Everest

by S. L. Scott

  “Your dreams are goals you’re still trying to achieve.”

  “Says the billionaire.” A smile doesn’t follow, but I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. “An entry-level job in publishing pays less than I’m making now. You see where I live on the money I make. Where would I live if I make less? I’ll tell you where. Boulder.” Her eyes fill with tears and I feel the first crack in my heart. I feel powerless watching her crash from the stress of the day.

  I stand and pull the blanket over her. “You’ve had a long day. The pill is kicking in. Just close your eyes and get some rest.”

  Her lids drop closed, but I leave on the TV, finding comfort in the noise. It’s only eight, but this day feels like it’s been going forever. When I stand, her eyes open and her fingers hold me by the watchband. “Ethan.” Her voice sounds lucid, much like how her eyes appear looking at mine.

  “I’m right here.” For a moment I think she’s awake, but she doesn’t seem to register my attention, looking through me more than at me.

  “I baked blueberry muffins hoping you’d fall in love.”

  “I did. I fell in love.” Stroking her cheek, I say, “You didn’t need muffins for that. Just yourself.”

  “Before he pushed me, he said Ethan Everest will pay.” Her eyes fall closed and her mouth falls open and she passes out, instantly in a deep sleep while I’m left staring at her.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I run to my phone and call Lars. “Get up here. Now.”

  Lars is walking off the elevator within minutes. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do we have the footage yet?”

  “We have one, but it’s not clear. We’re waiting on one more from the Bank Center that has a camera aimed at that specific corner.”

  “Get it immediately. She’s on medication, but I think it relaxed her mind enough to remember. Right before she was pushed, the man told her Ethan Everest would pay. She said he pushed her toward the oncoming traffic intentionally. He tried to fucking kill her.” My hands run through my hair and over my face. “Someone is trying to get back at me by hurting her.”

  “Do you have any suspicions who it might be or why?”

  “Not one fucking clue. Fuck.” I pace the kitchen trying to keep our voices from traveling to her across the room. “Keith wouldn’t resort to murder. Anyway, we’ve settled. He’ll get the money he’s been after for years. We need that footage to find the fucker who pushed her. She said he looked homeless so there must have been a payday for him to attack her.”

  “I’ll get the footage. I’ve also sent one of my guys to talk to her boss since he witnessed it.”

  “This must stay on the down-low. She walked away from a crime scene. Both her and Chip Newsome could come under fire with the police. We need concrete evidence before we go to them.”

  “That situation was handled. We’ll get the evidence we need before going to them with this.”

  “Tonight.”

  “We’re working on it. I’ll text you when I have new information. I emailed you the first video, and I’ll send the second as soon as we get it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He goes back to the elevator and I return to Singer, who’s sleeping soundly. I sit on the coffee table in front of her and stare. I’ve become the creeper she was joking about earlier, but I don’t care.

  I watch this woman in front of me, wondering how a bastard like me got so lucky. Aaron doesn’t tell me much that goes on between them, so I assume their car rides must be quiet. But he has told me how she treats Frank, and that she brings them both coffee most mornings. The mornings she doesn’t, she’s usually running late.

  Singer treats the world with a broad stroke of compassion. It makes my teeth clench thinking that someone dared to treat her with less.

  I run the tips of my fingers over her delicate neck, the vein pulsing when I pass over it. With two fingers pressed to the beat, I check her heart rate. It’s steady like her. A whirlwind of intrigue and beauty drew me to her so instantly. But her outlook on life, the way she sees me, the peace she brings to my life, she’s my North Star. She’s the one I look to when I’m struggling to find my way home.

  Shiplap and a farmhouse sink.

  I’m thinking those aren’t common in Manhattan. The city is all about the sleek and modern, like my apartment. But I’d give those to her. I’d rip this place apart and let her have whatever her heart desires if she’ll stay.

