The Dead Girl's Stilettos

by Quinn Avery

  Bexley wiped at a line of sweat building across her forehead. “Hold on. You’re saying Warren wasn’t guilty?”

  “That bastard was guilty of a lot of illegal things…embezzlement, fraud, sexual harassment, you name it. That’s why he was so easy to bring down. He had his hands in a lot of seedy projects in Hollywood, and everyone knew he was a sleaze—just ask any of the actresses he worked with. But he wasn’t behind the kidnapping of those women. That employee of Warren’s who came to you was paid handsomely by a mafia family to implicate him. With the right amount of cash exchanging hands, anyone can be found guilty of anything.”

  Bexley’s chest heaved. Had she merely been a pawn in a rich man’s game? Twice? It was more likely he was just a madman. She wasn’t going to automatically take him for his word, or even bother asking how he knew the details. “You mean like Shane? What kind of man sets up his best friend for murder?”

  Smirking, Dean tapped his temple. “A wise one. I wasn’t going to let the death of a miserable little snitch end my career. Willow was one of my favorites in the beginning. I’d given her Iman’s stilettos as a present. Then she discovered the deeper purpose behind the club’s facade, and threatened to bring everyone down. Like I told you, there are far too many influential people involved to let that happen. The Commander is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket with a string of incoming texts. She held her breath, waiting for Dean to demand she hand it over. But he’d slipped so far into a state of psychosis that he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Besides, Shane was becoming weak. He fell for that girl and refused to take care of her like he was told. Then we got in an argument and that bastard threw her overboard before I had a chance to grab the shoes from her body. It was time for him to go.”

  Chills swept down Bexley’s spine with the visual of Shane heaving Willow over the side of the yacht. If nothing else, he was still an accessory to her murder. “How did you know where we sent my sister?”

  “One of my men has been following you ever since you first came here to spend the night. You led him right to Cineste at that private investigator’s office. We would’ve taken her out then if that idiot Rivers hadn’t shown up. He called someone from his office and asked them to forward the number to his contact at Hazelden.”

  Bexley scolded herself for doubting Grayson yet again. He was undoubtedly too noble for someone with trust issues. As many times as she'd lied to him and doubted his intentions, he’d stayed by her side. “I’m a shithead,” she muttered to herself.

  Dean reached into his pocket, and pulled out a set of latex gloves. “Willow wasn’t my usual style of kill. She'd done coke with Shane, and became hysterical when I came for her.” His face lit with enjoyment as he slipped into each glove. “I prefer my prey to be on something that mellows them out so they won’t put up much of a fight when I slowly deplete their oxygen supply. That was the plan with your sister…but that didn’t feel right either. Her hair was all wrong—especially after she dyed it that revolting color.” He leaned down to take a lock of Bexley’s hair between his fingers. “I like me a brunette.”

  Her teeth chattered as she said, “T-touch my sister and I’ll rip your heart from your chest.”

  “Ooo, you’re getting feisty…I like it.” He laughed sharply and slammed his hands together. A harsh echo of the sound vibrated against her ears. “I’ll bet right about now you’re wishing you would’ve accepted that gun I offered.”

  She did, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “How are you gonna e’plain my death?”

  “It won’t be your death so much as your disappearance. It could take them years to find your body—that is if the sharks don’t get to you first. Did you know the Pacific Ocean holds more than half of the Earth’s open water supply, and stretches beyond sixty million square miles?”

  “I’ll file that in my bank of…w-worthless knowledge…alongside the fact that K-Kylie Jenner never went to pr’mm.”

  He smirked down on her. “You make even less sense when you’re stoned. You won’t be missed any more than the countless other women who fell prey to my irresistible magnetism.”

  Countless women? A new wave of terror crept over her. “I-is that w-what you did with their bodies too? Threw ‘em in the ocean? How many were there?”

  “I’m not exactly sure…I’ve lost count by now.” He tapped on his lips with a gloved finger and eyed the stilettos. “How many do you see?”

