Red After Dark: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 13) Page 14

  “Ten thousand dollars.” He turned to stare right at Eric Ridley. “Your move, asshole,” he murmured so only I could hear.

  Oh, the way Ridley’s cocky smile faded was worth the wasted hour. The vague confusion, the realisation, and finally the scowl that spread across his not-quite-so-smug face. Delightful.

  The blonde woman started the applause, and soon everyone was clapping, even the admiral who’d been outbid. Everyone except Ridley, anyway.

  “What are you gonna do with a football shirt?” I asked Black.

  “Gift it to Admiral Nelson.” Yes, that really was his name. “Now we can go.”

  Once again, we almost made it to the door, but this time, it was Ridley who blocked our way. Open the dictionary at the definition of “sore loser” and you’d find his ugly mug glowering back at you.

  “I suppose you think that was funny,” he snapped.

  Black feigned puzzlement. “Are you referring to the ten thousand bucks I just donated to charity?”

  “You know I’ve always been a fan of the Miami Dolphins.”

  “Actually, I had no idea.”

  “Just because Blackwood keeps losing out to EBR Group on contracts, there’s no need to be petty.”

  “We’re not interested in entering a race to the bottom. That benefits nobody.”

  “Bullshit. Blackwood’s a bloated behemoth, that’s why you’re so overpriced. Too many has-beens like you at the top, sitting behind desks, collecting overinflated salaries. You’ve forgotten what it’s like in the field.”

  Oh, what a load of bollocks. Comparing Blackwood to EBR was like saying that the only difference between a sweatshop and Louis Vuitton was that Louis Vuitton had more managers. Blackwood competed on quality, not price, and we weren’t short of work. And as for suggesting Black kept his hands clean now… I had a feeling Ridley was going to find out just how dirty my husband could play, and soon.

  But tonight, Black merely shrugged. “Sure, things change. Perhaps I enjoy finishing at five every day, then going home to my lovely wife.”

  “You’re not the only one who can attract a pretty young lady,” Ridley snapped back.

  Did he mean Kyla? Had O’Shaughnessy’s intern been right?

  “And yet here you are alone.”

  “You always were an arrogant son of a bitch.”

  Black merely smirked. “Yet here I am with a beautiful woman and a football jersey.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Gee, that was original. The man certainly had a temper on him, didn’t he? Black and I watched as Ridley turned on his heel and stomped back into the banquet hall, no doubt ready to inflict his foul mood onto the next victim.

  “You know,” Black said, his gaze heating as he looked down at me, “for once, I might actually take his advice.”

  CHAPTER 20 - ALARIC

  “WELL, THIS OUGHTA set the cat among the pigeons,” Alaric said.

  Black worked fast, he had to give the man credit for that. The full forensic report had come in not long before midnight, and by the time Alaric’s morning coffee was cool enough to drink, the results were already spreading online, thanks in no small part to O’Shaughnessy’s campaign. Beth leaned over Alaric’s shoulder and turned up the volume on a local news piece.

  “Following Aidan O’Shaughnessy’s dramatic fall from grace during Monday’s senatorial debate in Frankfort, Kentucky, there appears to be a twist in the tale. Fingerprints belonging to Eric Ridley, a member of Kyla Devane’s security team, have reportedly been found on a bag that held the Democratic candidate’s laptop, the same laptop that was confiscated by police after it was found to contain underage pornography. Bruce Goddard, campaign manager for Mr. O’Shaughnessy, has confirmed to KSBC News that there is no reason why any member of Devane’s staff should have handled the bag in question.”

  “Do you think that’ll lose her enough votes?” Beth asked.

  “Who knows? Give it an hour, and I expect the Devane campaign’ll come out with a rebuttal. Dispute the evidence, say O’Shaughnessy’s lying because he’s desperate, that sort of thing.”

