Clay had supplied Cam with the clues, tracking down every last one Julia had ever told him about her ex. He’d shot homes for realtors. His niche behind the camera was making rooms look much bigger, and Dillon had told Julia on their first date that someday he’d be sipping a drink in the Bahamas. Clay had added up those details, alongside Liam’s unexpected recon work, and Charlie’s brief comment at the cafe on Sunday, and went with a hunch that Dillon might be in the islands snapping shots for scams.
Cam tapped his nose with his index finger. “Bingo. Because here’s the thing about men like that who run scams. They tend to fall back on old habits. They do what works. Whether it’s taking pictures, or conning money. And he seems to have gotten in good with some of the scam artists on a certain island, trying to hustle money selling time-share condos that don’t really exist. His job is to take the pictures of the one good condo, make them look majestic, and the other guys peddle the properties that don’t really exist.”
“But where is he?” Clay asked, because that was all that mattered, and he damn near wanted to cross his fingers with hope, but he wasn’t a finger crosser. He was a man who knew the law, and knew that when you ran afoul of it there were certain islands where it was better or worse for you to be.
He hoped to hell that Dillon was in one of those countries that would be worse for Dillon.
“Can you say Montego Bay? Because if you can, I’ve got the address for where Dillon Whittaker is living now,” Cam said, and slapped a piece of paper on the table.
Clay grinned, a pure, wicked grin broke across his face as he picked up paper. “God bless Jamaica and its fine extradition laws with the United States of America. Looks like someone is going to need to pay the taxman.”
Taxes were a bitch.
* * *
“So what’s your verdict?”
“Uncross your legs,” Gayle said.
“I hardly think uncrossing my legs is the answer to all my romantic woes,” Julia said after telling her stylist most of the details of her situation.
Gayle winked at her in the mirror as Julia followed orders. “I don’t know, sweetie. Kinda sounds like uncrossing your legs has been working pretty well for you with this guy.”
Julia laughed. “Fine, you got me on that.”
“Champion race horse in the sack, right?”
She covered her mouth with her hand daintily, pretending to be shocked. “Did I say that?”
“No. But it sure as hell sounds like it, from the stories you’ve told me about his prowess.”
“Prowess doesn’t even begin to cover it. But that’s not what we’re talking about. I need to know what you think I should do next. A woman can’t make this kind of decision without consulting her stylist.”
“Don’t consult me,” Gayle said, brandishing her silver scissors playfully in the mirror.
“Consult the scissors?”
Gayle shook her head. “Ask the ink,” she said, and tapped her bare arm with the silver scissors, pointing to the cursive letters on her arm spelling out I want to be adored. Julia had always admired the tattoo, even more so because Gayle’s wish for love had come true. Julia leaned in close to the tattoo and whispered, as if offering a plaintive plea to an oracle. “Ink, what should I do?”
“Allow me to translate for the ink,” Gayle said as she resumed snipping hair. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Can you forgive him?”
When phrased like that, the answer seemed patently obvious. “Yes,” she admitted in a small voice.
“And most of all, does he adore you?”
Julia tried to suppress a smile, as if she could hold in all that she felt by not admitting the pure and honest truth. But she blurted it out anyway. “So much.”
Gayle gave her an approving nod. “One more question. Do you have any idea how devastated I will be to no longer do your hair if you move to New York? Fortunately, I still go there every few months to cut Jane Black’s hair,” she said, mentioning the Grammy-winning rock singer.
“Name-dropper.”
“I’ll see if I can squeeze you in after Ms. Black.”
“Watch it. I’m going to be famous now, too. You’ll have to start calling me Ms. Purple Snow Globe.”
“You do know that sounds like the name of a vibrator, right?”
“Which makes it an even better name for a drink. Because when you drink one, it makes you feel like a vibrator does,” Julia said, and cracked herself up, along with her stylist.
“That should be the marketing slogan. But you don’t need a vibrator with your champion racehorse.”
“If I take him back,” Julia added, emphasizing that one word. If. Because she had promised herself a week to make this decision.
Gayle rolled her eyes. “A woman’s stylist always knows.”
* * *
All night Julia was tempted to text Clay. To let him know what happened with Farrell Spirits. To tell him which way she was leaning. But she also knew she needed to give this a week. The time apart was less about him, and more about her. It was about what she wanted in life, but more so, what she needed. As the days had passed with necessary silence, her heart had become clearer. She trusted him. She’d become sure of that. The question remained, though–did she trust herself? Did she have enough faith in her own gut to make the right choice when it came to men? When it came to love?
