Order of Protection

by Lexi Blake

  Alicia started toward the door. She turned at the doorway. “And I’ll be writing the foundation a hefty check. If you decide to take over some of those documentary projects, let me know. I would love to work with you, no matter what you decide to do with Henry. You know, the world could use your story. I’m sure right now it’s too raw and you need some distance, but think about it. I would love to help with that. I need the karma, baby.”

  She walked through the door, and Win was left gawking after her. What the hell had happened? Should she believe a damn thing that woman said?

  Was it possible someone could know herself that well and be honest about it?

  She knew one thing. She was going to have a long talk with her best friend.

  Win walked through the party, looking for Brie. She moved to the edge of the crowd. No sign of Brie or Trevor.

  A nasty suspicion played through her brain.

  Brie wasn’t friends with guys. She didn’t view men as friends. She viewed them as playthings, and playing around with Trevor would definitely be something Brie could do. It could cause a scandal that would drag them all through tabloid hell.

  As quietly as she could, she moved toward the private residential portion of the penthouse. Win wouldn’t put it past Brie to try to find something she could use to force Win’s hand. Hell, at this point Brie might do it out of pure malice.

  Sure enough, the light was on in her bedroom, the door open.

  That bitch. She strode into the room and slipped on the marble floor. She fell forward, trying to catch herself. Win slammed into the floor and groaned. Her head hurt. Damn. Had she hit her head on the bedpost? The pain was crippling. What had happened?

  She looked up and saw Brie. She looked weird though. Paler than usual. Why were her lips blue? That wasn’t the shade of lipstick she wore. And why was she covered in red wine?

  Had she spilled her drink? No, she didn’t drink red. She’d been drinking vodka. The truth dawned, horror blooming.

  Blood. She’d slipped in Brie’s blood. It coated her dress. It was everywhere.

  She was in a sea of blood.

  Win heard someone screaming, but her vision faded and all went a blissful black.

  SEVEN

  The shrill ring of the phone shook him from his pleasant dream. Why didn’t he turn that sucker off when he was sleeping? It’s what he’d done on the island. He and Win would silence their phones at bedtime and not turn the ringers on again until the morning. They would shut the world out and sleep peacefully.

  Henry sat up, looking at the clock.

  He wasn’t on the island, and there was no peace here.

  Two in the morning.

  Someone better be dead.

  He ran a hand across his face, trying to wake up as he answered the cell. “This is Garrison.”

  “Henry, I need you to get dressed and come down to the Twentieth Precinct.” David’s voice sounded tinny over the line, like he was far away or there was a lot of noise he was trying to talk over. “I’m trying to get there right now but there’s a traffic jam.”

  “At this time of night?” Henry tried to shake the sleep off. “What’s going on? Is there an accident?”

  “I don’t have time to explain, but I need you.” David sounded grave over the line. “Win needs you.”

  That name woke him up and fast. “What are you talking about? Win is in North Carolina.”

  “I meant what I said. I don’t have time to explain. I’m almost there and I need to get in that building as quickly as possible. She’s completely in shock. I don’t want her talking to the police, but I think she might. She’s scared. I don’t know that she heard a word I said to her. They’ll try to use every second they have to get her to admit to the murder.”

  He damn near dropped the phone. “Murder? David, you need to start talking. How the hell is Win in the city, and what murder are you talking about? Is this some kind of a joke?”

  He rolled out of bed, slamming open the closet door. Win was in trouble. Apparently Win was here in New York and she’d gotten involved in something terrible. What had she witnessed? She’d talked about what had happened to her in Stockholm, but he’d thought that had been a random street crime.

  What if someone was trying to hurt Win? He hadn’t replied to her texts. She likely thought she was all alone. She hadn’t called him. She’d called David. How the hell had she gotten David’s number?

  “It’s not a joke. I’ll fill you in when you get here,” David was saying. “I have to go. Hurry.”

  “No. Don’t you hang up on me.”

  But the line had gone dead.

  He tried to get him back, but his call went straight to voice mail. He tried Win’s number. Again, voice mail.

  What the hell was going on?

  He dressed as quickly as he could. He could walk to the station. Avoid the traffic. The Twentieth served the Upper West Side. He lived in the neighborhood. Had Win been coming to look for him? Had something happened to her while she was trying to find him? But there weren’t any phone calls. She had his number.

  Nothing made sense.

  His cell trilled again. He grimaced. Alicia. What the hell could she want?

  He was irritated enough to answer. “I thought we agreed to never speak again. I’m sorry, but you decided to drunk dial your ex at the wrong time. Don’t call me again. I have work to do.”

  A sigh came over the line. “Thank god. I thought you would leave that poor girl to rot. It’s a nightmare over here. They’ve got us all locked up in the library, and they’re insisting we stay and give statements. I don’t know a lawyer in New York. I know you hate me, but I don’t think I should say anything without a lawyer present.”

  It was turning into a surreal night. He kind of wondered if he was still asleep and this was all some kind of anxiety dream. “What are you talking about?”

