Necessary Ends

by Tina Whittle

  “Well…yeah. I mean, I know how things went down, but I wasn’t expecting there to be evidence. What kind of evidence?”

  Trey pulled out his notebook. He explained in succinct terms. Nick sat in the stylist chair and listened until Trey finally snapped the notebook shut.

  “The next step is recovering the security cameras and whatever object might have caught the bullet,” he said. “Do you remember what was standing between you and the house?”

  “No. It was dark, and I was focused on other things. Like not getting shot.”

  “Could you find out?”

  He flashed a wan smile. “Why?”

  “To recover the bullet. If possible.”

  “Why?”

  Trey tried to remain patient. “For the crime scene techs.”

  Nick laughed. “Oh wait, I get it. You took me seriously about calling the police.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not doing that. I never was. That was a bluff to get you out here.”

  Trey’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Talbot—”

  “I’ll tell Quint what you told me, and he’ll tell Finn. She’ll do whatever it is she does and keep it off the official record. Because I am not—do you hear me?—not going to put myself at the mercy of the Atlanta PD ever again.”

  “You don’t seem to understand the seriousness of what I’m telling you.”

  Nick took another swig of the now-cold tea. “When I was in high school, I read this story. ‘Appointment in Samarra.’ Do you know it?”

  “This is no time for—”

  Nick ignored him. “A man sees Death in the marketplace, so he runs. Gets on his camel or whatever and takes off. Gets to Samarra. Starts looking for a place to hide.”

  “Mr. Talbot—”

  “And then, bam, there’s Death again. The man gives up. Fine, he says. Take me. But first tell me what you were doing at the marketplace earlier. And Death says…”

  Nick stopped talking, frowned. I heard it then too, footsteps pounding up the metal steps. Not Addison’s. I spun around, just as the door flung open and a man burst into the room—dark tangles under a burglar hoodie, manic eyes, cell phone brandished like a blazing sword.

  He pointed it at Nick. “Time to answer for your sins, you murdering son of a bitch!”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I took one look at the guy and reached for the hot tea kettle, not my weapon of choice but good enough in a pinch. I needn’t have bothered. Trey grabbed the guy’s wrist, wrenched his arm behind his back, and twisted. The guy screamed. The phone hit the floor and went skittering my way.

  Nick snatched out his walkie-talkie. “I need security at the makeup trailer, pronto. It’s Martinez again.”

  I put one foot on the phone, kept my fingers wrapped around the kettle. Martinez lunged in my direction, and Trey angled into the hold, an elegantly simple maneuver that turned the guy’s knees to jelly. He screamed again and scuffled, but Trey’s voice was calm.

  “Stop moving and it will stop hurting,” he said.

  The guy moved. It hurt. He stopped. With his single hoop earring and dark wash skinny jeans, he looked like an escapee from some pirate-themed boy band. And he was mad, spitting frothing mad. I bent to pick up his phone, and he started bellowing.

  “Give me that!”

  I held it out of reach. “Like hell.”

  The guy cursed and spat in my direction. Trey eased Martinez’s arm up another inch, and he whimpered. I checked the phone. A video app was recording, so I smashed the stop button, turned to Nick.

  “Martinez again?” I said.

  Nick’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Yeah. This isn’t the first time he’s snuck on set. We caught him months ago at the production studio. He showed up while we were filming at Stone Mountain too.”

  I didn’t ask if they’d called the cops. Of course they hadn’t.

  I heard shoes on the metal steps, another crackle of radio static. Two burly guys in khaki uniforms burst through the door. Trey handed Martinez over to their care, and they each grabbed one arm and hauled him off. Now that he was out of the pain compliant wrist lock, he was feeling chatty again.

  “She’ll come back to me! She’ll know what you are if it’s the last thing I do!” He dragged his feet at the door, his voice strident. “The rest of you should be ashamed! Every dollar you take from that murderer makes you complicit! His sins are yours!”

  He kept yelling as the security men hustled him out the door, a steady stream of insults and curses and paranoid, stream-of-consciousness blather that ended with him screaming Addison’s name. Trey stepped forward and watched them leave, finally shutting the door. Nick went to his makeup table and rummaged in the drawer, hands trembling. Trey stayed at the door and watched as Nick once again pulled out his bottle of herbal relaxants.

  “Who was that?” he said.

  Nick raked his hands through his hair, loosing it from the ponytail holder. “That was Diego Martinez. He was at Iowa with Addison.”

  “Iowa?”

  “Iowa Writer’s MFA program. Very prestigious, hard to get into. She’s talented, he’s…well, maybe he was talented, but he’s too fixated on Addison to use it. Developed a heavy crush on her. She thought she’d ditched him when she moved to Georgia, but then Jessica died, and we were in the news, and he found her again not long after the hearing. And he’s determined to save her from me.”

  Trey folded his arms. “Does she have a restraining order?”