  I’m careful not to wake her when I get up, though I have a feeling a train’s whistle couldn’t do that right now. I pick up the remote and start to close the curtains, feeling vulnerable to onlookers for the first time since I’ve lived here. Scanning every light I see outside this wall of windows, I realize it’s not just about the view anymore. Someone out there wants to hurt me, and I’m a fish trapped in a bowl.

  Other than the charity ball, we’ve been discrete. Even then, we avoided photos, and there’s not been public PDA. Who knows about her? And how?

  The curtains close, and I move to where I’ve set up my laptop on the dining table to check my email for the first video.

  Lars is right. You can’t see anything from that camera angle. I click over when my box dings with a new message. The second video is here, so I click to full screen. My eyes narrow when I see her and Chip walking down the street together. His arm is around her and even though I could get caught up in that detail, that’s something I’m willing to deal with later to get the other answers I need now.

  The elevator opens and Lars calls, “Sir?”

  “Dining room.” When I see him, I add, “Please keep your voice down. Singer is asleep on the couch.”

  “Have you watched the video?”

  “Watching now.” I press play and watch with my hands clasped in front of me. I know what’s coming and anxiety builds.

  Lars points at a man in the upper left hand corner of the screen. “That’s him.”

  My gaze darts between Singer and this man. He’s disheveled with a slight limp. He appears drunk by the back and forth swaying when he walks. A car slams on the brakes to avoid hitting him when he crosses against the light.

  Singer, in all her innocence, is laughing, not even aware of what’s about to happen. The man uses his hands to wedge Chip and Singer apart. Grabbing hold of Singer, he leans into her, and then shoves her.

  His pace picks up, and then he runs until he’s out of the camera’s view. I rewind to watch again, this time I follow Singer. The feet of the chair skid as I stand abruptly, the truth just as horrible as I thought. “He was definitely trying to throw her into traffic.”

  She stumbles, then falls to her knees catching herself on the curb. A cab drives by, and she leans back just before Chip grabs her by the arms and pulls her away from the edge. He’s shouting at the man but bends down to help her.

  With all those people staring, he fucking gets away.

  Fuck!

  I knew it was bad. I could feel it in my gut, but this is worse. I slam my fists down on the wood table. How will I ever get that image out of my head? How?

  “Find him.”

  29

  Ethan

  “We already have a full description of the perpetrator with our co-op team. We’ll find him by morning.” Lars stands completely still, as if the woman I love wasn’t almost killed for some vendetta against me.

  “I want him tonight,” I reply, leaving no room for further discussion on the matter. He’s smart not to argue. After watching the video again and again, I rub the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, trying to control my rage. “I want him dead.”

  The statement doesn’t faze Lars. He’s not a henchman, and I’m not in the business of murder, but someone else is and I need to know who. I walk away. Standing behind the couch, I look at her sleeping. Even with the drugs running through her system, her sleep isn’t peaceful.

  I direct him to go. “Leave.”

  When Lars is gone, I lift Singer into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. I tuck her s
lumbering body under the covers and take my phone from my pocket and set it next to me when I crawl in next to her. Bringing her to me, she moves on her own, wrapping her arm around my middle and resting her head on my chest. I’m not soft, but she finds comfort in my arms, her restless muscles stilling.

  Closing my eyes, I hold her, finding comfort under her body.

  My arm buzzes.

  Buzz.

  Cloudy dreams clear for reality.

  Buzz.

  Buzz.

  Phone.

  Where’s my phone?

  Popping one eye open, the brightly lit screen in the dark room guides me straight to it.

  Aaron.

  I lift the phone to my ear. “What?” Singer shifts, so I lower my voice. “What’s going on?”

  “I haven’t heard from Ms. Lazarus.”

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I look at the time. 12:17 a.m. “Shit. I fell asleep.” I sit up without thinking.

  Singer mumbles and rolls to the side. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I reply, getting out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Ethan?” she calls, propping up on an elbow. “What is it?”

  “Business.” I rush into the living room, away from her so she can’t hear. “Aaron?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s the ETA of when she was expected?”