As she settled into bed, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It blared one-thirty in garish red. Tomorrow would be Saturday, and her self-imposed Clay exile was nearing an end. Only twenty-four more hours until she gave him her answer.
She reached for her phone so she could reply to McKenna. She and her sister had been texting earlier in the day about getting together for a Saturday girls’ lunch. She hadn’t seen her sister since the wedding, and she missed her something fierce.
“See you at noon, and get ready for a tackle-hug, because that’s what I’ll be giving you,” she typed.
Her sister replied seconds later. “You better get ready to receive one too.”
That left Julia with a big, fat smile. Then she clicked over to her email for one final check before bed, and her heart stopped when she saw his name. The email had been sent a few hours earlier in the evening, and she was only seeing it now. Part of her wanted to berate him, to tell him to give her the space she’d asked for. But mostly, she felt giddy. She missed that man, and the happiness over simply seeing his name in her email was a potent reminder, like someone had underlined it with yellow highlighter, of what she should do.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 7, 10:48 PM
subject: For You
Julia,
I’ve seen enough movies to know that when it comes to romance, the man usually screws up and then makes some sort of big gesture for the woman. The boom box in the rain, the trip to the top of the Empire State Building, or sometimes just flowers, candy, or a note. But you’re not that kind of a woman—the kind who needs or wants flowers, candy, or a note. Though I’ll gladly give you all of that if you let me. But I want to make good on a promise I made to you at your sister’s wedding. I spend my days helping my clients to make more money and to protect their interests. But I can protect you too. And I can give you something I know matters more to you than flowers, candy, or a note. Because I know you, Julia. I know you so well. And what I can do is this—I can right a wrong for you. Please click on the link and you’ll see.
She hovered over the blue link, without a clue what she would find. She tapped it, bringing up a small blog called Death and Taxes. Julia eyed it curiously at first, then the possibility slammed into her of what he’d done. Some kind of wild hope bloomed in her chest as she scrolled through the short, succinct blog posts, each one detailing a tax-evading citizen who’d been caught. Then she found the one that had her name written all over it.
California resident Dillon Whittaker has been served with an extr
adition order from Jamaica back to the United States where he is currently under investigation for failing to pay taxes on $100,000 in income from the previous year. The IRS said it learned of Mr. Whittaker’s non-compliance with the tax code under its Whistleblower Law that encourages tipsters to turn in tax cheats by bringing forth evidence on potential tax evasion to the IRS. If the information is substantive enough, the individual may receive a portion of the back taxes paid by the tax evader. We will continue to report on the outcome of the investigation into Dillon Whittaker. Sources tell us jail time is coming soon.
Julia leapt out of bed and shouted victoriously, pumping a fist in the air. She brought her phone to her lips, kissing the screen over and over. She was sure she’d soon take flight, and rocket around the city on this crazy glee she felt. “Take that, fucker.”
She’d never realized how sweet revenge would taste, but it tasted fucking spectacular, especially when she clicked back to her email and read the last line from Clay. I had my friend track him down in Jamaica, and I called the IRS to turn him in.
The only thing that tasted better was the next note from Clay. A separate email, also sent a few hours ago. She only noticed it after she stopped dancing on her bed. She dropped back down to the mattress and read more of his words.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 7, 10:52 PM
subject: You
Just remember this, for what it’s worth. I adore you. Absolutely, completely, with everything I have. I will give you everything, all my heart, all my love, anything you want. You mean more to me than I ever imagined. Being without you is hell.
Without thinking, she clicked over to her texts to call up his number and ring him, but the reflection of the red numbers in the mirror stopped her. It was after one in the morning here, so it was the middle of the night in New York. He’d be sound asleep. But someone else she knew and loved was wide awake. Someone who knew a little something about big gestures herself.
She called McKenna, who answered immediately. “It’s late. Are you okay?”
“Everything is perfect. Or it’s going to be after I see you. I’m on my way over.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Her back was smashed against the Qbert machine, and her hands were raised in front of her face. McKenna had landed another punch to the ribs, then one to her shoulder. And now, it was coming: the noogie. Her sister grabbed her hair, and dug her knuckles into Julia’s head.
“Don’t ever, ever, ever do that again!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Julia said, relenting for the twentieth time.
McKenna backed off, huffing. “I would have helped you,” she said, her eyes on fire with frustration. “I would have given you the freaking money like that.” She snapped her fingers in emphasis. “That’s why you deserve to be beaten up. You’re supposed to let your big sister help you.”