  Bexley’s stomach muscles violently clenched. He kept his victim’s shoes as trophies. And there were at least a dozen pair. She bent over, painting the carpet with champagne.

  “Dammit!” Dean growled, stumbling backwards. “I don’t need traces of your DNA everywhere!”

  With a small rush of satisfaction, Bexley wiped at her mouth and fell backwards on her ass. “T-that’s the least of your p’blems. Wanna hear a couple’a more glitches in your del-us-ional plan, Dean the R-r-ripper? One, Alex Peachtree already told the cops ‘bout your warped club, and they issued a warrant for your buddy the Commander’s arrest.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She made the sound of a buzzer. “You’re wrong. And two, Detective Rivers knew I was comin' here.”

  His smug expression faltered. “Why would you tell him?”

  “Because we’ve been seein’ each other….this whoooole time. He suspected that you were hiding something from the start. He tried to warn me…I should’a listened to ‘im.”

  The way the corners of his mouth drew down, it seemed she’d struck a nerve. If she was about to die, she refused to go out quietly. Besides, a little agitation could throw him off his game. What could it hurt? she thought. A mocking smile pressed against her lips. “Wait. Did you re’lly believe…oh m’ god..so funny…you thought I was interest’d…in you?” She broke out in a cackling laugh. “Like I would fall for that ‘Imma nice guy’ bullsh’t? Couldn’t brush m’ teeth enough aft’r that nasty kiss.”

  Her plan worked. He charged at her exactly the way she’d hoped. Only her balance wasn’t what it should’ve been. She lost her footing. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her, hands wrapped around her throat. Pain spread through her body. She heaved for more oxygen.

  The idea of dying by the hands of a man who had once won a Razzie drove her to a new level of desperation. She frantically started to kick her feet, lashing out with her fists. But she wasn’t a match for a man of his size and strength.

  Her breaths came in short wheezes. Her arms flopped down at her sides, too weak to fight back. One hand came into connection with something hard. A stiletto.

  With a sudden burst of energy, she clutched the shoe and reeled her arm back. The spiked heel sank into the thick of his bicep. Roaring, he reeled back. “You bitch!”

  His surprise gave her enough time to roll out from under him. The room danced before her in three different angles. She crawled her way to the door. Hot tears rolled down her face. Her lungs heaved for air. She was determined it wasn’t the way she would go out.

  She felt beyond drunk at that point. A giggle breached her lips. She’d pictured herself as a gray-haired hippie with hoards of grandchildren pulling at her skirt, maybe even with Grayson at her side. Or Jason Bateman. Or Jason Mimosa. Whichever -son was available.

  The giggle stuck in her throat as fingers enclosed around her ankle. He was jerking her back to him. “Get back here!”

  She anticipated him coming at her, and reached back, arms flailing. The drug pulled her deeper under. She had no fight left. He had won.

  A loud crack blasted through the room and Dean fell back screaming. Bexley collapsed on her back. Had she been shot? Something hurt.

  “Bex! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  She tried to reply, but her tongue felt thick and heavy. As she succumbed to the grogginess, she felt like she was being squeezed to death.

  24

  The salty wind whooshed Bexley’s long curls behind her as she chased Cineste down th
e beach. The innocent game had started when Cineste taunted her by claiming to be the more athletic one, and said she would’ve excelled beyond Bexley if they’d followed their father’s wildest fantasies and joined the Navy. Determined to prove her wrong, Bexley took off like a bat being chased by Ozzy Osborne.

  To be perfectly honest, Bexley didn’t care that her sister surpassed her by light years, or that her lungs had seized so hard she might’ve passed out. Her relationship with Cineste had grown tighter than ever before, since her little sister had completed treatment, and Dean Halliwell’s murder trial had begun.

  The night Bexley had been slated to become Dean’s next victim; Grayson had panicked when she wouldn’t answer her phone. Contrary to what she told Dean, she hadn’t told anyone her plans, so Grayson had resorted to asking J.J. to ping her GPS location. He’d walked in on Bexley fighting for her life, and shot Dean in the shoulder before restraining him with handcuffs.

