A Model Murder (The Dead Ex Files Book 2)

by Claire Kane

  Jack’s forehead bunched. “My office, or,” and he glanced around the lobby, which was beginning to fill with people returning from lunch, “no. My car. They can handle things without me for a while.”

  She thanked him with her eyes, and he led her to his car and held the door for her. For the next hour, they drove the streets of Seattle while Lacey unloaded everything that had happened to her. She told him of Geo, the smut, the drug deals—even the creepy feeling she got when she was around him. The scowl on Jack’s face grew deeper and deeper until Lacey thought it might be permanently etched there. When she finished, she could see rage seething in his eyes. He slammed a fist into the steering wheel so hard she worried he might break it, and yet, he managed to keep from even swerving in his lane. At once, he pulled over into a pierside parking lot and parked the car.

  Lacey thought he might start cursing Geo, or frantically dial the man and fire him over the phone. But instead, he turned his eyes toward the water, as if to draw strength from the beauty of the Sound. A tense, protracted moment passed, and when he finally spoke, his voice was cold and determined.

  “It would appear that some things need to change. Immediately.” He twisted in his seat to face her, and his eyes said everything else. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee. She smiled softly at the gesture; somehow, she knew that he truly cared, and that as long as she had Jack Beals on her side, she’d never be alone. In the wake of Victor’s departure, Jack’s unspoken pledge became all the more valuable.

  Things had moved quickly from there. Several fast-paced phone calls, and a hurried drive back to the office to corner the squirrely photographer. Yet, when they arrived, Geo was gone. The last anyone had seen of him, he’d been running out the back door, clinging to a pair of briefcases, with papers and printed photographs swirling behind him. Jack and Lacey followed the trail as far as a half a block away, but it disappeared as if by magic, leaving them in the chilly December afternoon with only some educated guesses and a promise from the police to search for him.

  The rest of the afternoon blurred by, and between the police reports, the small swarm of law enforcement that descended on Trend’s office building, and answering more questions than she thought possible, she and Jack finally slumped into a heap against the wood paneling that lined his office wall. They sat there for some minutes, neither speaking, both lost in their brooding thoughts. At last, Lacey broke the silence. “They’ll catch him.”

  Jack nodded solemnly and grimaced. Lacey felt like she should say more, but she’d spoken so much she had no idea what more to say. Then Jack began chuckling. Slowly and quietly at first, but the sound rolled and grew until he was rolling on the floor in a full-on guffaw. Lacey, stunned, sat and watched as tears streamed down the man’s cheeks. When he paused for a split second and made a ridiculous face, Lacey found that she couldn’t help herself, and soon, she was rolling on the floor, too.

  “W-what are we-we even laughing… about?” she managed to ask through a series of snorts.

  “I don’t even know,” Jack returned, and then burst into more laughter.

  When they happened to bump into one another, their laughter subsided quickly as they met one another’s eyes. Though a few rippling chuckles still bubbled out of Jack, and Lacey’s smile was so wide it hurt, she saw her reflection in his eyes and found she couldn’t laugh for lack of breath.

  “By golly,” he said in a goofy 1950s voice, “I think we might just need some real stress relief after today.”

  Lacey somehow managed to nod.

  Jack picked himself up, then offered Lacey his hand and pulled her to her feet as though she were a feather. She stopped a breath away from his face, her hands on his chest. His smile never faded, but his gaze was intent, and she heard the blood rushing in her ears. Her lips quivered and pursed of their own accord, and his eyes flicked between her mouth and her own eyes.

  “Let’s… let’s cool down for a bit, shall we?” he said, breaking the moment and edging just slightly away. “It’s been a really long day, and I think we could use it.”

  Lacey’s heart began to come down from turbo-mode, but she found she savored the prospect of spending more time with this man she realized she may really want to know better. Lamely, and for lack of a better response, she nodded.

  His smile widened again. “I’ve got the perfect place.”

