The Unblocked Collection (53 page)

“What did you call him?”

“Hayden’s last name is White. I made the connection and searched, and found an article on a Derek White having been at the scene of a construction accident. No pictures to confirm it, but enough of a connection to come to a pretty solid conclusion.

Derek
White
?

“I have to go.”

“Frankie—”

“Good-bye, Reed.” I hung up, but continued to hold my phone, once again pulling up the website for White Construction. I searched through the different pages until I found the one that outlined the company’s history. It had been founded over twenty-five years ago by Randy White.

Randy…

It had to be him…the man Derek despised.

I needed to figure this all out so I began summarizing the points I knew to be true: Taylor’s employment history wasn’t consistent with what she had said; her financial records showed she barely scraped by. Somehow she was able to afford a high-end apartment in the city. She was affiliated to White Construction, which was owned by Randy White.

Hayden’s last name was White.

Derek’s last name was…White, too?

His tattoo. The one that ran from his armpit to his waist.
White
. He had told me it was his favorite color and I didn’t believe him.
Your favorite color is in the beige family…or whatever color lingerie I happen to be wearing when you take it off with your teeth. But it’s definitely not white.

Why had Taylor come back to the city? It wasn’t for the so-called job she talked about. Maybe it was for a different job…one with Randy White, and one that was off the books.

Was it Randy she was talking to in the bathroom at the restaurant?
I’ll stay on him, don’t worry
, she had said.
I’ll get everything you need, but you’ve got to give me a few more days
.

My head started to spin all the details together: Taylor was working for Derek’s enemy. She wanted something from Derek, something she could give to Randy.

Still, none of that explained why Derek’s last name wasn’t really Block, or why he hadn’t told me the truth. As his agent, I understood why he wouldn’t share that information. But as his girlfriend, that was something important enough to mention. He had opened up so much during our weekend in Portsmouth, but not enough to tell me who he really was.

And if he hadn’t told me who he really was…what else had he lied about?

I picked up my phone again and called him. After four rings, I was sent to voicemail. I called again as I tucked all the papers back into the folder, stuck it into my bag and grabbed a jacket. I had to get to the bottom of this.

I just hoped his answer wasn’t going to signal the end of us.

DEREK

A KNOCK
at the front door woke me. I had been asleep on the couch, my feet resting on the coffee table, the remote still in my hand and a movie playing on the TV. The clock on the cable box showed it was a quarter past eight. Frankie had finished with work earlier than I thought she would.

I walked to the front door, checking the peephole before I opened it. It was dark outside; the streetlamps barely lit the space in front of the door, and I’d forgotten to turn on the light. There was still enough of a glow to show the bright blond hair and plump lips of Taylor Hall.

Son of a bitch.

I cracked the door. “Don’t tell me my mom gave you this address, too?”

She laughed and held up a bottle of wine. “It’s the same one you ordered at the restaurant. Let me in for a minute so we can talk.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk to you, Taylor.” She was the last person I wanted to see standing there. And why the hell was she here, anyway? Her fucking balls kept getting bigger.

“Your mom would be pissed if she knew you kept a lady standing in the cold.”

“My mom isn’t here. You shouldn’t be either.”

“Two minutes.” Her whining was becoming obnoxious. “Derek, don’t make me beg.”

“What do you want?”

She reached inside her jacket and removed a stack of papers. “I was hoping you could help me pick a place?” She smiled. “Unless you want me to rent the unit two doors down from you. According to this list, it’s still available.”

I knew it hadn’t been rented out yet. And I knew I should have bought that damn place when the owner had told me he was putting it up for sale. Some out of state investor had snagged it, rehabbed the whole unit and turned it into a rental.

“I don’t want you living next door.” I hadn’t even bothered to hide my true feelings.

“Then let me in so you can pick where you want me to live.”

It wouldn’t hurt to choose a location for her that was on the other side of the city. Then she wouldn’t need anything else from me, and I’d be able to get rid of her. That was the theory, anyway.

 I lifted my arm as I opened the door a little wider. “Five minutes, then you’re out of here.”

She ducked underneath my elbow and hurried inside. “That’s all I’ll need.” When she reached the living room, she stopped and looked around. “Wow.”

It wasn’t an open floor plan like my place in Portsmouth. My townhouse had been a full gut; the only thing I’d kept original were the bones of the unit. Everything else had been redone in a sleek, clean, contemporary style. It was sexy and unemotional—full of gadgets and unique upgrades.

“This isn’t anything like your other house,” she said. “Actually, it doesn’t feel anything like you at all.” She had that part right. “But whoa, it’s a hot place.” She turned toward me, a sentimental look crossed her face. “You’ve really done well for yourself.”

“Give me the papers.”

She handed me the documents as she moved into the kitchen, grabbing two tumblers from one of the cabinets and my wine opener from the drawer.

“I didn’t say make yourself at home.”

She placed a glass in front of me on the table and filled it. “How else do you expect me to open the bottle? You didn’t exactly offer.”

“I don’t plan on having you stay long enough to drink it.”

She rolled her eyes before I glanced back at the listings. “This one is nice,” I said, holding out the sheet that showed a unit in the North End.

“It doesn’t have an elevator.”

“It’s a townhouse, Taylor. It doesn’t need an elevator.”

“But it’s three stories. That’s so many stairs.” She swallowed half her glass and poured herself more.

I looked at the next page. “What about this one? It has an elevator.” It was in Cambridge, which was even farther from Frankie and me.

