by Lexi Blake
She’d been screaming. She’d looked down and seen the blank look on Brie’s face and she’d screamed and screamed.
It was all so foggy. Her uncle had been there and then the police. They’d taken her clothes. A woman had come to help with that. Two, actually. One had been a police officer who had taken her clothes into evidence. She’d watched Win with a stern eye and let her know she didn’t care how uncomfortable she was. She had wanted every piece of clothing, down to her underwear and her bra. The other lady had been kinder. She’d argued with the cop and watched carefully as they’d taken pictures of Win’s body. They’d been concerned about a cut on her left hand. She’d tried to explain that she’d done that earlier in the evening when she’d helped open a crate of champagne. The caterers had been a little shorthanded.
Win was fairly certain they didn’t believe her.
She kind of wished the other lady had come with her. Margarita? Or was that the name of the person her uncle had been meeting? She wasn’t sure, but that name seemed right. Margarita had been extremely upset that the police wouldn’t take her out the back way.
There had been all those lights and people screaming questions. Too many cameras. How had they gotten there so fast?
There was something she was supposed to ask for, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Her head was killing her. Had she hit it? “Can I have some aspirin?”
“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll get you all you like after you tell me how you killed Brie Westerhaven.” He looked perfectly calm. Like he could stay here all night. “Once you explain what happened, you’ll be able to get some aspirin and something to drink, if you like. You’ll be able to rest, Taylor. Aren’t you tired?”
She shook her head and then realized what a mistake that was. Nausea threatened to take over. Don’t move. Stay calm. “I didn’t kill Brie. I was looking for her. She was supposed to be at the party, but when I couldn’t find her, I went to my room.”
“You left the party to look for Miss Westerhaven?”
She started to nod and stopped, the nausea tuning up again. It was the truth. She’d gone looking for Brie because she’d found out all the crap Brie had been talking about her. “I did.”
“Did Miss Westerhaven usually leave parties to go into the host’s or hostess’s private rooms?”
“Brie did a lot of things she probably shouldn’t have.” There had been something else. Something about Trevor. Trevor had been with Brie while she’d been filming. It had been exactly like her best friend to use her worst enemy to get what she wanted.
“That must have made you angry.”
Had she been angry? Or disappointed? “She knew her way around my uncle’s place. She’s been there many times. We grew up together. When I was home, I lived at the penthouse. Brie would sometimes spend summers with me. She felt comfortable there. It’s not surprising she would go to my room.”
“Why were you looking for her?”
Her ears started ringing. It was brief but enough to make her head ache again. “I don’t feel good.”
“Did you slip when you were fighting Brie?” His voice had gone quiet, almost sympathetic. “Did you hit your head? Or did she strike you during the altercation?”
She was almost certain she had hit her head on something. Or someone had hit her. Had there been someone else there? Someone behind her? She couldn’t remember. “I slipped.”
He picked up his pen. “Was that before or after you fought with Brie?”
She had fought with Brie, but it hadn’t been physical. Why did he keep trying to get her to admit to something she hadn’t done?
He leaned in, his voice going low and soothing. “Maybe Brie started the fight. Taylor, you need to tell the truth. If she was doing something bad, maybe you tried to stop her. Maybe this was self-defense, but before we can investigate anything, you have to admit that you killed her.”
Lawyer. She needed a lawyer. That’s what the lady back at the penthouse had been. She’d been a lawyer.
Like Henry. She wanted Henry. She wanted him to walk through the door and put his arms around her and let her know everything would be okay.
This was a dream. A nightmare. She would wake up and be back in the little bungalow on the island. She would turn over and Henry would kiss her and make love to her and she would be all right. This time she would do what she should have in the first place. She would tell him she didn’t want to leave him. She would ask him to rethink his plans to stay in touch. They could spend weekends together. She would explain her situation and that she could afford to fly into New York whenever she wanted to.
If only she would wake up.
“Taylor, I asked you a question. If you don’t want to talk right now, I can take you to a cell. I think you’ll find a lot of lovely people to talk to in there. We can take this up again in the morning after you’ve had some time to think about cooperating.”
She hadn’t been in a cell yet. Somehow she didn’t think it would be a pleasant experience.
“I want to talk to my lawyer. I need a lawyer.” She forced the words out. She was making a mistake by talking to the police by herself. They didn’t believe her. They wanted her to confess to something she hadn’t done.
She had to try to come out of this fog and start thinking.
His chair slid back, but before he could get a hand on her, the door came open.
“Detective, step back. My client asked for a lawyer. Unless you want to give me a reason to go to a judge tonight, I suggest you step away and allow my client to speak with her attorneys.”
She gasped because she’d met this man before. David. Henry’s partner. Why was he here? He was a big presence as he pressed through the door. Even though it was long after midnight, he was wearing a tuxedo, though he’d pulled the tie loose.