  *

  Winterfest was the perfect place for a date, to give Lacey’s mind a small break from the investigation—and from Victor. Hosted at The Seattle Center and other small venues nearby, it was advertised as “a wonderland of sparkling lights, child-sized diversions and spirited entertainment.” Jack was obviously not feeling the magic, as he fell on his butt for about the twelfth time, ice skaters as young as four whizzing by him. Lacey laughed before doing an elegant pirouette in her usual competitive spirit. She was no Kristi Yamaguchi, but Lacey Ling could hold her own. For a moment, her thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day.

  “Are you always so perfect?” he asked, pushing himself up to a wobbly stance on a pair of rented ice skates. He looked so… human… dressed up as he was, despite the formality of his trench coat. She thought it was great that he wasn’t beneath renting things. To his credit, he’d even accepted a mismatched pair, for lack of anything else in his size—and he didn’t seem to mind that one skate was pink with purple stripes. He looked dashing, with his dark hair gelled and a cozy red scarf around his neck.

  She glided up to him and stopped abruptly. “Yes,” she said, laughing some more, a wide smile hurting her cheeks, “I am always perfect.”

  She hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. Maybe Jack could potentially be more than just a good distraction. He pulled Lacey against him, holding her tight to catch a sense of stability. Lacey lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his. He happily reciprocated, and when they finally broke the kiss, he said, “Oh, Lacey, there are so many things I want to do to you. You have no idea.”

  She arched a brow, understanding the steamy hot implications. “Give it up,” she teased. “You’ll never beat me at skating.”

  He smiled, showing a line of white teeth. “Clever.” His green eyes glanced up at a clock on a wall. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to take you up on your challenge another time. My bum is sufficiently bruised, and I have to get up very, very early tomorrow for a meeting.”

  Playfully frowning, Lacey said, “So soon? I was having so much fun. I haven’t felt like a kid in such a long time.” But she was prepared for a short date, since he'd told her at the start of the evening of his schedule; trouble with Geo didn’t erase his many other responsibilities. Plus, she guessed it would be best, anyway, to be there for tucking in Nainai; she’d declined letting the hired nurse do it.

  He offered her another warm kiss, adding, “Same here.”

  *

  The evening ended with hot cocoa and donuts—it seemed a little juvenile, but Lacey was in a playful mood, and so was he. But as the evening all too rapidly drew to a close, and Jack opened the door to his Porsche and helped her in for the ride home, she was faced with a humiliating realization: there was no way around it now. Jack would see her ghetto apartment. She tried to beg off the ride by pointing out that her Lincoln was still parked across from Trend, and that, really, she was fine driving herself home. “After all,” she teased, “you need to go soak your hiney after all those bruises.”

  He’d laughed, of course, but insisted that her car would be fine, and that it would be his honor to escort her home for the evening. “After what you’ve been through today,” he said, his smile turning sad, “it really is the least I could do.” And so, what choice had she but to accept?

  THIRTY-TWO

  They pulled up to the complex to the throaty purr of his vehicle, which seemed to rattle the windows of the dented white van he parked next to. By now, it was after ten p.m., and the shadows in the alleyways stretched along the cracked sidewalk. A police siren wailed uncomfortably nearby, and the crunch of her bo
ots on the snow seemed so loud that she felt like a deer in the woods, waiting for the wolves to hear her and run her down. She shivered in her coat and chewed on her lower lip, wondering whether she should have taken him to a different address in a nicer neighborhood, and then walked home. But here they were, and Jack turned off the car and was looking at her expectantly. She answered with a nervous giggle. “Well, um, thanks for everything.”

  The words tasted lame in her mouth. This wasn’t how she wanted her evening to end. She wanted to run off with him on a quiet winter’s night drive, followed by cuddling under a heavy blanket in front of a roaring fire with a couple steaming mugs of tea or cocoa. They’d stare into one another’s eyes, nibble on one another’s lips, and—

  “Lacey?” Jack’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  She shook her head clear. “Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.”

  His answering smile and the twinkle in his eye suggested he had a very good idea what she was thinking. For a moment, she hoped he would start the car again and whisk her away from this dumpy hole and into a place that didn’t give her cause to fear the things that went bump in the night. Instead, he said, “Your grandmother is probably wondering where you are. I think she’d appreciate to know you were home safe. C’mon. I’ll walk you to your door.”