  “Brie Westerhaven’s murder,” she replied. “I’m at the party where she was killed. I watched them arrest Taylor Winston-Hughes. It’s ridiculous. There’s no way she killed anyone. You have to get to the station and help her, but please tell your friend to rep me. I saw David here earlier. Isn’t that woman he was with a lawyer, too? She’s here somewhere, but I can’t find her. I think she’s talking to Bellamy Hughes. Can you send someone? Please, Henry. It wasn’t all bad. And I did what you asked me to a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, gee, darling, thanks. I don’t think you did that out of the kindness of your heart. You stopped spreading lies about me because my new law partner has contacts that could ruin your career.” He picked up his wallet. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it looked like when it rained, it poured. Something had happened with Win, and it unluckily enough coincided with some famous person getting killed. At least he understood why there was a traffic jam. He was sure the reporters were everywhere. “Now explain why I give a shit about you being at a party where someone I don’t care about was murdered. I already got a call from David. If this is his way of getting us in the spotlight for representing some dumbass actress who got pissed another actress got her part, then I’m going back to bed.”

  What did Win have to do with any of this? Had she been working the party? Was it a fund-raiser for one of her causes? That would explain a lot.

  There was silence for a second, and Henry thought about hanging up on her.

  “Oh my god, Henry. You don’t know who she is. She didn’t tell you. Well, I did not suspect that.”

  A nasty thought twisted in his gut. He reached for the remote and flipped the television on to the twenty-four-hour news channel. If this was as big a story as Alicia made it out to be, there should already be news coverage. That was the joy of living in the city. No one had to wait for the press. The press was everywhere. They could mobilize in moments if the story happened in Manhattan. “Why don’t you tell me who you’re talking about, Alici
a?”

  There it was. The headline rushing across the screen was “Billion-Dollar Baby Accused of Murder.” The picture showed a perfectly done up reporter standing outside one of the most expensive buildings on the Upper West Side. It wasn’t that far from his own.

  “I’m talking about Taylor Winston-Hughes,” Alicia said, her voice calm. He thought of that particular tone as her “loving shrink” voice since she always used it to convey caring and understanding. “I know about your affair with her. A few days ago, Brie Westerhaven called me.”

  “The victim?” If Alicia had talked with the victim, then maybe she wasn’t being overly dramatic.

  “Yes, I know her father better than I know her, but I’ve come in contact with her enough that she has my number. She called on the grounds that she wanted me to know that she had an audition for a movie I’m doing and she would love my support. Normal actress shit. But at the end of the call, she said she had a little gossip for me that she thought I should hear before it hit the press. Brie told me that you were seeing Taylor Winston-Hughes. She stayed with you while you were on Martha’s Vineyard. I know why you were there and I feel bad about it. That wasn’t well-done of me, Henry. I was upset at the time, and I shouldn’t have forced you to sell it.”

  He didn’t give a damn about the house at that moment. No. He was far too angry about something else.

  The reporter threw it back to the station, and they began running footage of a lovely blonde being carted out in handcuffs. She was wearing clean clothes, but there was blood in her hair. Dirty, mud-colored, but he knew what it was that marred her honey-blond hair.

  Her eyes turned up and there was a hollow look there.

  There was no doubt about who she was. Oh, she wore more makeup than he’d seen her in, and her hair—blood aside—had been expertly done, but it was Win.

  His Win.

  “Henry, are you there? They want to talk to me. The police, that is.” Her voice went low. “Henry, I know Taylor and Brie fought earlier this evening. Should I say something about that? Do I have to? I don’t want to make it sound like I think Taylor did it. I don’t think she’s capable of violence.”

  Oh, but she was capable of lying. Of deceit. Of betrayal.

  Fuck. Fuck and fucking fuck. He took a deep breath. “I’ll have Margarita find you, or I’ll send Noah down. Don’t say a thing until you’ve got one of those two at your side. Do you understand?”

  Her relief came in loud and clear over the line. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Henry. And don’t—”

  He hung up. He dialed Margarita’s number, and she picked up immediately.

  “Henry? Are you at the police station yet? Have you seen her?”

  So everyone knew but him. Nice. It was always good to be the last one to know. “I’m at home, taking in the fact that the lovely young woman I recently spent time with turns out to be a liar and a potential killer.”

  “I told David you didn’t know.” Her voice had gone low. She wouldn’t want anyone listening in. “I told him he needed to handle this carefully. Tell me he didn’t just call you down to the station.”

  Henry was sure David had meant well. Or David had realized getting him to the station could be rough if Henry had known who his lover had turned out to be. “It doesn’t matter. I need you to find someone to rep Alicia. I know there’s got to be twenty lawyers at that thing. Not you. I don’t want her even associated with this firm, but she needs someone decent. Apparently she knows far more about what was going on between the accused and the victim than the police know at this point. Find someone to babysit her and make sure she doesn’t turn this into one of her badly written scripts.”

  Margarita groaned. “Fine. I’ll talk to Howard Klein. I saw him a few minutes ago. I wasn’t going to let her talk to the cops alone anyway. They’re being surprisingly nasty, by the way. I tried to get them to take Win out through a back way, but they paraded her right by the press. I think they’re trying to use her to make themselves look good.”

