I didn’t follow the jeep when it pulled out. I knew what foreplay looked like. I didn’t need to watch them enter a home to know more. I didn’t want to sit in a car and know they were fucking. I had the sudden recognition of a feeling, the surge of emotion at the back of my throat, one that receded tears, and I swallowed instead, yanked my car into drive, and headed home.
I needed a plan. I had seen enough. What I needed to figure out was how to destroy them.
Chapter 28
1 YEAR, 7 MONTHS AGO
“I was thinking about us heading to the island for a week.”
I blinked at Brant across a table full of brunch. He never brought up travel. Was normally so buried in work that I had to drag him away for fun. “When?”
“Maybe Saturday. We just finished the design phase of the photo frames. It’ll take the tech team a week or so to get me initial mockups.”
I swallowed a mixture of salmon and cream cheese. Dabbed my mouth with a napkin while I thought.
A week. Smack dab in the middle of Operation Kill Tennis Barbie.
A week. With the man I loved. Twenty-four hours a day of Brant, and any bit of personality that I could coax out to play. We needed this. He needed this. It’d been three or four months since we had gone anywhere, his psyche focused on the latest development, then the next, then the next. He lived to build. To improve. And this week’s project was apparently us.
The island he was referring to was our Hawaiian home. It wasn’t really on an island, unless you counted Honolulu, the large mass where our private peninsula jutted off. Our property held a twenty thousand square foot vacation home, complemented by a private pool, gym, spa. Chefs, masseuses, butlers, and maids. It would be good to get away. Hop from one paradise to the next.
I smiled at him. “Sure. I’ll coordinate with Jillian. Get the details set up.”
He stood, leaving his plate and walked over. Put a hand on the table and leaned over. Swept his lips over mine and smiled. “I love you.”
I sat back in my seat, looked up, felt the brush of his hand as he cradled my chin. “I love you too.”
“When will you let me be your husband?” A husk in the words. Need behind the question. I stared into the eyes of my love. A man who, in some ways, was still a lonely little boy who played in his basement while every other kid was outside.
“One day.” My answer that was not an answer, yet the response I had provided for a year.
“A man might get tired of waiting.” The curve of his mouth belied his words.
I reached up, gripped his shirt and pulled myself to my feet. Wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed against him. “Well, then maybe I should give you another reason to stay.”
He took my kiss. Deepened it. Didn’t object when my hands pulled his shirt loose from his pants. Let me drag him into the living room and straddle him. And there, with Sunday sun streaming through French doors, our clothes still mostly on, I distracted him from thoughts of marriage and reassured him of my love in the way I knew best.
Chapter 29
Newest fact about Molly Jenkins: she liked to drink. I looked at the PI’s report, page 9 including an inventory of her trash can, photos next to an inventory list. I scanned it, my fingers tapping alongside the items as I moved down the page.
12 empty bottles: Smirnoff Ice
4 empty cans: Bud Light
Tags from an article of clothing: Gap. $24.99
Dry Cleaning receipt: One Price Cleaners
Empty bottle: Kahlua
Empty bottle: Absolut Vanilla Vodka
Thank you card and envelope from ‘Mom’: see photo
Monthly statement from Capital One credit card: see photo
Empty Bag of Nacho Cheesier Doritos
I called him, musing over the list as the phone rang.
“Yes, Ms. Fairmont.”
“Is this normal? All the alcohol?”
“It’s the first bag we’ve inventoried. It’s from last week. I left off all of the food items, but if you’d like we can also include those.”
“Food items?”
“You know, banana peels, coffee grounds, leftovers, egg shells—”
“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t need all that. Just items like this. When will you have the rest of the bags done?”
“I can put someone on it today, if you think it’d be important.”
“Yes. Please send me all of the reports as they are done. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll pull people off other projects. Get it to you quickly.”
“Thank you.” I hung up the phone, looked at the list again. Opened up the image with her credit card statement. Learned everything about her activities that month with one scroll down the bill. It was ridiculously invasive, this one aspect of the report. So much of her life broken down into simple facts by her trash. I spun in my chair. Looked at the silver can that sat feet away. Wondered how much of my life would be told through its contents. I placed a second call.
“John, this is Layana. From now on, have the housekeepers burn my trash. And buy me a shredder please. Something big and industrial.” I hung up, interrupting his response, certain that the request was simple enough for him to complete without further instruction. Then I returned to the list. Stared at the items and tried to find an opening.
I got four more emails that afternoon, each with a new list of trash. Each list dated, covering the latest month of Molly Jenkins’s life.
More alcohol. I counted six bottles and five 6-packs. Not enough to be an alcoholic, but the girl liked to party. She was also in college, so maybe that just made her normal. I got another nugget of information in her bank account statement. Put it side by side with her credit card one and compared notes. Learned a few things.
She frequented The Ginger Break. Had been there five times in the last month, four times on a Wednesday, once on a Friday. A Google search told me it was a bar a block from her apartment. Another search told me Wednesday is $5 Martini night.
I clicked my pen, examined my calendar. Wednesday was three days off. Doable. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. Pulled scattered thoughts together in a semblance of a plan.
First step. Find bait.
