Wicked Release (11 page)

18

J
ess sighed in contentment as she finished her last bite of mashed potatoes, smiling when Simon whisked her plate away. Dinner had been delicious and Elliot was surprisingly good company. There was a calmness to his dominance. A resolute acceptance about who he was versus Sam's constant need to push her away. Then again, she realized that had less to do with his deviant sexual side and more to do with his guilt all these years about her mother and father. Even still, Elliot controlled with a light touch while Sam bulldozed his way through life. But maybe that was the difference in their jobs, in their lives. Sam's bulldozing way of living was how he potentially made head detective. How he survived his upbringing. Whereas she had no doubt that Elliot's calm control is the reason why businesses trusted him to go behind the curtain and restructure their entire company.

“So,” Jess said, “Care to explain why you think it's necessary for us to pretend to be in a dom and sub relationship?”

“I would love to explain,” Elliot replied. “Other than now owning your sister's house, you have no ties to this community. But as my lover, it won't be odd for you to be a part of the big upcoming party this weekend. Furthermore, we can work together—and potentially with Dane should he be willing to help—to get those drugs out of your possession. Once they're returned to the people threatening you and these men are off your back, you should get out of town . . . even if just for a little while. I can care for your house. Even put it on the market for you.”

“Oh, I don't need you to do that. I had an offer I'll probably accept.”

“I promise you I can get you a better offer,” Elliot said, hardly looking at her. As though he simply assumed she didn't know what she was talking about.

“Really? You can get me a better offer than one point two million dollars?”

Elliot nearly choked on his wine and she couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of this guy who always had it together almost doing a spit take. “Who offered you that?”

“Gilles, from Cass's office. Apparently, he wants a home here for when he's in town on business from . . . Canada.” Jess paused, nerves jolting in her belly as she realized the strange coincidence. “You don't think . . . ?”

“No,” Elliot answered quickly. “He has nothing to do with this. The drug ring wouldn't be run by someone living up in Canada. I think it's someone local. Someone who also has a hand in these parties.”

“How are you so certain?”

“I just have a sense. I've met Gilles in the building before and he doesn't seem the type.” The little flare of hope Jess had experienced deflated as quickly as it had come on.

“In any case,” Elliot continued, “If I were you, I would think twice before selling your house to him. But we can worry about that later. For now, we need to focus on those pills and getting them out of your house.”

“And putting them where? I don't want them back in the hands of the dealers. They shouldn't be on the streets at all.”

Elliot sighed. “Then what do you want? You want these men off your back, yes?”

Jess gave a tight nod.

“But you don't want to give them what they want?” There was an annoying condescending tone to the question that made Jess wince.

“Well, we don't
know
that's what they want. What if it's just about the money? We could return Cass's money to them? Then just claim that there were no drugs in the house.”

“They're smarter than that. And suppose they want both the money
and
the drugs . . . what then?”

“You said yourself that money is mine to do with as I wish. And I wish to give it back to them and then throw the drugs away.”

“That's incredibly stupid. Even if you give the money back, they still would likely want the drugs—drugs are more valuable than money. These are people who are willing to kill to get what they want. And you're going to withhold from them? Not to mention, what exactly do you propose we do with all those pills if we're not putting them back into the hands of the dealers?”

She hadn't really thought that far ahead. “You said you know who these people are, right?”

Elliot held up a finger. “That is not what I said. I said I know they are involved in the masquerades and I bet we could get a message to them that we have what they want.”

“Couldn't the drugs just . . . appear on the steps of a DEA officer's home or something?”

“You don't think that it would be priority number one to find out who dropped cases and cases of drugs onto their doorstep?” Elliot stared at her from over his espresso. “Okay, I have one other idea. And it only works if you're willing to part with your sister's money—as it obviously and stupidly seems like you're willing to do.”

“Absolutely.”

“Instead of holding this year's ball here in my home, I could have it on my yacht.”

“Okay.”

“And we can sail it up the coast of Maine to the Canadian border where you and I will find a way to drop the drugs into the country where they likely came from.”

“Don't you think the Canadian border patrol will find it?”

Elliot nodded. “And then it will become their problem.”

That could work,
Jess thought, sipping her coffee. “But if you have a yacht, why can't we just take it now—tonight—and drop all the drugs? Why do it during the party?”

“A couple of reasons. We need alibis. If Canadian drug enforcement traces the drugs back to my yacht, we have a huge party of people to blame it on. Proving it was us will be much harder for authorities.”

“And the second reason?”

“If the drug dealer is at that party, on that boat, we can deliver them Cassandra's money and hope it's what they're looking for in your house. Hope it's enough to get them to leave you alone. Again, it's a risk. But if they have their money back, I think you're correct that they'll consider everything settled.”