  “Ms. Winston-Hughes, please.” At least he knew where she’d gotten Win. It was a less ostentatious name than her real one. Taylor Winston-Hughes. She sounded exactly like the kind of woman he avoided. “Call the client—if she is the client—by her name.”

  “I’ve already told her uncle we would take the case.”

  “Then you can explain to him that you are not the senior partner and you don’t manage this firm.”

  She was quiet for a moment and he could practically see her standing there, trying to figure out how to handle him. “Henry, she’s in trouble. She needs representation.”

  The trouble was he didn’t want to be handled right now. Not by anyone. “And I’m sure she can find it. It appears she can certainly afford it.” He stared at the screen in front of him. It was now showing pictures of the victim with Win, except this was a Win he’d never seen before. Her hair was dyed a platinum color that didn’t suit her at all and she was far too thin. Scary thin. She was dressed in cutting-edge fashions and leaned into the dark-haired woman as though they’d practiced the pose.

  The young woman on the screen had none of his Win’s vibrant life in her eyes. She was pretty enough, but her skin was sallow, her body seeming to shrink in on itself.

  This was Win before.

  Who the fuck was she now? Besides a liar. Besides someone who had used him.

  “Are you seriously going to let this case get by you?” Margarita asked. “Are you going to let her rot in jail when you’re the one person who has a shot at getting her out? They found her covered in Brie Westerhaven’s blood. The victim was murdered with Win . . . Taylor Winston-Hughes’s letter opener. You can bet they’ll get prints off it. Come on, Henry.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” He wasn’t going to go back to bed. Not when he could confront the woman of his dreams and let her know she’d become a nightmare. Besides, Margarita was right. Taylor Winston-Hughes could pay and pay well. Representing her would likely put him and the firm back on the map. “You know any decent attorney would plead it out. It’s likely her first offense, though for all I know she kills her friends all the time.”

  “She won’t accept a plea.” Margarita sounded serious. “I think she’s innocent. You know they’re going to tear her apart in the press. They won’t be able to seat a jury after all the coverage and the way the cops perp-walked her.”

  Could he let that chance go because he’d been a dumb shit and had terrible taste in women? Margarita was right. This would be the biggest case of the year. It would be complex and the strategy would be about so much more than merely the evidence.

  “I’m leaving right now. Get Noah down there to help watch the cops and have him talk to the DA when he gets there. Believe me, the DA’s going to be there for this one.” It was going to be a major case, one that would keep the press fed for months, potentially years. “Tell the DA I’ll call him in the morning and that I expect to have my client out on bail as soon as possible. If not, and he wants to play around, I’ll go to the press.”

  It would be an intricate game. The DA would want to appear competent and thorough, and Henry would do his best to make the prosecutors look like they were bumbling fools intent on wrecking reputations because they couldn’t solve a case to save their lives. He was already thinking about how he could make Taylor Winston-Hughes into a martyr of some kind. “Call me if you need anything.”

  He hung up with Margarita and sat down on the bed, unable to take his eyes off the girl on the TV screen.

  It was Win and yet not.

  Win had been a figment of his imagination. The young woman who made her “living” showing the world how rich and stupid she was on television was the real woman.

  And she might have killed her friend.

  Fuck, but he needed a drink. It was always there, but sometimes the need rushed up like a damn tidal wave. A drink would settle him. I
t would make him feel more powerful than he really was. A drink would relax him and he would think better.

  Win had done that for him, too. Win had done all those things, and just like the fucking alcohol, she’d turned out to be one more addiction he couldn’t afford.

  He would settle for work. He stood in front of the mirror, making sure he looked perfect.

  After all, if the Monster of Manhattan was back, the least he could do was look good.

  * * *

  The light made her head hurt, but then pretty much everything made her head hurt. She wanted to rub the back of her head, but her hands were still cuffed in front of her. They’d taken the cuffs off when they’d fingerprinted her but snapped them back on afterward, saying something about how dangerous those claws of hers obviously were.

  She was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened. She glanced around the room. It was gray and utilitarian, with a mirror across from her. There was nothing else but a table and two metal chairs.

  Win felt woozy, but a bit better now that she was sitting down. She’d thought she was going to pass out when they’d forced her through the booking procedure.

  “You are going to have a lot of fun in lockup.” The officer who had arrested her had handed her off to this man. She would guess his age at somewhere in the early fifties, and that he would be perfectly comfortable playing the bad cop.

  She had yet to meet the good one.

  “I would like to use my phone call. I need to call my uncle.”

  He pulled up a chair and sat down, the legs scraping across the linoleum in a way that made her ears hurt. “Your uncle already knows you’re here. After all, you just murdered a girl in his house. I think he’s aware of where you are.”

  “I didn’t kill Brie.” God, how was she saying the words? They didn’t make sense. Brie couldn’t be dead.

  Why couldn’t she remember what had happened? It was all fuzzy. The whole evening wasn’t lost, but she couldn’t remember those few moments. She’d walked into her room and then she remembered waking up and being covered in blood and then someone was screaming.