“It’s a little dated on the inside. And the walls were yellow.”

“I’m sure they’ll paint it for you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Maybe?

She hadn’t bothered to ask…because she really didn’t care.

I dropped the sheets on the table. “Those are two perfectly suited apartments and two lame-ass excuses. What’s really going on here, Taylor?”

She walked to the freezer and removed a bottle of vodka. She didn’t bother to pour any in a glass. She drank it straight from the bottle. After several swallows, she wiped her mouth and said, “I really have to talk to you, Derek.”

Her voice was aggravating the hell out of me. So was the look in her eyes, the position of her body, the way she had gulped that liquor like she needed its courage.

“I don’t want to talk. I want you to—”

“When I asked about your uncle the other night, you completely shut down,” she said. “What’s happened to you? You never used to shut down around me. You used to tell me everything. You trusted me.”

“Of course I trusted you. I fucking loved you.”

“Derek, I just meant—”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant. You walked out of my life when you decided you wanted someone who made more money than me, who could give you more than I could. We’ve both moved on. What I don’t understand is why you’re back.”

There was a knock at the door. We both heard it at the same time, our heads turning toward the front of the townhouse. Unless Taylor had invited a friend along, the only person it could be was Frankie.

A tipsy-looking Taylor standing in my kitchen wouldn’t look good in front of Frankie.

And the longer I delayed this, the worse it would appear.

Motherfucker.

I opened the door, wishing it wouldn’t be her on the other side. “Frankie…” As I reached for her hand to help her in, I felt Taylor behind me, her body much closer than I wanted it to be.

Frankie saw her as she stepped inside, her eyes narrowed and she chewed her bottom lip. I’d come to know those reactions as something she did when she was turned on. It was obviously what she did when she was confused, too. “What’s she doing here, Derek?”

The three of us stood in the entryway. I stared at Frankie, and I felt Taylor’s eyes on me. Frankie’s glance darted between the two of us.

“Derek’s helping me choose a place to live,” Taylor said.

“Is that true?” Frankie asked me.

“Yes, that’s true. And actually, we’re finished now. Taylor was just leaving.”

Taylor held her wine glass in the air and drank from it. It made this situation look even worse. I had to fix this, to explain that nothing was going on between Taylor and me. I took a step toward Frankie, my hands reaching for her waist. “Baby, listen—”

“No,” she snapped, moving away from me. “
You
listen.” She pulled a folder out of her bag. Inside were several documents and she fanned them in front of my face. “It looks like Taylor isn’t here for the reason she told us. She’s working for White Construction.”

My pulse thundered as I took the papers and read them. Taylor was working for White.

Even worse was that somehow Frankie had identified White Construction…and if she knew about them, there was a chance she knew about my last name.

Before I handled that, I needed to know if Taylor really was the fucking traitor that Frankie was accusing her to be.

I turned toward Taylor. “You’re working for
him
?” I yelled.

Her face drained of all its color. Her hand shook as she gripped her empty glass. “Derek…” That one word gave me the answer I needed on her. What was missing from these sheets was any information about me.

“Frankie, where did you get all this?” Before I made a mistake and said something I regretted, I had to know her source was authentic, and that it wasn’t Reed trying to make things worse.

“It doesn’t matter where I got it,” she said. “What matters is that I found it, and you didn’t.”

“Is Reed the one who gave it to you?”

“Would it make a difference?”

I didn’t answer.

Another layer had just unraveled between us.

“No, it wasn’t him.”

“Frankie—”

She stood taller, her voice getting louder. “I found more, if you’re wondering…Derek Block—or…Derek
White
.” There it was: the missing piece.
My
missing piece. Someone was helping her put this all together, but I knew she hadn’t figured out everything. She looked at Taylor, who was swaying on her feet. “Do I even know who you are? Has everything you’ve told me been a lie?” There were tears in her eyes like there had been the night she confessed in the rain.

She was jumping to conclusions, and most of them were false.

I didn’t blame her for that.

“Frankie…” I reached for her, but it was too late.

She wriggled her hand away from me and ran through the door. “I don’t know who’s lying to whom here, Derek, but I have this sickening suspicion that you don’t think I’m worthy of the truth.” She took another step and disappeared down the block.

I felt an angry heat burn a path across my chest as I looked over at Taylor. “Tell me what the fuck is going on. Right now.”

I looked like a goddamn fool because of her. But I looked like a liar…because of me. Because I’d been reluctant to reopen that wound.

She stumbled back and used the couch to regain her balance. The wine, the vodka, both had hit her. Hard. She knew she wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of anything now. “I needed money,” she said bluntly, “and he offered me lots of it.”

“Randy?”

“Yup.” She pulled her hair to one side and rubbed the base of her throat. She was nervous…and she should have been. If she hadn’t been a woman, I would have knocked her out by now, or worse. “He gave me twenty thousand and offered to move me back here and pay my rent and give me spending money if I found out what’s going on with you. He thinks you’re up to something and he wants to know what it is.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Derek—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Taylor.” I walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed the listings and her bottle of wine. I shoved it all in her hands and pushed her to the door. She begged me to stop the whole time, but I didn’t give a fuck about her whining or pleading. I wanted her out…it had been stupid of me to let her in, to let her anywhere near Frankie.

I would never make that mistake again.

I held the door open, gripped her arm, and brought her outside. “Don’t ever come back—do you understand me? And if I hear you’re anywhere near Frankie or one of her agents, I will
ruin
you.”