s down payment. So, if you desert me—” he opened his hands, “—what will I live on?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It was late when the cab dropped Jack at the address Casey had given him. The neighborhood was bereft of people but bright with glowing street lamps and glittering windows. A chorus of dogs barking sounded up and down the street when he slammed the cab door. He slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and abruptly the dogs went silent.

  He sprinted up the steps and knocked on the blazing red door of the two-story brick townhome. He bounced on his toes while he waited for someone—Casey, for preference—to answer.

  It was Ditsy who yanked open the door. She shrieked and flew into his arms as if he were a long-lost friend. Recognizing her surprising response—he’d only met her once—as relief on Casey’s behalf, Jack gave her a quick hug. “I’m fine. Where’s Casey?”

  “Right, right.” Recovering, Ditsy led him into a cheerful and luxurious living room. “Come in. I’ll get her. I expect you have only a few minutes to change the way the wind blows.”

  Before Jack could decipher Ditsy’s odd statement, Casey walked through the doorway with a frown on her face and a dishtowel in her hand. Her eyes landing on Jack, she didn’t say anything, she just dropped the towel and walked toward him as if in a dream.

  She reached her hand slowly to his face, her struggle to contain her emotions revealed in the set of her jaw, the tremble in her hand. Jack took her face in his hands and pulled it close, putting his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. The room filled with the turmo
il of their emotions.

  “Whew.” Ditsy fanned herself with her hand. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Jack held Casey’s face away, just far enough to meet her eyes. “I missed you. So much. We belong together—you know that.”

  Casey searched his face, traced the line of his cheek, his jaw, his lips with her fingers. Her eyes were bright, and her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t say the words he wanted to hear.

  Jack kissed her fingers. “I don’t ever want to do without you again. The divorce went through, Casey. That’s what I needed to tell you. Ramona is out of my life. We can—”

  A look of anguish crossed her face. “Jack, it doesn’t change—”

  The chime of the doorbell arrested Casey midsentence. Her eyes, still too bright, darted in the direction of the hall. A ripple of anxiety flickered across her features. Her shoulders dropped and her hands fell to her side as if weighted with lead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to the floor.

  A fit dark-haired man wearing pressed khakis and a polo shirt strode through the door. His eyes traveled the short distance between Casey and Jack, then back again. He walked over to Casey and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes never lifted from the floor. “Sorry I was gone so long. It took a while to find a store that was open.” He faced Jack, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’m Casey’s husband, Reed Trabor.”

  Years of stage training allowed Jack to smile and hold out his hand. “Dylan Raines.”

  Recognition flickered in Reed’s eyes. His jaw tightened, and he shook Jack’s hand briefly. “You were in the flash flood.” A line formed between his eyebrows. His eyes shifted to Casey and back again.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “With Casey?”

  Jack glanced at Casey, but she was busy twirling a curl around her finger and gazing nowhere. “Yes. With Casey.” He tried to sound neutral, but those three words said everything—about their past and, he hoped, their future.

  Reed was silent for a moment, his face composed, putting it all together. “And you’re here now, because…?”

  “I’m helping investigate the attack on her. I was attacked, too.”

  Reed’s nose twitched on one side. “Casey doesn’t need your kind of help. Publicity is the last thing she wants.”

  Jack’s certainty trickled away. He slid his hands into his pockets. “You’re right about the publicity. I don’t want it either—”

  “Could have fooled me. Weren’t you just splashed all over the headlines? I wouldn’t be surprised if your publicist dreamed up the airplane stunt. It worked after the river drama, didn’t it? And I noticed the Mystery Woman thing was resurrected because of you. How exactly does that help Casey? If the press figures out who she is, she’s done. You might have difficulty comprehending this, but sordid spotlight-wallowing is not for her.”

  Heat crawled up from Jack’s gut and settled in that hair-trigger spot right behind his eyes. His fingers twitched and his face went numb. All he needed was an excuse…

  Ditsy saved him. “All right, then.” She breezed in and thumped down a tray of hastily assembled sandwiches. “The way I see it, we’ve got some sussing out to do. I mean, first someone tries to take out you, Casey, then someone tries to take out Jack?” She glanced at Reed. “Er, Dylan, that is.”

  “Both unsuccessful,” Reed said pointedly.

  Ditsy whirled on him. “Just because they failed doesn’t mean they’ll give up, Reed. Whoever they are, they’ve made two attempts on Casey, and one spectacular attempt on Jack. I don’t see them throwing up their hands and going home.”

  “I agree,” Casey said distractedly. “If we put our minds and information together, we might come up with something useful.”

  She shoved back her curls and finally lifted her face so Jack could see her eyes. They were flat. Flat as concrete, and just as opaque. Something had happened between his call to Casey and his arrival at Ditsy’s. Something that had made her duck and hide.

  Something that felt to him a lot like an earthquake.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “First,” Casey said, muscling her mind around to pretend that the only thing that mattered was this puzzle, “Reed gave us some information that was…enlightening.”