He looked like he’d come from a party. Had he been at her party?
Nothing made sense. Her head hurt so much.
The detective sighed and shook his head, looking back to her. “He can’t save you. Admit what happened. This is going to go better for you if you leave the lawyers out. Tell us what you did, and maybe, just maybe, we can make a deal. You let a few days go by and there won’t be a deal to be had.”
A familiar voice caught her attention. “Detective, you’ve made your point clear. Now allow me to make mine. My client has invoked her right to counsel. Leave the room and turn off any cameras or devices you have recording. Understand that if I find out you’ve violated attorney-client privilege, I will have your job and your pension. Do I make myself clear?”
Henry. Oh god, Henry was here and her whole soul seemed to come back to life. Henry was here. He’d come to help her. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and looked like power and authority and safety.
He was here.
The detective sneered Henry’s way. “Yeah, I get it.” He turned back to Win. “You need to understand that he can’t save you. Once this evidence is processed, you’ll be going to jail, little girl. You’re going there tonight because no judge in the world is going to save you. Your privilege is over.”
“Could we get the handcuffs off her?” David asked. “She’s not running and she’s not violent.”
“The dead body in her bedroom tells me something different, Counselor,” the detective replied.
“I would like to be alone with my client, Detective,” Henry said, his teeth clenched.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was so big and strong. When he’d held her, she’d been safe and now he was here. She felt terrible, but it was okay because Henry was here and everything was going to be all right.
The detective turned and walked to the door. “You don’t have all night. She’s not going anywhere. There won’t be a bail hearing for a while, so prepare your client for a nice long weekend. She’s going to do well in the holding pen. Or hell, maybe we’ll move her for
a few days. Let her see how the other half lives.”
The door closed behind him, and she was left alone with Henry and David.
“Henry?”
He turned to her, his eyes cold as ice. His suit was designer, custom-fit to his strong body. The shoes he was wearing had to cost a thousand dollars a pair. This wasn’t the laid-back beach boy she remembered. This man was a professional. “Please call me Mr. Garrison. I’ll call you Ms. Winston-Hughes, unless you prefer Taylor. No? Excellent. Ms. Winston-Hughes, your uncle has hired my firm to represent you in this case. Do you understand the charges against you?”
She kind of understood what the words meant, but there was still such confusion. He was so cold. And he knew her real name. He’d never called her anything but Win. People she didn’t trust called her Taylor. Taylor was a different person. Taylor was a person she’d thought she’d left behind.
“Henry, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you about my family because they don’t matter. I’m my own person,” she said.
David sat down in front of her. “Hey, are you all right? You look very pale.”
He’d asked a question. She was trying hard to concentrate. It was okay to answer these questions because they were lawyers. “My head hurts but they wouldn’t give me anything for it.”
“How much did you have to drink tonight?” Henry loomed over her.
There was so much judgment in that one question. “I had a glass of white wine a couple of hours ago. That’s all I had this evening.”
Henry stared down at her. “Funny. You look drunk. Your eyes aren’t focused and you’re slurring some of your words.”
She felt woozy, but it couldn’t be from booze. “I’m not drunk.”
His lips curled up but there was nothing humorous about his smile. “Do you think I don’t know a drunk when I see one? I would think you would remember. I told you a lot about me. Trust me. I know when a lady’s had a little too much. Do you drink this way often? How often do you black out?”
Frustration welled inside her. Why wasn’t he listening to her? “I am not drunk.”
“Ms. Winston-Hughes, please don’t think I’m asking because I’m worried or I care. I need to know because it could affect your case. Did they give you a sobriety test?” Henry asked. “Because the last thing we need is to have your blood alcohol level plastered all over the press.”
“Henry, maybe you were right,” David said, his eyes narrowed. “Maybe I should handle this one. Let me talk to her for a couple of minutes. You can wait outside.”
“You’re not the expert when it comes to getting privileged little debutantes out of jail,” Henry replied, every word a bullet that peppered her skin. “I am. It’s why you wanted me to take this case in the first place. You got what you wanted. Now deal with it.”
“I didn’t do it.” That should be clear to him. How could he question that? He couldn’t think she’d killed her best friend.
“I don’t care,” he replied.
“Henry, I didn’t hurt anyone. You have to know that.”
“Why would I know that? I have no idea who you are,” he replied with ruthless candor. “Right now you’re Taylor Winston-Hughes. You’re a client and I need to know everything that happened tonight that could possibly lead the police to conclude you murdered the victim. They have to have found compelling evidence or they wouldn’t have arrested you at the scene. The one thing I do not need to hear is whether or not you actually did it. Keep that knowledge to yourself.”
“I’m innocent.” The room was starting to spin a little.
“Again, I don’t care.”
How was this the same man she’d made love to? She’d known he would be upset with her, but she’d thought she could explain why she hadn’t come out and been totally honest about her family. She’d thought they would have a few uncomfortable moments, but then he would understand.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t care that she was innocent. He didn’t care that she could explain.