  “I called The Plaza. The Reception ended an hour ago.”

  “You didn’t pick her up?”

  “I was told to retrieve her from the apartment, so I’ve been waiting here.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Her boyfriend was going to see her home.” My mind is not quite awake, but my thoughts are starting to connect. She probably went home with Mike. “It’s just past midnight. Have you texted her or called?”

  “I did. Twenty minutes ago. I haven’t heard back.”

  “Okay, let me call Melanie, and I’ll call you right ba—”

  Shots ring out.

  The sound of glass exploding on the other end of the phone is so loud my grip on the phone loosens, and it falls to the floor.

  My breathing stops.

  My body frozen to the spot.

  “Oh fuck.” I know what that sound was. My hands begin shaking as I reach down and pick it up.

  From behind me, Singer asks, “Where’s Melanie?”

  I look up and see her standing there, a silhouette with the hall light behind her. “What?”

  My eyes water as the sound of more shots ring and a woman’s scream echoes from the phone, the speaker turned on from when it hit the floor. Singer jumps. “What was that?” Her voice shakes, terror contorting her face.

  Dropping to my knees, I shout, “Aaron?” I grab the phone and shout again. “Aaron? Are you there? Aaron? Aaron! Fucking answer me.” I jump to my feet and run to the security panel. We’ve practiced this a few times to make sure all security measures are in place, so now it’s ingrained. “Code 5. Aaron. Aaron’s down.”

  Lars’s voice comes through. “Code 5. Sending Rogers to retrieve him.”

  “I’m coming down.”

  “You should stay, sir.”

  “Secure the penthouse behind me.”

  I grab my shoes and a jacket. Singer’s trailing behind me, asking a million questions, but they’re background static to my thoughts. Aaron. Fuck.

  She grabs my arm, forcing me to turn toward her. “What does ‘Aaron’s down’ mean?”

  Punching the button to call the elevator, I can’t look at her, and yet, she’s the only thing I want to see. She’s the only one I want to be with. I want to turn the hours back—days, months even—to the time when I met her on the fire escape. Everything would be different. I cup her face, the fear prevalent in her eyes. “We don’t know. It sounded like gunshots. We don’t know.”

  “Noooo,” she says, crying. Tears roll down her cheeks, her hands gripping mine as if I can save her. I’m going to do every fucking thing I can to do just that.

  I try to pry her fingers off me, but she’s got a viselike hold on me. “I’ve got to go, Singer.”

  “No. You’re not leaving. You’re not going.”

  “I have to be there for him.”

  “Is he alive? Please tell me he’s okay. He’s got to be okay.”

  Damn this fucking elevator. I look down, not able to lie to her when looking into the soul of her eyes. “He’ll be okay.”

  “Where’s Melanie?”

  The elevator opens and I force her back and get in. “Stay here, Singer. Promise me you’ll stay.”

  “Please don’t go,” she pleads, moving forward, “don’t leave me.”

  Holding my hand out in front of me, I stop her from entering. “I’ll be back.”

  “With Melanie?”

  “Yes.”

  “I love you.”

  This time I look directly into her eyes. “I love you, Singer.” The door closes and my back hits the wall. I don’t know what I’m heading into, but I can’t leave Aaron out there.

  When the elevator opens, the SUV is in front of me with the door open. Lars follows me to the vehicle and slides in after I get in. “Is the penthouse covered?” I ask.

  “Yes, I’ve got two men stationed. The alarms and perimeter have been secured.”

  The SUV speeds out of the parking garage, and for a brief second, I forget it’s not Aaron driving.

  Lars has his phone out. “The car has been tracked to Ms. Davis’s residence. It’s still there.”

  Looking down, I see the flashing dot on the screen. “That’s not good.” I can tell he wants to say something, but hesitates. “What? Just say it.”

