Cold Highway: Ellie Kline Series: Book Four

by Stone, Mary

  “I was only doing my job, Nick. It just so happens I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Yeah, she has a hard time leaving work at the office,” Jillian joked, and they all snickered.

  “Thankfully.” Nick squirmed in his seat and fell quiet for a moment before turning to Ellie. “I was…I came here because I was hoping we could give us another shot.”

  Ellie pulled back, surprised that he would ask, and equally surprised that her heart didn’t leap out and splatter on the floor in front of him. She slowly shook her head. “Nick, I’m sorry, but you were right about us.”

  He looked like she’d punched him. “Are you serious?” He reached for her hand. “Ellie, we’re a team. We can work together and get through this. We’ve come back from worse.”

  “You’re right, we have. And I’m not saying that you’re not a great guy and a good friend, but I’ve come to realize that we’re not good for each other.” Just saying so made her heart sad, but she knew she’d always have Nick, just not as her significant other.

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I can make this right. How many ways do I have to say I’m sorry to make you understand?”

  “The problem isn’t you—”

  He scoffed, wincing and holding his ribs. “Seriously? The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?”

  Jillian stood up. “I’ll just give you some space to—”

  “Stay!” Ellie and Nick barked in unison, and she plopped back down.

  “It’s not me, either. We’re not compatible, Nick. I think all this time you’ve felt guilty that you didn’t say anything that night, when I showed up at that party I never should have been at.” She squeezed the hand that was holding hers, emotion burning her sinuses and threatening to spill from her eyes. “I think you’ve held yourself responsible for my kidnapping ever since then, and you couldn’t have stopped it, and you couldn’t have stopped me. I’m too headstrong. You weren’t to blame. There’s no shame in accepting that. We’ll always be friends, and you’ll always be my first love. But we won’t work as a couple.”

  Shaking his head, he turned away and wiped at his eyes before he spoke. “I was afraid you would say that. I thought I was going to die that night. I couldn’t save myself, but there you were, swooping in to save the day. I owe you my life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. We both need to move on, and that will take time. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you to have dinner with us on Sundays. Until then, you can’t just show up at my place like this.”

  He ran a shaky hand through his hair and stood, his face grim. Ellie could see the pain in his eyes, but she still didn’t reach out to him, feeling that might leave him with hope they could heal their relationship. She was serious about being friends, and for the first time since their breakup, she was at peace.

  “I guess I’ll see you around.” He waved to Jillian. “You too. Take care of Ellie. She deserves a good friend in her corner.”

  When he was gone, Ellie plopped down on the couch beside Jillian and exhaled loudly. “Well, that sucked.”

  “At least he knows where you stand.”

  “You’re right. And it was nice to hear him talk like he believes me.” She grimaced. “A little too late.”

  “So, what now?”

  “I’m going to be working this case with Agent Lockwood, and I still have a list of cold cases that Fortis wrote up I need to clear. I have enough on my plate without a struggling love life.”

  Jillian pushed to her feet. “You say that now, but we’ll see.” She went to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses, finally able to use both arms.

  “I’m serious, Jillian. My focus is on my career.” Ellie poured the wine, handing a glass to Jillian. “Growth hurts, but I’m happy with the woman I’ve become. I just want more cold cases solved and for what Kingsley started to never be repeated again. Which means finding him and Katarina as soon as possible.”

  Jillian held up her glass. “To new beginnings and catching the bad guys. And thank god I go back to work Monday morning.”

  Ellie smiled and clinked her cup gently against Jillian’s. “Good things are coming our way, Jillian. I can feel it.”

  32

  Eduardo’s fingers were heavenly against my scalp, gently massaging away the last of the dye he’d used on my hair.

  I stared up at my little bungalow’s ceiling from the impromptu salon chair, adjusted so I was lounging comfortably with my head over a deep sink. When not being used for hair washing, or reclining while Eduardo massaged my legs and feet, the chair opened flat, doubling as a masseuse’s table.