  He unbuckled and was out his door in a flash, and by hers before she could even think. He pulled it smoothly open and extended his hand to help her out. She took it graciously, and, despite her nervous humiliation, she found his nearness delicious as he pulled her up and gazed down at her. “You and I, Lacey. We make quite the pair. I feel as though I’m someone else when I’m with you.”

  Her response was lost on a wave of smoke. A couple of guys on the balcony above laughed loudly, tossing vulgar remarks back and forth between each other like they were twelve-year-old boys in a cussing competition. She looked up, and he followed her gaze, scowling.

  “This is home sweet home,” Lacey breathed, feeling her heart beat hard over the grand reveal.

  Jack gave her a sidelong glance filled with concern. “Like I said, I’ll walk you to your door. Which,” he added quickly, “I would’ve done no matter where you lived, by the way. But around here? It’s just, you know.” He surveyed the area meaningfully.

  “Yeah,” Lacey sighed. “I understand. But I’m fine, really,” she said, carefully slipping her hand into her purse to feel bulge of the Glock 9mm concealed inside. She hated the fact that toting her gun had become a habit lately.

  “Wooo!” one of the guys up in the balcony called, leaning over it, twin tails of smoke streaming from his nose. “Hot car, bro! And hot babe! Jared—look at that!”

  “How much did it cost you?” the other called. “How much did she cost you?” The guys laughed, and Jack reassuringly grasped Lacey’s hand.

  “Just ignore them,” he said out of the side of his mouth. They’re high, and any real attention we give them will only make it worse.” Lacey nodded subtly.

  “Hey,” the first guy called. “You have some drugs I can buy off you?” He laughed as though his wit were amazing.

  Lacey and Jack continued to ignore them as they hurried across the parking lot and up the stairs to her apartment. They paused at the door, and he caught her eye. “I don’t know how I feel about you living in this neighborhood,” he said. “How did you wind up here?”

  Pulling the keys out of her purse, she sighed. “I guess I should have had an emergency fund, huh?”

  He gave her a big hug, kissing her forehead. “Let’s get you inside.” Still no smiling.

  Lacey put the key in the door knob, jiggling it slightly, as was the routine, but was surprised to find the door swung slightly open without her even turning the knob. She squinted at it, wondering whether the lock was broken. Something crashed inside the house.

  “What’s going on in there?” Then it hit her, and she glanced up at Jack with terror. “Nainai.” Lacey whipped her gun out of her purse and slowly stepped inside, Jack following closely behind.

  “You have a gun?” Jack said.

  Lacey didn’t answer, but silently rounded the wall separating the entry from the kitchen. She flipped the light switch, but was rewarded with only darkness. Her heart leapt into her throat. Nainai falling down didn’t tend to damage her door locks and her lights. She readied her gun and swallowed hard. She took comfort in her quick glance at the darkened kitchen; everything was as she'd left it, down to the tea kettle sitting on the cold electric stove.

  “Why do you have a gun?” Jack asked, staying a few feet behind her, watching her back.

  Something crashed again, then slammed against a wall. She darted out of the kitchen, and a split second later, a shadow scurried out of one of Nainai’s rooms and slipped into Lacey’s. Glass shattered in the darkness, and her blood ran cold. “Nainai!”

  Something feral drove her forward, heedless of whatever danger may be awaiting her. She thrust forward, ready to dispense justice. “Careful,” Jack called, rushing after her. She burst into her bedroom, finger on the trigger, and saw someone—something—on her window sill.

  “Stop!”

  Whoever it was hesitated, and in the darkness, Lacey noticed something oddly familiar about them. A gravelly voice cut through her. “I told you to watch your back, Rich Brat. You got lucky tonight.”

  “Teddy?” But he was gone before she could pull the trigger. Lacey and Jack raced to the window, in time only to see him disappear down the alley and around a corner. Jack lurched toward the window, but Lacey grabbed his arm and hauled him back inside. “Let him go. We’ll call the police, and they can track him down.”

