by Meryl Sawyer
“T-Trent wouldn’t kill…Daddy. Th-they were s-so close.” A sense of desolation swept over her. In her head she saw Trent and her father huddled over one of the surfboard molds—laughing, talking.
“Trent kill?” A cold edge of irony filled her voice. “You’ve got to be kidding! I planted the bomb. He didn’t know until after the funeral. When I told him…Trent cried like the baby he is at times. Then I showed him a copy of the trust that I’d taken off your mother’s computer.”
Hayley knew exactly what the trust said. She could only imagine how betrayed Trent must have felt—seeing in writing that his father had no faith in him.
“Well, let’s just say Trent saw the light. He was still squeamish. He wanted you to live. He was quite sentimental about you. I got tired of waiting. I couldn’t count on him, so I planted the bomb under your car without telling anyone.”
Hayley’s chest hurt so much it felt as if it would burst. Lindsey died because this insane woman thought she was killing Hayley. And now she would get what she’d been after all along.
“W-w-w…whe-re?” Hayley could barely get out the word.
“Where did I get the bombs?” Hayley saw the light flash off Farah’s white teeth and knew she was smiling. Gloating, most likely. “That’s the good part. I fell into them. Remember my trip to Puerto Vallarta with Kyle? We drove down the coast to some out-of-the-way beach so Kyle could surf. Our car broke down on the way back. We spent the night in some shit-hole village. At the only cantina we met some guys. Kyle bought dope while I had a good time with the boys.”
Hayley didn’t have to stretch her imagination to realize Farah meant sex. Even in high school, Farah—brainy though she was—had gotten herself a reputation. After college and her return to Newport, rumors said she was more than a little wild. Hayley had chosen to ignore the gossip.
“One of the muchachos bragged that he made car bombs for some cartel. I didn’t believe him for one second. The other guy had passed out and Kyle was sleeping it off so I let macho man demo one of his bombs.” Farah giggled. “He woke up the whole damn village when he blew up some clunker.”
“N-n-o.” Hayley choked out the word, thinking not of the old car but of her parents being blown to bits.
“Yes,” Farah said with pride. “I showed macho man a few kinky tricks he’d never seen and persuaded him to give me two bombs. One for you and one for dear old Dad and your bitch of a mother.”
Hayley gasped, unable to say a word. Facing Laird had been a dreadful experience. Being alone in the dark with someone who was pure evil was terrifying. Kick Fear—Believe. There had to be a way out of this.
“W-why Laird? Ch-chad?”
“Move!” Farah shoved the gun into Hayley’s ribs. “I don’t have all night to chitchat. Dear old Ryan will be back soon. He’ll find you in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Neck broken in a fall. You were up wandering around—unable to see—and had a fatal accident.”
So that’s what she planned. Hayley would be better off to force Farah to shoot her right here. Then, at least, there would be a murder investigation. Ryan wouldn’t rest until the crime had been solved.
The telephones in the loft rang simultaneously. The closest one was on Hayley’s nightstand but there was another in the kitchen and one more in the entry.
“Th-that’s R-Ryan.”
“Let’s not disappoint him. Answer the phone.”
Hayley couldn’t believe Farah was going to let her do this. Holding her arm in a clasp like one of The Wrath’s death grips, Farah marched her into the bedroom. She grabbed the receiver and handed it to Hayley.
“H-hel-l-lo?”
“Hayley—”
Farah snatched away the phone and hung it up. Hayley had recognized Ryan’s voice.
“He believes you’re all right. You dropped the phone because you can’t see shit. When he calls back, he’ll get a busy signal. But he won’t worry. He heard your voice. He knows you’re here.”
Clever, Hayley thought. This woman could really think on her feet. Would Ryan see through the ruse? She couldn’t count on it. Even if he did suspect something, Ryan was too far away to help. Should he call the police, they wouldn’t get here in time, either. She had only herself to rely on.
“March unless you want me to shoot,” Farah said.
There might be a way, Hayley again thought. If she failed, Hayley could scratch Farah the way she had Laird and the police would have DNA evidence. She’d be dead but—they might catch Farah. There was a slim chance this would work, but it was her only hope.
Hayley edged forward a foot or so. “T-tell me what Chad…L-Laird had to gain.”
“Money. Money talks as they say.” There was a trace of laughter in Farah’s voice. “Laird had a scheme to combine the two businesses and sell them to a big gun or go for an IPO. Either way, we’d all make a bundle.”
“Ch-Chad wouldn’t…make any money,” Hayley said, just to keep her talking while she mentally reviewed her plan.