  Every possible creature comfort had been provided at the resort, making the little cottage I’d lived in for the past few months feel like home. But it was August, and my treatments were over. I could stay longer if I wanted, but I had a growing list of people who’d wronged me that needed to be addressed before things got out of hand.

  Part of Dr. Sandoval’s rejuvenation treatment had included hair restoration, leaving my once thinning hair as thick as it had been twenty years before. He’d also done ice sculpting to remove pockets of fat, put me on a diet regimen to compliment my daily physical therapy with Eduardo, and done an all-over skin resurfacing and electrolysis.

  The end result was astounding. Four months after that fateful April day, when Ellie Kline viciously attacked me, I was like a whole new man.

  I was a whole new man, and Ellie Kline wouldn’t recognize me if I was standing right in front of her.

  I moaned as Eduardo’s fingers moved to my neck, his thumbs smoothing the skin of my cheeks. “That feels good.”

  “How is the sensation in your face? Better than before?”

  “There’s a tingle still, but it’s not as bad as it has been.” I smiled, delighted that my lips moved more easily than before. “I’m feeling great, Eduardo. You’re quite skillful.”

  I kept my eyes closed while I spoke to him. His face was much too close to mine, and I preferred to praise him without direct eye contact. Magic hands or not, Eduardo was the servant, and I the served. We were not the same, and being too chummy with my inferiors was how I’d ended up in this mess. Gabe had betrayed me because he hadn’t feared me. I wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

  “I’ve thought about buying you and taking you with me, Eduardo. But Dr. Sandoval is adamant that you belong here.” I allowed myself a sigh. “It’s probably for the best. I haven’t had the best luck with my past assistants.”

  “I appreciate your kind words, sir, but Dr. Sandoval needs me here to assist with his treatments.” Eduardo brushed his thumb over my cheek once more before clearing his throat and going to the stack of neatly folded, fluffy white towels. Gently toweling my hair dry, he was silent so long I didn’t expect him to speak again. “I will miss you, sir. You’re easily my favorite patient.”

  He probably said that to all his patients, but it didn’t matter. Dr. Sandoval had hired him to do a job, and Eduardo performed so well, it was hard to believe the tenderness he showed me was part of the services provided at the medical resort.

  Eduardo finished toweling off my hair, turning on a small hair dryer to finish the job, the heat set on cool. Even with the fan running and windows open, it was already uncomfortably warm in the cottage.

  Once my hair was dry, he ran a brush through it, pausing with his hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready to sit up, or would you like to rest for a bit longer?”

  “I should get going. The plane leaves soon, and you still need to pack my things.”

  “Your things are already packed, and the plane leaves when you’re ready, not a moment before.”

  “I guess that’s one of the perks of a private jet.”

  Eduardo used the remote to slowly raise the back of the chair until I was sitting upright. He handed me a mirror, a toothy grin on his handsome bronze face. “You look good, sir. The incision sites are almost invisible.”

  I turned my chin and tilted my head
to get a better angle. He was right, they were hard to find if you didn’t know they were there. I could pass for a man of this Costa Rican tropical paradise. “Dr. Sandoval is the best.”

  “I’ve packed enough tanning tablets to last a year.”

  At the mention of the tablets I’d been taking for the past three weeks, I glanced down at my arm. My skin had darkened considerably. The tablets were Dr. Sandoval’s own creation, addressing the influx of wealthy white men who were getting anything from skin grafts to full facial transplants from donors who didn’t share their skin tone.

  After being outdoors for much of my stay in Costa Rica, I was far from the pasty white of many of the other patients. But since it was important to keep my incisions out of direct sunlight, the difference between the color of my face—which had been kept in the shade—and the rest of my body wasn’t as pronounced as it could have been. The tablets evened my skin tone out, giving me an overall glow that was more in line with my new Costa Rican identity.

  Abel del Rey.