“I know, McKenna. Trust me, I know,” she said, placing her hand on her heart. “But I had to keep you safe. Don’t you get it? I love you and I love Chris, and I’d do anything to protect your happiness.”
“Including not telling me a frigging mobster had a price tag on your head and was waving guns in your face?”
Julia lifted her shoulders casually. “Technically, the gun was never waved at me.”
McKenna pushed her hands roughly through her blond hair. “I’m soooo mad at you. I love you so much, and if anything had happened to you and I could have solved the problem, I would have died. Do you know that? Died! Like this,” McKenna said, then flopped down on the floor, and played dead for effect. Ms. Pac-Man trotted over and licked McKenna’s face.
She craned her neck up at Julia. “See? Do you feel bad now? I would have been dead without you, and my dog would be sad.”
Julia kneeled down and offered a hand, pulling McKenna to a sitting position. McKenna flung her arms around Julia’s neck. She’d always been prone to theatrics. “Promise me,” her sister said, “that if you ever get in a pickle with the mob again you will come to me right away, and I will pay whatever you need.”
Julia laughed, but nodded into her sister’s hair. “Promise.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear,” she said as they twisted their little fingers together. “But, um, that’s not actually why I came here.”
McKenna rolled her eyes. “I know. You need my special touch, and I know just how to pull this off. But I’m paying for it, and there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”
“Fine. But only because you want to.”
“And we’re going to need Chris’s help.”
“Somebody call my name?” Chris said, walking bleary-eyed down the hall, wearing only his lounge pants.
“Did you actually wake up when I said your name?” McKenna asked.
“No,” he said, rubbing his hand against his eyes. “I’m pretty sure it was the ‘Don’t ever do that again’ screeching that rousted me at three in the morning.”
“We need your help.”
“Is this another crazy scheme of yours, McKenna?” he asked arching an eyebrow.
“Yes, but it’s in the name of love, and isn’t love worth everything?”
He looped his arms around his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek. She leaned into it, and smiled. Julia didn’t feel jealous. Not one bit. She had that in her life. Waiting for her on the other side of the country. “Of course,” he said.
* * *
“I’m going to miss you so much,” Julia said.
“I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll see each other.”
“We will.”
“And don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything. Every-single-thing. Now go.”
Julia wrapped her sister in one final hug, and then said goodbye as the sun rose over San Francisco.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 9:45 AM
subject: You too
I would have called you last night when I read your note, but it was one-thirty in the morning my time, and I didn’t want to wake you up. But I was over the moon! I literally danced on my bed, and screamed with happiness. Does that make me an awful witch for celebrating a man’s potential incarceration? I hope not. And I can’t think of a better present. Well, I can think of a better present . . .
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 6:47 AM
subject: Late-night calls
Did I somehow give you the impression I would be unreceptive to a middle of the night call from you? I’d answer anytime. Be ready anytime. I am always ready.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 10:12 AM
subject: Ready or not?
I didn’t want to be rude and wake you up. But what you did is amazing. I can’t believe you found him. Wait. I can believe it. You are some kind of master fixer.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 7:27 AM
subject: Call me Mr. Fix-It
I can fix things around the house too. I am very good with my hands.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 10:52 AM
subject: Yes. You are.
I believe I am well acquainted with your manual dexterity.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 8:01 AM
subject: Come again
You should get reacquainted with it.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 11:20 AM
subject: Your note from last night . . .
So . . . this whole adoration thing . . . are we talking pedestal, shrine or just overall worship level?
from: [email protected]
date: June 8, 8:31 AM
subject: More than worship
You are adored on every level. I can’t even joke about it because it’s all too true.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 11:48 AM
subject: Exciting news!
I won a contest for my Purple Snow Globe!
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 9:07 AM
subject: As you predicted the night I met you
Tell me more.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 12:32 PM
subject: Be my attorney
Big drink company offered me a contract. I might need a lawyer to look at the fine print.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 9:48 AM
subject: Waiving my fee
I’ll do it for you. You can pay me in blow jobs.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 1:05 PM
subject: My kind of payday
I’d give you those for free.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 10:23 AM
subject: Mine too
I want more.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 1:33 PM
subject: Restrained
I’d give you more anyway. Maybe you can tie me up, tie me down, or tie me all around.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 10:52 AM
subject: Bound and Tied
Don’t tease me. You know I love the way you look in my ties.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 2:16 PM
subject: Yes to both
I’m not teasing.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: June 8, 11:28 AM
subject: Yes you are
After This Night Page 17