  “Of course. And that worked for a while. But a few months ago, he decided to stalk me instead. We kick him out, but he finds the base camp, over and over again.” He took a deep steadying breath. “God. Quint’s gonna tear security a new one.”

  “He should. How long has the breach been happening?”

  “Um, let me think. Right after we started location work, so…six months?”

  “And you’ve informed the authorities?”

  Nick shrugged. “You know how it goes. Keep everything under the radar. Quint doesn’t like media complications.”

  “But he doesn’t mind compromised security?”

  “Martinez just wants to yell at me. He’s never been armed. What I can’t figure out is how he keeps finding me. We keep base camp locations secret.”

  I gave the phone a swipe and opened the menu. The Google app was still working, its helpful icon hovering right over our location. I checked the search boxes. Instead of an address, Martinez was using GPS coordinates.

  “Not so secret,” I said.

  I turned the phone around so that Nick could see. Trey came closer and pointed to the text box.

  “Redbird? What does that mean?”

  Nick cursed under his breath. “That’s our film code. It’s the key to deciphering the correct location markers. Nobody outside of the team knows that.”

  “In that case,” I said, “you have an informant on set.”

  Nick dropped into the chair, his hands visibly shaking now. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

  Trey’s eyes were stern. “Mr. Talbot, your security is failing you.”

  “We’ll bump it up. Quint likes bumping things up.”

  “Listen to me. You need to contact the authorities.”

  “I’ve already told you, that’s not gonna happen.” Nick smiled wearily. “So thank you for coming, but we’re done here.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you came. I know it was only because I threatened to tell the cops that you took a shot at me, but still. No hard feelings, right?”

  Trey stared. “What?”

  “Because in a strange way, it’s been good to see you. I never thought I would say that, but it’s true. And now it’s time to lay the past to rest. Move forward.”

  “Mr. Talbot, I am reasonably certain that someon
e tried to kill you.”

  Nick laughed, but it was half-hearted. “Not very hard.”

  Now Trey was really confused. “Mr. Talbot, I just told you—”

  “Nick. For the love of God, call me Nick.” He sighed. “Yes, I heard you. Someone tried to kill me. I already knew that. And really and truly, I think I wanted it to be you. I wanted to look you in the eye and see it. And then I wanted…oh hell, I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe I wanted to confront you. Maybe I wanted to outsmart you. Maybe I just wanted to know…you know?”

  Trey didn’t reply right away. His eyes held a similar resigned determination. “I am very good at risk assessment. Please believe me when I tell you that you are in danger.”

  “So what do you want me to do, call the cops?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’d haul you in. You’d be the number one suspect.”

  Trey took a deep breath. “I am prepared to deal with that.”

  “Well, I’m not. Your kind didn’t treat me well last time. How much sympathy do you think I’d get this go round, huh?”

  “Mr. Tal-”

  “Nick.”

  Trey exhaled slowly and deliberately. “Nick. This is a serious situation.”

  “Don’t I know it? And my brother will deal with it in some serious manner. Which is how things always happen and how they always will until I am once again my own man.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m trying hard to stay on the right track so that I don’t need anybody acting as my conservator. Not my brother. Not Addison.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry I threatened you. The past is the past. Let’s leave it there.”

  Trey took his hand, shook it gravely. He seemed to come to a decision and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a pen and a business card, wrote something on the back of the card and handed it to Nick.

  Nick held it between two fingers. “What’s this?”

  “My personal cell number. If there are further incidents, please let me know.”

  Nick shook his head, puzzled. “You’re offering to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That’s weird. But okay.”

  Trey straightened his spine. “It’s not weird. I’m an ASIS-certified premises liability agent. I can—”

  “No, I mean it’s weird that you would want to help me.” He examined Trey closely. “Why would you?”

  “I don’t know. But I do.”

  Nick slid the card into his back pocket. He looked astonished and grateful at the same time. “In that case…thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Trey started to leave, then turned back. “You and your fiancée have been stalked by Martinez for six months, and you put me at the top of your suspect list?”

  Nick shrugged. “You seem like a man who carries a grudge.”

  Trey thought about that. “A valid point.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  To my surprise, Trey ended up at my place again. This was highly unusual, especially for a Monday night. Also unusual was that the second we got to the shop, he went straight upstairs to my apartment without breathing a single word. I listened for the shower. Nothing.

  I switched off the lights, locked the doors, and re-engaged the security system. The shop descended into darkness and silence, broken only by the blinking red lights of the alarms and the hum of electronics. I climbed the stairs and found him lying on the bed in the dark, fully dressed, still wearing his shoes. He had his hands folded on his stomach, and he was staring at the ceiling.

  Okay, I thought. Plan B. So I went to the pantry and poured a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. Then I got into bed and munched cereal until he finally spoke.

  “Why did I do that?” he said.

  I tossed one of the marshmallow pieces into my mouth. “Do what?”