  According to my papers, I was a US citizen, son of Costa Rican immigrants, Osvaldo and Marlena del Rey. After working with Eduardo for the past month, I’d cultivated a slight accent that was as natural as breathing. The transformation was complete.

  It was time for me to head home.

  Eduardo loaded my things into the back of a golf cart, driving us over the manicured grassy area to the private airstrip in the back of the property. As promised, an executive jet awaited me there. The crew was already prepared for takeoff, and the captain greeted me as I reached the top of the rolling stairway.

  “Señor del Rey. It is a pleasure to serve you today. The flight attendant will provide anything you need. Do not hesitate to ask for a thing.” He smiled so wide I caught a glimpse of every one of his veneer-covered teeth.

  I nodded, making my way through the galley and stopping in front of a large mirror. The sight of this stranger’s face was still jarring. Even my eyes were unfamiliar with the dark brown contacts. Fillers had done their work, along with cheekbone implants, and simple dark brown hair dye to camouflage the gray strands. I didn’t look a thing like I did before, and I realized my own mother wouldn’t recognize me.

  The thought surprised me. Dorothea hadn’t crossed my mind in years. But once I’d thought of her, I couldn’t escape the grip of the past. My jaw clenched as painful memories flooded through me.

  Eight years old, I grinned up at my mother, flapping a drawing of a sailboat I’d made just for her, to make her feel better. Her normally wavy hair was frizzy, her bright blue eyes angry.

  She didn’t even notice. Just dragged on a cigarette, tapping the ashes into an empty beer bottle.

  I dragged myself away from the mirror and the memory, settling into one of the generous leather seats. I couldn’t wait to recline completely once we were in the air.

  But the memories weren’t finished with me.

  I was twelve, and flung open the front door, fresh from school, proudly presenting my report card to my mother. “Wait until you see these grades!”

  All I got was an indifferent glare as she slouched on the couch, watching her new favorite game show, The Price is Right.

  I moved into her line of sight with a hopeful smile, setting the paper report card on her lap.

  “Dammit! Move out of the way!” She slapped me out of the way so she didn’t miss a second of the host eyeballing the pretty woman who displayed a new stove. The red handprint on my face took hours to fade.

  After that day, I’d stopped trying to impress my mother. She was a horrible bitch, and she didn’t deserve a son like me.

  A young stewardess with a warm smile and deep red lips offered me a folded blanket and a thick, soft pillow—nothing like the flat ones the airlines gave out. On top of the pillow lay a silk-lined sleep mask in matte black. “Would you like me to draw the shades so you can rest until we arrive in Denver?”

  I looked her over, but I couldn’t risk it, even if she did resemble a delicious treat. “Actually, can you bring the pilot here?”

  She practically bowed. “Of course, sir.”

  The pilot appeared moments later, his brilliant smile so unnerving I fought the urge to strangle him right then. But he was my ticket back home, and I was about to ask him for a huge favor.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I would like to fly to Miami.” I waited for him to argue, but he only nodded.

  “Of course, sir. It will take me a few moments to amend the flight plan. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll rest until we get there.” I pulled the sleep mask over my eyes and reclined the chair, prepared for him to insist I sit upright for the eventual takeoff. But when I peeked at the cabin through the bottom of my mask, he was gone, and the stewardess was busying herself just outside the galley, humming a tune I didn’t recognize, a dreamy smile on her red lips.

  I pulled the blanket up to my chin, wiggling in the chair until I was comfortable.

  Revenge was in my grasp.

  As my eyes grew heavy, Gabe’s face became the focus of a half waking dream. His eyes were like the finest chocolate, so dark. My fingers twitched at my sides, the urge to strangle him strong.

  Gabe faded, replaced by Ernest’s pathetically thin lips twisted in a worried grimace. He’d taken a bullet in the warehouse, robbing me of the chance to make him pay for being an utter failure. But there was relief in knowing he was gone. Ernest Powell would never let me down again.