Second step. Sequester Lee.
Third step. Watch and enjoy.
Chapter 30
“Why are you doing this?”
I glanced over a pomegranate martini into deep blue eyes. I had chosen well. His brow furrowed in a way that was gorgeously masculine. His eyes looked intelligent, but compassionate. As if he rescued kittens from trees before listening to your problems. His mouth was full. Twitched when he smiled. As if after he listened to your problems, he’d take you to bed and fuck away any concerns.
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Here.” He set down his beer. Leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Playing games with some adolescent.” He tilted his head to Molly, a girl we had been eyeing from above for fifteen minutes. We were in the Ginger’s version of a VIP room. Situated above the bar, with tinted windows that provided privacy, we had a full view of down below. The section didn’t open for another three hours, but two hundred bucks got us a seat, a high-top by the windows, my knees bumping Marcus’s if I leaned in too deep.
I met his gaze. Direct. It ate holes in the dark parts of my soul. “Let’s go back over the plan.”
He sighed, leaned back and stretched his arms out, regarding me with a bored stare. “I know that plan. You go down there, I go down there. We drink; you leave. More drinks; we leave. I take her home, fuck her eight ways to Sunday, then head on my merry little way.”
I shifted. “Yes.”
He leaned forward again, his knee bumping mine, his hand reaching out and gently touching the top of my hand. “You have nothing to worry about with her.”
I moved my hand. “In what way?”
“You are a beautiful, sexy woman. She…” He glanced down, at the blonde head that all of this was about. “She’
s a girl. She can’t compete.” He leaned closer, and I sat back. Glared at him with the frostiest look I had.
“I didn’t hire you to fuck me, Marcus. I’m in a relationship. Taken.”
He laughed softly. “Forgive me, Layana, but you are here. You don’t look taken to me.”
I drained the martini and stood, yanking my hand from underneath his. “Save the sexy shit for her. I’m well-taken care of.” I picked up my purse. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty.” Then I tossed down a handful of bills and headed for the ladies room.
I took a deep breath and stared into the mirror. Adjusted the wig on my head. A thousand bucks and the thing still felt like something I bought at a dime store. Itchy. Hot. But at least it disguised me. I hoped to never see her again, but I couldn’t be too careful. And heaven forbid she recognized me from a magazine cover.
I tucked a fake strand of strawberry blond behind my ear and smiled into the mirror. Tried to look friendly. Tried to wipe the look of possessive hatred out of my eyes. Sort of succeeded. I opened the door, stepped back into the club and headed for Molly.
The next stool over was open and I grabbed it, avoiding looking at her as I caught the bartender’s eye. “Flirtini, please.”
I felt the soft touch of a hand, gentle on my arm. “Flirtini? Sounds good.”
Wow. That was easy. I turned casually, as if I was uninterested, gave a small smile as I noticed everything missing from the PI’s report. Her blue eyes sparkled. They were open, genuine, the smile that flooded her face wasn’t forced or fake. Her tan was natural, her breasts looked real, and I could literally smell sexuality coming off her. I had a brief glimpse in my head of her and Lee fucking, and blinked it away. “It is. It has champagne in it.” I nodded to the bartender. “Here, let me get you one.”
“Get me one? Oh no, you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.” I shook off her expression. “Please. I could use the company.” The bartender slid two glasses our way and I pushed one in front of Molly. “Here.” I held up my drink, lifting it to her. “To taking opportunities.”
She giggled. “To taking opportunities.”
We sipped, then I set down my drink and offered my hand. “I’m Britney.”
“Molly.”
“You here alone?” I asked, looking around.
She shrugged with a shy smile. “Yeah. I like to get here early on Ladies Night. Otherwise it gets too crazy.”
“I can understand that. I like the quieter scene.” I watched her sip the drink, the widening of her blue eyes. “Wow! This is great.”
Drink up, baby. Drink up.
Molly was a friendly drinker. Twenty minutes and two drinks down, and I was finding out more than I ever needed to know. I steered the conversation toward Lee.
“Any hot guys come in here?”
She blushed. Shook her head. “Not really.”
I winced. “Ugh. I hate being single. You?”
She laughed. “No, I’m taken.” She smiled, as if the thought of my man was one that appealed to her. I ground my teeth.
“Where’s your man tonight?”
She shrugged. “He’s kind of flaky. Doesn’t always show up… sometimes he’s a little MIA.”
I bet. Though, his absence tonight had been carefully calculated. I had a team of three keeping him away from this side of town. I sipped my martini. Kept my voice mild. “That sucks. But you know men and their work… ” I grinned. “He’s probably slaving away to spoil you rotten.”
I saw the flicker of a frown that crossed her face. Then, Marcus entered the bar, our eyes meeting over the crowd, and I leaned forward, gripping Molly’s arm with false urgency. “Oh my God,” I hissed. “My ex just walked in.”
Her head snapped up, female bonding in full force, and craned her neck. “Where?”
“Tall, blond, and gorgeous.” I kept my face forward, hand gripped on her wrists until her eyes stopped moving and locked on one place. “Do you see him?”
“Sex in a suit?”