He didn’t care about her.
That was why he hadn’t texted her back, hadn’t asked her to come visit him in New York. She’d fooled herself into thinking that he simply needed time, but he’d had all the time he’d wanted with her. He was done.
So why was he here?
Money. He was here because a case like this would likely be worth a lot of money.
“Start at the beginning. David, take notes.” Henry began pacing. “You were the hostess for a gala, I take it. The killing took place at the after-party, but let’s start with this morning. What did you do today? What does a hostess do? You can skip the parts where you get your hair and nails done, unless you and Miss Westerhaven were fighting over a hairdresser.”
“Henry,” David said, warning in his tone.
“I’ve seen it happen. These Hollywood types are damn serious about their hair and nails,” Henry remarked.
He didn’t see her as anything but a bimbo. Maybe he’d never seen her as anything beyond an easy lay. She’d fallen into bed with him fast enough. What man wouldn’t take what she’d offered for a few weeks?
He wasn’t different from the other men she’d known. He’d simply been better about hiding it.
“I think I would like a different lawyer,” she said quietly. She wasn’t sure she could take his rancor.
He rolled those gorgeous eyes of his. “Thank god. I can leave in good conscience. Good luck, Ms. Winston-Hughes. You’re going to need it.”
David stood up. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to leave her here? They mean to throw her in jail and not request a bond hearing until Monday.”
Henry pointed her way. “You heard her. She wants another lawyer.”
“Getting her another lawyer could take days,” David insisted. “They’re talking about locking her up over the weekend. How do you think she’s going to fare in prison?”
Henry shrugged as if the answer meant nothing to him. “She’ll probably find some nice lady to protect her. She’s good at looking vulnerable. Find a nice prison wife, Taylor. You know how to keep a man occupied. I’m sure it won’t be any different with another woman.”
Her stomach rolled. David was saying something to Henry, but it didn’t matter. She had to get to a trash can. There was one in the corner and she barely made it before she was sick.
So sick. Her vision blurred.
“Holy shit.” Henry had dropped to his knees beside her. His hands were the only things holding her up. One arm was around her torso, and the other touched a place at the back of her head that made her moan in pain.
“Stop it. Don’t touch it,” she pleaded.
“David, get someone in here. She’s got a massive contusion on the back of her head. It’s covered by her hair, but the police should have damn well caught it.”
She tried to push him away. She didn’t want his help. He was a nasty, cold man. It had been stupid to think he could care about her.
“Stop it, Win.” It was the first time he’d said her real name. It was the first time he’d sounded like the old Henry. “You’ve probably got a concussion. David’s getting someone to help you. We’ll get you to a hospital. And I’ll get those damn cuffs off you.”
She was shaky. Everything was cold, but he was warm. “It hurts.”
He stood up, lifting her. “Yeah, it really fucking hurts, Win.”
She was fairly certain he wasn’t talking about her concussion, but the world blinked out for the second time.
At least this time she was safe in his arms.
EIGHT
Henry stared at the doctor and nodded. He did understand what he’d been told, but he felt numb. That was a good thing because there had been a few moments when the numbness had been stripped away and he’d worried she was going to die right there in his arms.
Now he stood in the hallway o
utside her hospital room, and the blessed numbness seemed to have taken over again.
The wound had been hidden by her hair, all the more dangerous because it had caved in instead of swelling out. The police had missed it, and no EMT had looked her over because she’d insisted she was fine and the police had been eager to get a confession out of her.
It had been a rough time getting her into an ambulance, the police insisting on escorting them every inch of the way, as though she could run away when she had a concussion and possible skull fracture. They’d refused to take her cuffs off. She was handcuffed to her hospital bed, an armed guard on her door with instructions that she could see no one but immediate family and her attorneys.
He’d been forced to catch a cab to the hospital. The look in her eyes as he’d left her still haunted him.
The doctor stood in front of Henry, looking over the chart in his hands. “She’s responding well to the medication I gave her, but she still needs rest. The swelling is already coming down. She’ll be fine, but her brain took a beating.”
Yes, and that was a mystery he needed to solve. Had she been in a fight with Brie Westerhaven? “She thinks she fell and hit her head. That’s what she told me while we were waiting for the ambulance.”
The doctor frowned. “That wouldn’t be my call on an injury like this. It looks more like blunt-force trauma to me, Mr. Garrison. I’ll have the x-rays and photos sent to your office, but my feeling is this was done with something strong and slender. Something cylindrical, if that makes sense. Her skull looks like someone pressed a bar across it. And by pressed I mean struck with strong force. I would bet she was turning at the time, which is why she didn’t take the blow straight to the back of her head. If that had happened, well, it could have been a killing blow.”
That thought did nothing to settle his stomach. “You think it was a baton or something?”