  As the truth about Dean’s past began to unfold, they discovered he’d been the only one in the club to request the murder addendum. The investigation gained speed once Grayson conducted a country-wide search for missing young women deemed beautiful enough to fall under Dean’s radar. It turned out he favored sultry brunettes, so it had saved Cineste’s life when she’d dyed her hair green.

  As of the last count, they’d linked him to six victims. Based on the stilettos in his collection, they were looking for at least six more. The media had begun comparing him to Ted Bundy as disbelieving female fans lined the courthouse benches. Shane faced an accessory to murder conviction and other felony charges that would send him away for a lengthy period of time—even after he agreed to testify against the man who’d hung him out to dry. Commander Peachtree had been court-martialed by the Navy for charges that included kidnapping and racketeering. The names of other prominent club members were rolling in by the dozens. It seemed some of the most affluent residents of Papaya Springs had reached new lows.

  Bexley had contacted L.A. Times and made them an offer she hoped they wouldn’t refuse. They countered with one hundred thousand. With Cineste’s pending treatment bills, Bexley couldn’t afford to turn them down.

  “I heard in the news this morning that it’s fifteen degrees and snowing in Brooklyn,” Cineste said, as they collected their belongings from the sand. “Fifteen degrees. Sure you’re ready to go back to that?”

  The day had come for Bexley to return to New York. There hadn’t been time to sort through things with Grayson as he’d been consumed by the arrests and trial. She’d invited Cineste to come back with her for as long as she wanted, but her sister claimed she couldn’t deal with the east coast weather, and needed to stay somewhere familiar.

  “We’ve been over this. I’d love to stay here and help you through recovery, but I have a life in New York.”

  Cineste clicked her tongue and rolled a lock of her newly-dyed, butter-blond hair between her fingers. “A life? I haven’t heard you call a single friend other than Kiersten in the past few weeks. Grayson wants you to stay and I think you want to stay with him, too. Alex and I think you’re just too stubborn to admit it!”

  Bexley didn’t want to mention her sister had dyed her hair knowing Dean preferred brunettes. Outwardly, Cineste was doing well. She had gained a little weight in her sun-kissed cheeks, and looked healthier than ever

  “Grayson hasn’t actually asked me to stay,” she said.

  Had she read too much into what happened between them? Ever since she’d helped her sister secure an apartment and a steady job, he’d started calling more often, begging her to stop over. Would it be too much to assume they were in a relationship? What little time he spent outside of work was with her. What would he say if she decided to move back? She could afford her own place after being paid for the piece on Dean, but for how long? Would anyone hire her after the facts of the case came to light?

  Just the thought of living near Grayson sent a surge of excitement through her belly. Was it worth giving up everything to give this thing with him a fair shot?

  “Are you going to answer your phone, or are you too busy dreaming about your lover?” Cineste asked.

  Bexley playfully swatted at her sister before digging her phone out of her handbag. “Bexley Squires.”

  “Hey there, darlin’,” J.J. Stronghold drawled. “Just picked myself up a copy of the Times. Wanted to congratulate you on a job well done.”

  “I’m a journalistic fraud,” she said flatly.

  “You’re not a fraud,” Cineste scolded at her side. “You’re a quick-wit.”

  Bexley side-eyed her sister. “A what?”

  Cineste shrugged. “You know what I mean. You think really fast…get things done.”

  Great, Bexley thought. I’ll have to get that embroidered on a pillow.

  J.J. sighed heavily into the phone. “I was calling to see if you’d be interested in getting your private investigator license. I could use someone with your sharp mind helpin’ me out, and besides, there’s no one to take over this place when I retire. Hate to see it shut down after all the work I’ve put into it.”

  Something stirred inside her. Was it a desire to become a PI? Was she cut out for that kind of thing? “You must’ve missed the part where I almost made Halliwell’s kill list.”