  The fingerprint evidence would be enough to cast doubt in a criminal case, but in a trial by media? Voters were unpredictable. Really, they needed something more to tip the balance. Dan had gone to interview Piper Simms’s grandmother with the dog riding shotgun—rather them than Alaric—and there was also Ridley’s civilian atrocity to dig into. Alaric planned to call some of his contacts while Beth helped Harriet for an hour, but the bulk of his network was in Western Europe and North America, not the Middle East. Ditto for Judd, and Naz dealt with Eastern Europe. There were definite gaps in Sirius’s coverage, but the firm didn’t have the capital to facilitate a Blackwood rate of expansion. Only Judd was minted, and most of his money was tied up in family trusts. Growth at the moment was slow but steady.

  Which was why he had to ask Beth to help out with the investigative work as well as organising accommodation for the next week since it looked as if they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

  “I’ll send the owner of this place an email right away,” she said when he mentioned it. “Hopefully it’ll be free for a while longer. If not, I’ll find something similar.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t stay with the horses all day today.”

  “Don’t apologise—this is my job.”

  “But still…”

  The guilt was strong, and with it came the realisation that Alaric didn’t want Beth to make his travel arrangements and type his reports. He wanted her to play with horses all day, smile at him over dinner, scream his name as he fucked her, then curl against him while they slept. Even though deep down, he’d known the just-a-job story was bullshit, it was the first time he’d allowed himself to admit it, and the revelation hit him like a cannonball to the chest.

  Fuck.

  Could his feelings have reared their ugly heads at a worse time? Probably not. Not only were they in the middle of this Hydra of a case, but Beth had also distanced herself in the last couple of days. She’d clearly decided her role, and it was executive assistant rather than wannabe girlfriend. Since that night on the couch, she’d been the consummate professional, and Alaric had to afford her the same courtesy.

  “Of course, yes, it is your job. A similar property will be fine. We’re all used to packing up and moving around.”

  Beth’s cheeks turned pink, and Alaric realised he’d put his foot in it yet again. She’d unpacked, hadn’t she? Made herself at home. He kind of envied that optimism—even after her life got flipped on its head, she tried to put down roots, albeit shallow ones.

  Alaric still put his toothbrush back in his suitcase after every use.

  Predictably, the memo about professionalism hadn’t reached every member of the Sirius team. At first, Alaric had been happy to see Judd sitting in his kitchen when he video-called him from the living room at Lone Oak Farm, but that joy soon faded when he heard a baby cry.

  “I thought Hevrin got discharged from the hospital last night?”

  That’s what Judd’s latest email had said.

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “So you took her home, right?”

  “Mate, she’s got a broken arm and a baby. I couldn’t just drop her off in some shitty part of town and leave her to fend for herself. She needs help.”

  The words made sense, but not when it was Judd speaking them. His bedside manner consisted of flushing the condom and closing the door quietly on his way out.

  “And you thought you’d be the best person to assist?”

  “Nah, Gemma offered. Nada didn’t even want to come, but Gem talked her round.”

  Gem? Nada? What, was he starting a bloody harem?

  “Don’t you mean Hevrin?”

  “I guess I got used to calling her Nada in the hospital, and that’s what her new passport says. She answers to either.”

  “She’s not a fucking dog, Judd. And what do you mean, new passport?”

  “The admin lady at the hos
pital wanted to see ID, and it was easier to call in a favour and get her a new passport than admit I didn’t know what my own wife’s name was.”

  “She’s not your wife.”

  Alaric heard the cocky smirk in Judd’s voice. “Our marriage certificate says otherwise.”

  “You’ve gone the whole nine yards, haven’t you? What did you do, photoshop the honeymoon photos?”

  “Nah, I only managed to get one good headshot before she got suspicious.”

  Deep breaths, Alaric.

  “You’ve given her a whole new identity, and you haven’t told her?”

  “Need-to-know basis, mate. Although Mother heard about it on the grapevine and called with some awkward questions.”

  “I bet she did.”

  Stella Millais-Scott had spies everywhere, which was only to be expected for a woman who was second in command at MI6. She was also a ruthless bitch. Her boss, Sir Rodney Barrington, was rumoured to have suffered a minor heart attack last fall, and at the Millais-Scotts’ most recent pre-Christmas gathering, she’d served up liver pâté, roast beef with all the trimmings, and crème brûlée. Alaric had felt his own arteries furring as he tucked in.