  Not wasting any time, she whirled and bolted for her grandmother’s bedroom, frantically rifling through her purse, hoping to find her phone. But even in the dark she could see dresser doors toppled on top of each other and clothes strewn about. Finally managing to get the phone light working, she flashed it around. There, in the middle of the ocean of chaos, Nainai sat stock still, and island of bewildered fear, her expression frozen except for the rapid blinking of eyes. She dropped her gun and rushed to her grandmother, wrapping her in a tight embrace, burying her face in the old woman’s neck and letting the tears run free. The flashback of her dream about Nainai’s death scratched fervently at her mind.

  “Oh, thank God you’re okay,” Lacey said. She set her gun on the nightstand and wrapped her in a tight hug. “Are you okay?” she kept asking over and over. Tears brimmed her eyes.

  “I’m okay,” Nainai said, patting Lacey’s arms still holding her tight. “But if you didn’t come home just now, I don’t know what would have happened.

  Tears spilled down Lacey’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Lacey?” a man said behind her.

  She yelped and snatched her gun, whirling to point it at… Jack. At once, he put his hands in the air.

  “Don’t do that!” she hissed, lowering the weapon and clearing the chamber.

  Jack stumbled back and clutched his wool jacket’s chest. “Easy, girl,” he said, his eyes flashing at the weapon.

  “You’re safe,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

  “Clearly,” he said, obviously surprised by such resolve in a woman.

  “Teddy did this,” she growled, climbing off Nainai’s bed, gun still cradled in her hand. She set her gun on a night stand.

  “Who?” Jack said, stepping forward in the dark. “You knew that guy?” His eyes flashed at the gun again.

  Lacey looked at Nainai, then panned the light around the room. He’d been very thorough in his destruction. “Yes. I underestimated him. He was supposed to be in jail.” She stared at the window, a cold draft fluttering her long bangs. “I can only guess that the police must’ve released him for not enough evidence or something.”

  “Lacey, what is going on here?” Jack said, stepping beside her.

  She turned to him, and they shared a long, concerned gaze.

  “Tell me,” he said.
/>   But there was too much to tell. And she didn’t need to worry him with it.

  Jack cupped her face in his warm hands and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “This isn’t a safe place for you and your grandmother. I want you to come home with me tonight.”

  She wanted to shake her head no, but found she couldn’t. Finally, she uttered the word “But…”

  His voice soft and tender, Jack said, “No ‘buts’, Lacey. I can’t let you stay here after what I've just witnessed.”

  “I said I’d call the police. They… know the area.”

  But the resolve in his eyes was unmistakable, and she had to admit that the offer had its own appeal. She had no fear for herself, but the vision of Nainai dying in a cold, sterile hospital bed, her last act a look of accusation in Lacey’s direction—it was too much.

  She swallowed hard and quickly dabbed her eyes dry. “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be any trouble. We’ll start looking for a new place first thing in the morning.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I think it’d be better for you to rest. In fact, you take tomorrow off. I happen to know your boss, and I’m pretty sure I can persuade him to let you call in sick without getting in any trouble.” He winked. “I’ll go bring the car up. You get your stuff.”

  Lacey gave him a tremulous smile, then nodded once. Jack was right. She turned back to her grandmother. “Nainai? We’re going to spend the night elsewhere.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Jack’s place was a black diamond glittering on the shores of the Puget Sound, perched on the aptly named Sunset Hill. It was one of the finer homes in the neighborhood, a study in rugged rock work, wrought iron and dark wood paneling, giving the place an image closer to “medieval castle” than “upscale beach house.” Lacey felt the breath go out of her as soon as she stepped through the massive front door, pushing Nainai in her wheelchair. Cherry wood flooring played tag with Mediterranean tiles up and down halls that seemed to stretch on forever. Art that probably cost more than the coffee shop she’d worked in lined the walls. Leather furniture in deep maroon was arranged around a living room with a ceiling that soared up on towering windows that gazed out over the water. A thin ribbon of moonlight danced on sleepy waves.