  “Give Nick Talbot my personal number.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “He won’t call. It is clear that his brother makes the decisions, and his brother shows no inclination to deal with the problem outside of his own security team. Which is sub-par from what I’ve seen.”

  “Totally sub-par.” I licked sticky crumbs from my fingers. “Is there any chance Marisa would let you take the case officially?”

  He shook his head. “Not after what happened in the spring.”

  The spring. So many unfortunate happenings to choose from. Trey had pulled his gun on her. He’d disobeyed her direct order and followed me to Savannah. And then he’d gotten himself mixed up as a witness in multiple murders which had resulted in much news coverage, and as Marisa was fond of reminding us, in the corporate security business, there really was such a thing as bad publicity.

  I scrounged around for the last marshmallow. “She would blame me for all of this, you know.”

  “Correct.”

  “Because she blames me for every complication in your life.”

  “Also correct.” He slipped me a sideways look. “It’s not an unfair assessment.”

  “Not unfair at all. Your life was rather boring when you met me.”

  He didn’t argue. I put the bowl on the bedside table and lay down next to him. The only light came from the streetlamp in the back lot. It sliced across the studio apartment in an amber swath.

  “Do you miss it?” I said.

  “Miss what?”

  “Your boring uncomplicated life.”

  “No. It was more structured. Less problematic. But it wasn’t…you know.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sometimes I try to think about what my life would be like if you hadn’t complicated it. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly, like sharing the weather forecast. He caught me off guard this way again and again, delivering words that tangled my tongue and weakened my knees.

  I took his hand and squeezed. “Same here.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Except that now…now I’m confused again.”

  “About me?”

  “What? No.” He rolled his head to the side. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because we were talking about…never mind. Go on.”

  He ran his thumb over my knuckles, lightly. I felt a familiar tingle then, like a shot of whiskey.

  “I’m confused about why I wanted to help Nick so much,” he said. “Because I did. I still do.”

  “You’re feeling guilty.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You had an idea back in the day that this man was a murderer. You maintained that idea up until a few hours ago. But now you know better. And now you have to deal with the part you played in the awfulness than befell an innocent man.”

  Trey considered this turn of events. “Okay. Perhaps I am feeling somewhat guilty. But that’s not the problem.”

  “What is it then?”

  “As you said, he’s innocent. And if he’s innocent, the evidence has to be reinterpreted in that light. It still supports the theory that Jessica’s murder was staged, but not that Nick was the person who staged it.”

  “Macklin?”

  “No. He would have done a better job.”

  “Somebody else?”

  “Yes. And I want to find out who. Whether Nick wants me to or not.”

  His voice was calm, deceptively so, but his eyes gave him away. Bright, even in the half-lit room. He wanted to investigate. He wanted it so much he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to want it—but want it, he did. And I knew why. Trey hadn’t been able to save his relationship with Gabriella. Hadn’t been able to save Jessica’s life or see that her killer was brought to justice. But now, he had a chance to rectify one of those things.

  “You don’t need Nick’s permission to look into this. Finn’s either.”

  “That’s not the probl
em. The problem is…there are many problems. I’m not making the best choices right now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He exhaled in frustration. “I shouldn’t have gotten the files. I shouldn’t have agreed to the meeting. I shouldn’t have gone to the Talbot house—”

  “You shouldn’t have taken that stalker guy’s phone.”

  Trey’s forehead wrinkled. “I didn’t take his phone.”

  “Oh, wait.” I smiled. “That was me.”

  And I pulled Martinez’s phone from my pocket.

  Trey stared. “How did you get that?”

  “Security hauled him out the door without asking for it—they really are sub-par.” I waggled it. “It’s dead now, so it’s also useless until we can get it recharged. Which means we’ll probably have to crack the passcode.”

  Trey was shaking his head incredulously. “You just…took it. Just like that.”

  “Yep. Because I’ll let you in on a secret.” I leaned closer. “You’re not the only one whose life has gotten boring.”

  He looked relieved to have the topic out in the open. “I know. I’ve been concerned. You haven’t been…you lately. You’ve been very…”

  “Boring?”

  “Cautious. And you have reason to be, I understand, but cautious is not like you.” The corner of his mouth quirked just the slightest. “Taking Martinez’s phone, however, is exactly like you.”

  “And wanting to help an unexpectedly innocent man whose life is in danger is exactly like you.”

  He examined my face in the tawny light, curious now, letting his eyes roam from feature to feature as if memorizing or remembering or both. He rolled toward me, then took the phone and placed it next to the cereal bowl.

  His hand moved to my hip. “I saw you.”

  “Saw me what?”

  “Reach for the teapot when Martinez came in the door.”

  I slid my foot down his calf and hooked a toe in his shoe, sent it tumbling to the floor. “Guilty as charged. But then you put him in a rear wrist lock, and I didn’t need to bash him after all.”

  His hand slid under my shirt, tracing a line up my spine. I arched into his touch, and he nuzzled the crook of my neck, pressing a kiss to the tender spot right above my clavicle.