  “Does that mean Hevrin won’t be staying for long?” Alaric asked hopefully.

  “I didn’t tell Mother she was staying here. I just said we needed the spare ID for a job.”

  “And she bought that?”

  “Who knows? She told me not to give Nada any money or bring her to family gatherings, reminded me yet again that my talents are wasted at Sirius, and then hung up.”

  Par for the course. Stella Millais-Scott made Black seem positively pleasant. Alaric would pay good money to watch the two of them go at it in a battle of wills.

  “Well, speaking of your talents, I’ve got work for you to do, work that doesn’t involve women, forged documents, or making your mother dislike us any more than she already does.”

  “Buzzkill.”

  But Judd would help. He always did.

  “Two and a half years ago, a former American Naval officer was involved in an incident in Afghanistan. His company got hired to search for a hostage, and somehow, a family of five ended up dead. Two adults, three children. He claimed they shot at his men first, that they were militia, but neighbours said the parents ran a bakery. Rumour says the wife got raped before she died.”

  “Man, that’s bad. And the kids?”

  “Someone tossed a grenade into their bedroom.”

  “Fuckers. Got a name?”

  “Eric Ridley. EBR Group. Your contacts in the Middle East are better than mine, and I need any dirt you can dig up on the guy.”

  “Why? What’s he up to?”

  “It appears he’s trying to meddle in a US senatorial election.”

  Judd gave a low whistle. “That porn thing? It was on the news last night.”

  “He works for one of the other candidates, and she’s bad news.”

  “I’ll get what I can, but I have to take Nada out to buy baby stuff first. Turns out those things need a lot of kit.”

  Although Alaric was annoyed that Judd was collecting women again, he couldn’t deny that he’d have helped both Hevrin and Gemma in the same way if he’d been in London. He just had to hope that Judd didn’t screw either of them, either physically or metaphorically.

  “How’s Hevrin holding up?”

  “Hard to say. She’s the quietest girl I’ve ever met. Gem’s pretty freaked out by the whole dismembered women thing, though. She was crying again last night. But don’t worry—a little of the old Judd magic soon changed that.”

  “Tell me you didn’t…”

  “Relax, I just made hot chocolate and watched a chick flick with her. Hmm… I think that might actually be the longest I’ve kept my clothes on around a woman. Which reminds me, how’s our lovely new assistant?”

  “Off limits,” Alaric said through gritted teeth.

  Judd guffawed. “To me or to you?”

  “To both of us.”

  “You should consider changing your policy. If you got laid, maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight all the time.”

  “Do some work, Judd.”

  Alaric hung up and let out an audible groan. Judd was good at his job—when he did it—but his personal life was a different story. He’d left a string of broken hearts from Tahiti to Timbuktu, and if he caused any more problems, Sirius’s next hire would be a three-hundred-pound heavily tattooed babysitter named Butch.

  “What’s up?” Beth asked, walking in from the yard. “We’re done with the animals, and Harriet said she’d look after Barkley while we’re out asking questions.”

  Alaric rose halfway to pick a piece of straw out of Beth’s hair. She smelled like the barn, but he didn’t care. Horses were a part of her.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “You realise when you say that, I only worry more?”

  “Judd’s just running Curzon Place like a halfway house. Hevrin’s staying there as well.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. She can keep Gemma company. How’s her arm?”

  The least of her problems if Mr. Millais-Scott got his teeth into her, or worse, his dick. But Alaric really didn’t want to make Beth anxious.

  “She’s feeling better by all accounts. Ready to hit the road?”

  Dan had spoken to Piper’s grandma earlier. Barb Simms was the single mother of a single mother, and she still lived alone in the same trailer she’d shared with Piper after Piper’s mom upped and disappeared. Runs in the family, she’d said. Never found a trace of either of them.

  “What about the letter?” Alaric had asked Dan. “She didn’t believe Piper sent it?”