  Jack dragged his gaze away from her, dragging a little of her heart with him. He focused his eyes on Reed. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  Reed recounted the finding of Trixie Starr’s address book with the highlighted names, and his attempt to direct Casey to Celestial Productions with the emails. “I suspected the address book might have something to do with illegal campaign contributions and thought the financial records of Celestial Productions might be revealing.”

  “So you used Casey as bait?” The outrage in Jack’s voice was too close to the surface. It did nothing for Casey’s peace of mind that he echoed her thoughts exactly.

  “Not that it’s any business of yours what I do with my wife, but I didn’t think she’d be in danger. I’d forgotten that at dinner one night she blabbed to Senator Carr about her plan to look for indicators of changing social-political trends with a focus on the financial records of small film companies.”

  He also forgot, apparently, that it was he who suggested the financial records, Casey noticed.

  “Oh, so it’s Casey’s fault that she was attacked—” Jack had suddenly morphed from cool, composed Dylan Raines to the man who’d saved Casey from a rattlesnake with the flick of a knife. She didn’t dislike it.

  “Boys! Focus. Chest-thumping is not helpful here,” Ditsy said, hands on hips.

  Jack glanced at Casey, then away. He rolled his neck, as if to ease the tension out of his shoulders, and blew out a breath. “You’re not entirely off track, Trabor, but it’s not illegal campaign contributions we’re dealing with. It’s blackmail.”

  Casey felt like she was living a spy novel. First Reed and his story of information gathering, now Jack told them about a trip he and his friends made to Celestial Productions and what they had found. The booty from Jack’s plunder, if despicable, was easier to understand.

  “Most of the tapes were legitimate indie films, but filed along with those were some straight-up porn, and also some that are clearly blackmail material—tapes of well-known and powerful people indulging their sexual fantasies. I have a list. This is where Trixie Starr comes in—she’s a porn star. She appears in some of the blackmail tapes, as well as some of the porn films. And I’ll bet anything the names in her address book are the same ones on my list.”

  “The blackmail angle explains why Casey was attacked,” Reed pointed out. “Some of the people in the address book might consider drastic means to protect their now well-established lives and those of their families.”

  “So how did Senator Carr end up with Trixie Starr’s address book?” Ditsy wanted to know. “Or is that just a cover?”

  “Don’t know,” Jack said. “We’re missing something. I brought one of the tapes with me, if you’re up for it.”

  “Maybe she discovered the scandal and was trying to get it cleaned up quietly,” Casey said.

  “Maybe.” Reed’s tone was neutral. “She is committed to helping victims of the sex trade, although mostly children and teens.”

  “Well,” Ditsy said, “in any case, we could probably go to the authorities right now with the list and let them take care of the whole disaster.”

  “No,” Jack said.

  They all turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

  “All we have is a list of some names—names on the tapes that we happened to spot. We don’t know if there are more tapes or other people involved, and we don’t know who set the whole thing up. The authorities will only want to clear the case. That’s not the same as protecting Casey or me or our friends and families. I think we should keep going. At least I intend to.”

  There was a moment of silence while they considered this appraisal. Reed’s face wore an odd expression, equal parts disdain and envy. He kept his mouth s
hut, however.

  “Fair enough,” Ditsy finally said. “Right, then. Let’s tighten up any loose ends we can right now. How about the tape. Should we all have a look at it to see if it rings any bells?”

  Jack looked inquiringly at Casey. She nodded. Reed and Ditsy took seats on the sofa while Casey turned on the television. Jack squatted beside her and slotted the film into the player. She took a step away from him, but it was too late. His warm scent burrowed into her heart, gnawing at her resolve.

  “It’s pretty raw,” he warned. He took a seat on the floor near the sofa and pointed the remote control Ditsy handed him to start the tape.

  Casey forced her eyes away from Jack to look at the television screen. The film progressed, drawing snorts from Ditsy but no comments from anyone else. Casey had a sense of déjà vu—well, not exactly, but something in the film felt out of place. She frowned and twisted a curl around her finger. “Something…”

  Jack paused the video. “What?”

  Casey pointed to the female performer, a blowzy blonde, frozen with a catlike smile on her face. “Something odd about her. Trixie Starr. I can’t quite…”

  Jack started the film again. Trixie Starr walked over to her waiting victim. Standing over him, she raised her right hand to her mouth and thoughtfully tapped her pouty lower lip with her raised little finger.

  A choked expletive jerked Casey’s attention to Reed. He looked ill. His face had gone white and his mouth was slack.

  “Oh my God! That’s it!” Casey jumped up. “Patricia Carr. Trixie Starr is Patricia Carr.”

  The three of them looked at Reed. He looked up and nodded hollowly. “Blackmail. She used sex to blackmail her way into power. And I fell for it.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed at Reed, and a frown crossed his face. He shook his head, as if negating a thought, and said, “Then it’s a wrap.”

  Jack called Detective MacElroy, whose advice was to stay quiet and stay safe until the authorities got in touch.