“It was worth a lot to us to have the trust destroyed. We compensated your fiancé.” Farah told her with pride. “Money up front and more to come after the sale of the company.”
Her tone was mocking now; she clearly believed Hayley had fallen off the proverbial turnip truck. And maybe she had. Trusting Chad and Trent had been a miscalculation that could cost her life.
“I-is Tr-Trent…here?”
“No. Start walking.” Farah jammed the gun into Hayley’s back. “Trent’s in San Diego. He took care of Chad. If we’d let him live, Chad would have rolled over on us. Now it’s a win-win situation.”
Stalling, Hayley cried, “Ch-Chad’s…dead?”
“Suicide plain and simple.”
“Y-you won’t get away—”
“We’ve already been through this. I’m a whole lot smarter than anyone suspects.” She shoved Hayley forward. “Why do you think I wore all this gear? I’m not leaving any forensic evidence behind. Just one dead body. Understand?”
From the light now coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the bay, Hayley could make out the silvery rungs of the stainless-steel banister. She knew Farah would have to get her to the edge to push her down the stairs. Or over the top of the banister.
Over the top, Hayley decided. A plunge straight down the stairs might mean she would fall only as far as the landing. Pushing her over the top of the banister meant a direct fall to the lobby level and the hard tiles on the entry floor.
“Do you want to jump or should I push you?” Farah asked with saccharine sweetness.
Hayley paused a moment, calculating. If only she could see more than a shadowy shape, she would have a better chance of pulling this off. Kick Fear—Believe.
Hayley swung to the right—not away from Farah but into her, making a grab for the gun. And contorting her body.
RYAN LEFT HIS CAR double-parked a building away from Hayley’s loft. As usual there were no parking places. He sprinted up the street, his gun in his hand. The moment he’d realized Hayley’s parents had been killed, Ryan knew that Laird was only part of the conspiracy.
Who would benefit from these deaths?
Trent and Farah. Possibly their mother as well. It didn’t matter who was behind it, he had to get to Hayley before they killed her. True, she’d answered the phone, disconnected the line.
It could have been the accidental result of her eye problems, but Ryan didn’t believe it. Getting the busy signal several times confirmed his suspicions. He’d called the police and alerted them.
Where were they? No sign of them in the street near Hayley’s home. No sirens coming down Newport Boulevard. Just like the saying went—the police were never around when you needed them.
The unmistakable boom of a gunshot split the night as loud as a cannon shot. A second later glass shattered as if a department store window had been hit. The huge window facing the bay, Ryan decided as he reached the front door.
The door was locked, the way he’d left it. He put his
good shoulder against the door and shoved with all his might. Nothing. No sounds from inside, either.
Sweat ran down his temples. He backed up. This time he took a running start and charged the door. It gave and he landed on his back in the entry, dazed.
He jolted upright, then felt for his gun. His fingers encountered a pool of liquid. What in hell? Blood, he realized as he found the gun in the darkness. His eyes were adjusting to the light now.
A woman’s crumpled form was sprawled across the entry floor. Was he too late?
“Hayley?” he called, moving on his knees to the body.
“I’m up here.”
For a second, he couldn’t think beyond— Thank God!
“Careful,” she cried. “Farah’s got a gun.”
A wild flash of happiness swept through him like a riptide. “Don’t worry about her. It’s over. You’re safe.”
EPILOGUE
HAYLEY STOOD at the altar and inhaled the scent of roses filling the air. Candles infused with essence of rose flickered around her. She smoothed the skirt of the pale lavender-colored dress that fell in loose folds to her knees.
She couldn’t help looking at Ryan. The muscles of his shoulders strained at the black silk of his tuxedo. His shoulder had healed and he’d been working out again. Not that he needed to. Ryan had a rugged physique and a slow grin that made him the most attractive man she’d ever met.
They smiled at each other as “We’ve Only Just Begun” began to play. Conrad, standing next to Ryan, was beaming. Ryan had wheeled his father to the altar, but Conrad wanted to stand up beside Meg to be married.
“Regal. Positively regal,” Hayley whispered to the men when her aunt walked up the aisle. Aunt Meg’s silver hair was swept up into a cluster of loose curls at the top of her head. On The Wrath’s arm, she moved with elegance and grace that came naturally to her. The Wrath didn’t know Meg well, but he really liked her and insisted on escorting her.
When Aunt Meg reached the altar, the pastor cleared his throat and began the ceremony. Blinking back tears, Hayley listened. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever been happier for anyone.
It had taken Aunt Meg a lifetime to find Conrad, and now nothing could part them. They were going to make the most of the time they had together. After the ceremony and reception, they were going to Tahiti. She let her mind drift as the ceremony continued.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the pastor concluded. They kissed and everyone clapped uproariously.