I groaned, fighting a smile at the unwavering lock of her stare. “Yes. Please tell me he isn’t headed this way.”
“Not yet.” She pulled her eyes off him. “What was wrong with him?”
“Him? Nothing. His residency was in San Diego, and I might have strayed a little during the time apart.” I groaned again for good measure, feeling the flex of her arm when she stopped moving.
“Residency?” she whispered.
“Yeah. He’s a cardiologist. Plus, an absolute freak of nature in bed.” I hopped to my feet, ducking my head and sliding two hundred bucks across the bar. “I’m gonna run before I ruin my self-respect and drool all over him.”
“You’re leaving?” She shot me a wide-eyed look. “You don’t want to talk to him?”
“So I can pine over the worst mistake I ever made?” I shook my head. Waved to the bartender and pointed to the cash, and then Molly. “No… I’ve beat myself up over that already.” I shot a glance over my shoulder, then held out my arms and went in for a hug. “It was really nice meeting you,” I whispered in her ear.
“You too. Maybe we’ll see each other again. Oh, and thanks for the drinks.”
I held the hug. Made sure the knife was firmly in her back, then let go. Smiled regretfully, then made my way through the thickening crowd. Winked at Marcus over the space. Go get her.
He would succeed. She was drunk. Prepped. He was charming and sexy and—as far as she knew—a doctor with the sex skills of a porn star. I nodded to another member of this team, a man whose Google glass, in combination with my condo’s security cams, would properly document the entire evening.
I exited the bar and headed for my car, a genuine smile lighting up my face.
Maybe she loved Lee. Maybe he loved her. But he was mine, whether he knew it or not.
Chapter 31
I was ready for the call when it came. Feet cocooned in a moisture wrap, propped on my coffee table, a Hulu-binge in full effect, my phone rang. I glanced at the clock, and answered Marcus’s call. “Give me good news.”
“She didn’t do it.” He sounded defeated, as if he had lost a million dollar sports bet. Given that I had promised him a ten thousand dollar bonus for closing the deal, I understood the attitude.
“What?” I sat forward, my feet coming off the table. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. She just didn’t. I didn’t push it, stopped when she said no.”
I realized my mouth was open and shut it before I lost all composure. “How far did you get?”
“She came back to the condo. We kissed… her shirt came off. Not much else.”
“I thought your skills were better than that.”
“You should have tested them out.” The playful lilt of his sentence pushed me over the edge of poise.
“Fuck you, Marcus. It’s ridiculous you couldn’t close a teenage girl.”
“She’s committed. She started crying, saying she was making a mistake. What was I supposed to do, unzip and pull my cock out?”
“Whatever. Let me know if she calls you. I’m gonna check the camera footage. I’m sticking to the original plan, unless the footage is useless. So, unless I say otherwise, carry on.”
“Will do.” He paused. “Either this guy’s one in a million or you’re a psychotic bitch.”
I smile. “Or both.”
“Yeah. Or both.” There was a pause where we didn’t know what to say. Then, “Night.”
“Night.”
I logged into the security program of my downtown condo, a three thousand square foot palace I rarely set foot into. Started the download of the evening’s files while I called Don, the PI who had trailed the couple all evening.
He answered with a yawn. “I’m downloading the images now.”
“Got anything good?”
“A few you’ll like. I’ll email them to you within the hour.”
“The sooner the better.”
I ended the call, clicked on the downloaded sec
urity cam file, and sat down to watch Marcus’s failure.
He had tried, that was for sure. Done everything right. Hadn’t chased, had let her come to him. Been aloof, yet sexual. Hadn’t bragged about the condo, let her ooh and ahh over the place. When she had crawled onto his lap he had fisted her hair in his hands, ground her hips into him enough to let her see his arousal and show her his equipment. They had kissed… she had wanted… they had been close. I could see the moment he lost. The moment her brain and guilt had kicked into action. The pull away, the shaking head, a hand pushing against his chest. Then, her movement into a chair. Crying. Hugging her body and rocking and all sorts of ohmygodwhathaveIdone drama. Marcus had stood awkwardly, at one point glancing toward a ceiling cam with a grimace. Then he sat next to her. Pulled her into his arms and smoothed the top of her hair. Let her cry into his chest until she calmed.
Ugh. Why couldn’t she have been a normal twenty-one-year-old drunk girl who succumbed to the sexy doctor with the big cock and fancy home? She was dating a yard boy for heaven’s sake, one who was flighty and irresponsible and MIA half the time. This should have been easy; I should have won. Good thing I didn’t need her mistake. I only needed the illusion of one.
I restarted the footage and watched again, taking screenshots of the moments that mattered. Then, I reviewed them all, confidence feeding through me. Yes. I had enough. And that was without even seeing Don’s images.
I sent an email to my graphic designer, attaching the images. Don’s email popped up and I forwarded that also. The designer would know what to do, which ones to pick. Would have a proof ready for me by Saturday morning. The same morning Brant and I would leave for Hawaii. I’d review the proof, then fly to the island. Give the boys a week to work and have everything set up by the time I returned. I closed my laptop and waddled to the bathroom. Unwrapped my feet and rinsed off the moisture mask.
Black Lies Page 11