  “That was the only time Barb got angry. Said it was a low-down dirty hoax because Piper wanted to be a scientist, not a singer, and she only went to karaoke nights at the Tumbleweed Tavern because she wanted to fit in.”

  “Fit in with who? Kyla’s crowd?”

  “There were half a dozen girls she hung out with, and Kyla was one of them. Although it was a love-hate relationship, apparently. Piper didn’t like Kyla as a person, but she enjoyed perks that came with being her ‘friend.’ Cast-off designer togs, invites to the Devane family mansion, and latterly, boys.”

  “What did Grandma Simms think of Kyla?”

  “She barely knew her. Piper never invited her to the trailer—probably embarrassed to—and the Devanes didn’t exactly run in the same circles as Barb and her cronies,” Dan said. “One of her pals turned up just as I was leaving, and he reeked of weed. An entire rock band could get high by sniffing his sweater.”

  “Did she give you anything useful?”

  “Not much more than was in the file. Piper disappeared in broad daylight the Wednesday before homecoming. She felt ill in the morning and decided to stay home from school—just a cold, but she wanted to try and sleep it off before the dance. Barb went to work at the grocery store, and when she came back, Piper and her car had gone. At first, Barb thought maybe she’d gone to the pharmacy, but then it got dark, and she began to worry. The cops started canvassing the next morning.”

  “And we already know the rest of the story.”

  “Yes. Apart from her grandma, the last person to see her was a kid who watched her drive out of the school parking lot alone the previous day.” Alone, not with Kyla or any of her other friends. Another symptom of the homecoming feud? “Anyhow, I’ve started canvassing the neighbours on Aspen Canyon, where Barb lives, but I want to go into town to check out the pharmacy angle, just in case. Can you and Beth carry on where I left off?”

  “Just let us know who you’ve already spoken to.”

  “I’ll email over a list. Although at this point, I’m beginning to think there’s something in Barb’s extraterrestrial theory. Nobody saw a thing.”

  Nobody saw a thing. Those words echoed in Alaric’s head as he guided Beth towards the front door of the farmhouse, glancing towards Irvine Carnes’s private wing as he did so. Red After Dark was
still through there, and it was as if Dominique and Emerald were both laughing at them all.

  CHAPTER 21 - BETH

  GROWING UP, I’D always thought being a private detective was such a glamorous job. Sherlock Holmes, Magnum, Nancy Drew, Veronica Mars… I bet none of them spent two whole days traipsing up and down driveways in intermittent drizzle, asking questions that no one—absolutely no one—knew the answers to. Either the people hadn’t lived there thirteen years ago, or they hadn’t seen anything, or they couldn’t remember back that far.

  At first, Alaric and I had started off canvassing together, but after an hour or so, he let me take the lead on the questions, and when I didn’t screw that up, I was finally allowed out into the big wide world on my own. He was twitchy, though, and I could understand why. If Piper had come to a nasty end, then her killer was still walking free. What if it hadn’t been Kyla? Quite honestly, I struggled to believe that a teenager could not only murder a person, but also hide the body successfully for over a decade.

  Which meant I was twitchy too.

  Dan had dug up a voter registration list, and Alaric assigned me all the houses with either women or retirees listed as the only occupants. Plus I had to call him after every visit. So far, I’d worked my way down Aspen Canyon, a twisty road where ramshackle wooden homes and trailers nestled among the trees, and onto Lakeshore Drive. Alaric had twice as many properties to visit as me, but somehow, he was still farther ahead. I raised my hand to knock on another door.

  “Hi, my name’s Beth, and I’m working with a team of private investigators to—”

  The lady stared at me. “You’re English.”

  “Yes, from London. I’m just helping—”

  “We don’t like strangers around here.”

  On the contrary, all of her neighbours had been extremely welcoming. Half the pensioners had invited me in for cookies, and if I had one more cup of coffee, I’d never sleep again. Plus I really needed to pee.

  “I promise I won’t take up much of your time. We’ve been hired to look into the disappearance of a local girl, Piper Simms, and—”