  Dean was right—she'd been easily manipulated into believing a lie. Who was to say it wouldn’t happen again?

  “Don’t be so tough on yourself. If it weren’t for your hard work and dedication, those scumbags would still be running free, and your sister’d probably still be in hidin’.”

  “While I appreciate the offer, Mr. Stronghold—”

  “J.J.”

  “I’m actually headed back to New York later today.”

  “You got some other handsome detective waiting on you back East?”

  “No—”

  “Then shut up for a minute and let me give you some unsolicited advice. I know you said you and your sister were never too close to your daddy, and your momma passed away, so as someone who’s seen it all, I feel it’s my duty to tell you how it is. You’ve only got the one life to live. When you’ve got a good thing going like you and Grayson, you don’t go throwin’ it away because your pride’s hurt, or you’re too pig-headed. There ain’t no second chances. Step up and do what’s right. No jerkin’ each other around, running off to the other side of the country. Go back to your place, wrap things up, then turn around as soon as you can and get your smart little ass back here just as soon as you can. It’d be my honor to show you the ropes in this business, so I hope you’ll consider takin’ me up on my offer when you return. It’d be a waste of talent if you let what happened between you and a bonafide sociopath make you believe you’re not something special. Safe travels, darlin’. I’ll expect to hear back from you soon.”

  The phone clicked off and Bexley slid the phone back inside her handbag.

  Cineste grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong? What’d he say?”

  Bexley opened her mouth, but she couldn’t form a reply. She’d never been schooled so hard in her life. “He offered me a job—forced it on me, really.” She shook her head and smiled. “Don’t say anything about it to Grayson yet, okay?”

  Her sister jumped up and down in the sand, clapping like a cheerleader. “Oh my god! Yay! Does that mean you’re considering his offer?”

  Bexley grinned; she had already made up her mind.

  Five hours later, she thanked her Uber driver, and grabbed her luggage.

  “Bex! Don’t go inside yet! I’m coming!”

  A series of horn blasts accompanied more shouts that weren’t directed at her, then the short wails of a siren. She spotted his black sedan cutting through traffic with the dashboard lights activated. Giggling, she stood in an open spot, saving it until he maneuvered toward her.

  He left the car running and the driver’s door wide open while he ran to her with a bouquet of wild flowers. She’d never seen him so frazzled. Tie removed, dress shirt unbuttoned,
shaggy hair fisted into a wild peak, the way he held his scruffy jaw with determination as he neared started a flutter in her belly.

  “The lights were total overkill.” She accepted his embrace, laughing. “My flight doesn’t leave for another two hours.”

  Rather than coming back with a smart reply as usual, he pulled back and pressed his lips to hers. It was a proper kiss, filled with urgency—the kind she’d expected that morning when he’d left for work after mentioning he might not have time to see her off. Bexley swore her feet were lifting off the pavement. She kissed him back, heart lodged in her throat.

  “I was scared I wouldn’t get here in time,” he rasped against her ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a ride. Bex, I don’t want you to go.” He drew back, beautiful brown eyes strained with panic. “Stay with me. Forget New York.”

  “I can’t afford to reschedule this flight. I bought the non-refundable type where they stick you back in the four-inch seats by the bathroom, and skimp on the free peanuts.”

  “You’re not hearing what I’m saying. I spent every damn day after graduation kicking myself for choosing Amanda over the perfect girl. I’m not going to let another chance to be with her slip through my fingers.”

  “Who is this perfect girl, and how can I get her to clean—”

  He pressed a finger against her lips, expression stern. “Stop, I’ve had a thing for you ever since that day you burned me in Mr. D’s class, alright? I just wasn’t man enough to know a good thing when I saw it. Please, don’t go. I know what happened with Dean messed with your head, but running away isn’t the answer. Your sister needs you. I need you. I know how much you love the ocean—we can find a place right on the beach closer to Cineste. We’ll get a big guard dog if it’ll help you sleep at night. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Just don’t go.”