  Powell disappeared, and Katarina’s lovely face danced before me. Her smile wide, eyes turning as green as the money she’d stolen from me.

  Before I could reach out to throttle her, Katarina’s porcelain skin melted away, replaced by Ellie’s lightly freckled face, her eyes a true brilliant shade of green. I wanted to see them sparkling with fear again.

  She was at the top of my list, just as she’d been since she was fifteen years old. I’d waited thirteen long years to destroy her, and despite all my plans, she’d survived.

  I tried to open my eyes, but they were too heavy. “I’ll kill her next time,” I whispered as sleep dragged me down into darkness.

  I’ll kill her next...

  * * *

  I turned my rental car into the drive of the Fifth Season Retirement Home, situated on five acres of beautifully landscaped property in Coral Gables, Florida. The greenery had been strategically planted, creating a buffer between the home and the outside world. Climbing vines obscured the walls that surrounded the entire property, creating a sense of seclusion despite the homes on either side of the large property. The entire effect was one of utter peace and calm.

  Which was more than my mother deserved.

  If the choice had been mine, she would have finished out her days in squalor. But Mother had paid her own way here, as she had throughout life, carefully choosing a wealthy man with no children to marry when I was just fifteen. She’d gotten a man to take care of her, and I’d gotten a one-way ticket to the finest boarding school in Europe.

  The house my mother now called home reminded me so much of those past days. Two stories and styled like an old Spanish villa, an opulent fountain cascaded water in front of the double doors. Once the home of one of the richest families in Florida, the house and grounds had been converted into a luxury retirement home for the wealthy. At the back of the property, tiny one-room houses were separated from each other by white picket fences around modestly sized yards. Each home was painted a different pastel color, with a small porch in the front just large enough for a few chairs and a swing.

  Mother didn’t live in one of those houses. They were reserved for residents who were still able to care for themselves but didn’t want to live out their golden years alone. Mother was quite a bit more fragile than that, confined to the main house where nurses were on staff round the clock.

  I stepped inside and to the information desk, flashing my new smile at the receptionist.

  She was in her late forties, wearing cat-eye gl
asses with tiny crystals on each wing. She returned my smile with her bright pink lips that somehow didn’t look garish, obviously flattered that a man as young as my face said I was might smile at her. Whore. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Ms. Dorothea King…” I cleared my throat, realizing I’d nearly forgotten the bitch’s married name. “Dorothea Hayhurst.”

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m her…” I paused, remembering my new face didn’t match the age I should be as my mother’s son. I gave a soft chuckle before leaning in as if I had a great secret. “This is a bit embarrassing, but Mrs. Hayhurst used to babysit me when I was younger. I’m here on vacation and thought I would stop in for a visit.”

  The woman’s smile grew wide as she batted her lashes at me. “That’s so sweet of you. So many young people are too busy to take time out for the people who impacted their lives.” She typed as she spoke, waving her hand when I pulled out my ID. “No need for that. This is an open facility.” She pointed to a table beside the hall that led to the rooms beyond. “The guest book is there, along with some snacks. Take anything you’d like and make sure you put Ms. Dorothea’s name in the book when you sign it.”

  “I will.”

  “She’s in the fourth room on the right.” She stood, leaning across the desk to point down the hall.

  “Thank you.”

  The phone rang, and she nodded. “Excuse me. I have to get this.”

  “Of course.” I walked down the hall, passing by the guest book without stopping to sign, though I considered scrawling something like Jack the Ripper. I held back a chuckle. I really was feeling as spry as my face looked.

  The hall was wide with an intricately carved archway that rose above the second floor. I wasn’t expecting the courtyard, which was surrounded on all four sides by private residence entrances. The apartments were on my right, each with a number as well as a name. The garden was lush with rose bushes and birds of paradise, a brick path winding through the foliage. Along the edges of the courtyard, broad-leaved tufts of grass grew in bushes with feathery plumes rising from the green in purple and golds. Muhly grass. I remembered it from my days in Florida.