  “It’s not good.” Looking up, keeping tabs on our whereabouts, he adds, “He would have checked in. He’s trained. He knows to fight and then to contact us. I won’t lie to you. I’m concerned for him and for your safety. This could be an ambush. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  “The police could be there already. Maybe it’s in their hands, and they have it sorted.”

  “There have been calls to the police. We tracked three over a scanner. No one on duty has claimed the calls. No one’s en route. They were asking for available officers to report to the scene. There’s no response.”

  Looking at my watch. “It’s been over ten minutes.”

  He looks down at the tracking device flashing red. “I know.”

  “What’s going on, Lars?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to be careful.”

  “I started a private social site. We talked about girls and whose parents we could steal a few beers from without getting caught.” The lights racing by outside hold my sight, but my thoughts are back in high school. I have no idea why my mind decided now was a good time to reminisce. “Twelve years later, I’m sitting here praying to God that a man who has become my friend isn’t dead because of me. Is this the meaning of success? Is this the happiness that money was supposed to buy?” I turn to Lars. “I’d trade it all for the last year to disappear.”

  “Success comes in many forms. You aren’t responsible for Ms. Davis’s accident or for Aaron.”

  “Then who is? Because I’m feeling pretty damn responsible when the woman I love is being thrown into traffic after being told I’m going to pay the price for who knows what.”

  He goes quiet when a text appears on his screen. “The police are on their way, and we still haven’t found the suspect from this afternoon’s incident.”

  “It’s not an incident if he intended to murder her.”

  “Two minutes. Remain in the vehicle until I’ve secured the premises.”

  I stare straight ahead, adrenaline pumping through my veins. The tires screech as we round the block to Singer’s street. As soon as it comes to a stop, I jump out. Lars is already yelling, “Stop him.”

  He doesn’t have to.

  We all stop at the same time.

  With the headlights from the car shining toward the middle of the road, we see Aaron, eclipsed by the bright lig
hts. Blood runs down his face, his shirt soaked, his arms full—a woman’s body.

  Oh God.

  Fuck.

  I’ve witnessed many emotions in my life—sadness, happiness, heartbreak, anger, deceit, and more. But I’ve never witnessed devastation.

  Until now.

  Edging closer to us is a version of this man I’ve never seen before. Aaron has always been so . . . unshakable, undaunted. “I . . .” he starts, but then he lowers his head without finishing.

  Her body is limp. Fuck. An image of Singer confuses me. And then I realize why. “Singer said I could borrow the dress. I hope you don’t mind, Ethan.”

  “No. It fits. It looks nice.”

  “We’re the same size, and thank you. I’ve never felt more beautiful.”

  . . . Oh God. The dress. Melanie was wearing Singer’s dress to the wedding.

  The team moves in and I run to them, lifting her neck as Lars helps Aaron hold on to her body. “Melanie? Melanie?”

  When we move her to the back of the SUV, she remains motionless, not responding. Not breathing.

  Sirens roar in the distance, fast approaching, but there’s no time to waste. I don’t know if it’s too late, but I will try my damnedest to save her.

  I reach to take the pulse on her neck. “Melanie? Can you hear me? Mel, wake up.” Struggling to find a pulse, I glance at Aaron, who’s shaking his head.

  “I already tried to revive her.” He falters, his eyes rolling back. I catch him when he’s too weak to stand, and he says, “I’ve been shot. Twice.”

  Holding him up, I shout, “Has an ambulance been called?”

  Aaron clears his throat, but blood drips from the corner. Fuck.

  He says, “My phone.” Stopping to swallow, color draining from his face, he says, “I can’t find it.”

  Lars responds, “We called.”

  Lights drown us in red and blue and we’re surrounded as Lars holds on to Aaron. I shout to the police, “We need help. Our friends have been shot.” I grab hold of Melanie’s hand and hover over her, searching for life. Fucking hell.

  Please, God, save her.

  The ambulance pulls up behind the police cars, the paramedics rushing between the cops who have their guns aimed at us. The paramedics drop to help Aaron while the officers come closer, and demand, “Show us your weapons.”