Slowly Conrad inched around, with Ryan at his elbow to make sure he didn’t lose his balance. Aunt Meg turned beside her new husband and offered him a shy smile.
“Friends,” the pastor said, “I give you Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Hollister.”
“WHAT’S GOING THROUGH that beautiful head?” Ryan asked as he guided her around the dance floor at the reception.
“Nothing…really,” she hedged.
“You weren’t thinking about the business again, were you?”
“Not exactly.” She gazed into his intelligent eyes. “I was wishing my parents could be here to see Aunt Meg.” She glanced over to the head table where Aunt Meg was sitting, holding hands with Conrad and laughing.
“They’re happy…despite everything,” Ryan said.
Hayley knew he was obliquely referring to Farah’s death and the scandal surrounding her parents’ plane crash. The Fordhams had been in the news daily. Now Trent was in jail awaiting trial for shooting Chad.
“Yes, they are happy,” she agreed. “And they deserve it.”
The music stopped and Ryan escorted her out to the Balboa Bay Club’s upper terrace overlooking the harbor.
“Let it go,” Ryan said. “Forget everything that’s happened.”
“That’s impossible. Even though it’s been a month, I can’t get over the extent of Farah’s fury, her absolute hatred for her own father. It’s…shocking.”
“Look.” Ryan slid his arm across her bare shoulders. “She was mentally ill.”
“But Trent—”
“He could have said no, but he didn’t. He was too weak.”
Hayley nodded and tried to put the situation out of her mind. They’d discussed this several times since Hayley had managed to get the better of Farah. She shouldn’t be dwelling on it during such a festive occasion. “Every cloud has a silver lining.”
“You referring to the jujitsu move The Wrath taught you? It saved your life.”
“No,” Hayley replied. Even now she couldn’t believe she’d managed to hook Farah’s leg and shove her over the railing. Farah had managed to fire her gun—and shatter the glass window before hitting the tile headfirst. “I’m thinking about second chances.”
“I’ll bite.” Ryan’s mouth twisted with amusement. “What second chances are we talking about?”
“Me, The Wrath, PimpIt. We’re all taking a second look at our careers.”
The Wrath had been so disturbed by killing a man—even accidentally—with an MMA maneuver that he’d decided to devote himself to promoting his gear. With Trent out of the picture, Hayley had been thrilled to have The Wrath join the team at Surf’s Up. It was a package deal. PimpIt, who’d never been much of a fighter, was going to work in the shop, too.
“Have you decided about your art career?” Ryan asked.
She hadn’t brought up this subject because she didn’t know how she felt. It had been the elephant in the room for the last few weeks. Today as Aunt Meg strolled down the aisle, Hayley had made her decision.
“I’m putting it on hold.” Her voice was shakier than she would have liked. “Well, not hold exactly. I’ll still paint. I’ll make time somehow, but I have to keep Surf’s Up going. I suspect it will head into new areas like MMA gear, but I don’t want all my parents struggled to build to fail or be sold.”
She allowed her subconscious thoughts to surface. “Mom and Dad had so much faith in me. I never realized how much. I was stunned that they’d left me the business.”
Ryan’s arms encircled her, one hand at the small of her back that was left bare by the deep vee of the gown. Her skin tingled under his fingertips.
“Hayley, I’ll back you no matter what you want to do.” His grip tightened and his expression became more serious. “Just save some time for us.”
“Of course,” she assured him. “People count the most. You are even more important to me than my aunt. You’re the best.”
His lips pressed against hers, then gently covered her mouth. She quivered at the tenderness of his kiss. A moment later, Ryan pulled away. “Talk about second chances. I’m getting one. I love you more than you can imagine.”
Her heart pounded erratically. Ryan had never used the “L” word before. He’d told her how much she meant to him, how frightened he’d been at the thought of losing her, but he’d never said he loved her.
“I’m crazy about you, too,” she whispered.
“Does that mean you love me?” he asked in a low, husky voice.
“Yes. I love you.”
Reclaiming her lips, Ryan crushed her to him. There was a dreamy intimacy to their kiss, a realization that what they shared was special.
“What do you say we wait until the happy couple returns from their honeymoon in Tahiti, then we exchange vows?”
Hayley had hoped Ryan would ask her to marry him. “Mrs. Ryan Hollister has a nice ring to it.”
“Speaking of rings.” He pulled a blue box out of his pocket and opened it. The diamond winked at Hayley. “You’re the second chance at love that I never thought I would find.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5481-1
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Copyright © 2010 by M. Sawyer-Unickel
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