It
was
risky. These people wanted her dead for how she'd been sticking her nose into their business. But if she went directly to Sam or turned the drugs into the police, she'd be a dead woman anyway. And she couldn't just do nothing. Not now. Not knowing that her sister's death was no accident. “I'm in. But I still want to look these bastards in the face. Meet the man who killed my sister.”

“I already told you—I'm not going to take part in vigilantism. . .”

“It isn't that. I just want to know. I want to see him.” Jess paused, shocked that Elliot had nothing to say to that. “Don't you? Don't you want to know who killed your girlfriend?”

“Of course I do,” he hissed. “But that can't bring her back. I knew this robbery-gone-wrong story was complete bullshit. But what good will the truth do now?”

Jess crossed her arms, observing the way he chewed the inside of his cheek, awaiting her answer. “It'll make me sleep easier. Wouldn't it for you?”

“Sleep didn't come easy when Cass was alive. It certainly won't now that she's gone,” he said.

Jess pushed her chair back and stood up. “I should really get home. Besides, having gotten to know you a bit better, I'm gonna guess you've probably paid Lyle to wait around, haven't you?”

The warm lighting danced in his amused eyes as he stood, walking her to the foyer. With another ring of the bell, Simon poked his head in. “Simon, could you get Ms. Walters's things?”

“Yes, sir.”

Silence settled between Jess and Elliot as they stood in his impressive hall. Usually Jess was totally comfortable with silence. In fact, in many instances she preferred it. But with Elliot it felt itchy, uncomfortable. And she hated the way he seemed so at ease while she was twitching like a cheerleader after three espressos. “You know,” she said, her voice sounding loud now, cutting through the quiet. “If they find out we're lying, they'll probably kill us both.”

“I know,” he answered.

“Then why are you helping me?”

“I thought we established this already? I feel responsible for you now that Cass is gone. And I feel like it was partially my fault that Cass died. I want to help. Besides, my life is empty without her anyway.”

Simon reentered with Jess's purse and a long, black cashmere cardigan that Jess immediately recognized as her sister's. “Here you go, Ms. Walters. The other Ms. Walters left it here.”

“Just in case Lyle forgets to give you that blanket again,” Elliot said as he brushed his lips across her cheek. “Call me when you're home.”

Elliot helped Jess into Cass's cardigan and then opened the front door for her. She felt numb. The sweater still smelled like Cass. It was cozy and soft; it had been her sister's favorite cardigan for as long as she could remember. Growing up, Cass would wear it around the house constantly and in those rare moments that they would curl up on the couch and watch a movie together, her sister had always worn it. If she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, it would almost feel like Cass was there with her. Holding her. Surrounding her.

The door closed behind her and the night air was cold, but the memories kept her warm. The memories and Cass's cardigan.

“Ms. Walters?” Lyle stood in the driveway, his eyebrows twisted in concern.

“Just a minute.” she said, rummaging inside her purse for a tissue.
That's weird,
she thought. The keys that she always kept in the outside pouch of her purse were now in the main bag. And her silver business card case was open.

“I need a minute, Lyle.” She dug around further, making sure everything was inside and nothing was missing from her wallet. It almost seemed like someone had been looking through her stuff. She pulled out her phone.
Four missed calls? Six text messages? Holy hell, who is trying to reach me?
She groaned as Sam's name came up with every missed alert.

Oh, crap.
Elliot had said to call him when she got home. And yet, after all this, she still didn't have his number. She started to turn to go back to the house.

“If you know what's good for you, you will not knock on that door.” Sam's voice sent chill bumps skating down her arms.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed within her hand. She looked down to an unknown Portland number lighting up her screen:

Please call me when you get home . . . this is my cell. Use it any time. Your detective friend has been waiting for you in the driveway. If you need me out there use the word
pancake
in conversation and Lyle will call me instantly.

19

“D
id you forget something inside?” Sam asked.

“Apparently, my independence. What the hell are you doing here, Sam? How did you find me?”

“I was given an anonymous tip that you were in a vehicle with a broken taillight. Very dangerous, you know,” he said, directing the last sentence to Lyle.

“This taillight's not broken,” Lyle interjected, immediately rushing to the back of the car.

“Lyle, it's fine. He's just being—” Jess started to explain.

“Protective?” Sam interrupted.

“I was gonna go with ‘an asshole.' But sure. ‘Protective.' Whatever.”

“Ms. Walters?” Lyle said. “I hate to interrupt this . . . tête-à-tête, but the last ferry leaves in ten minutes.” He opened the door to the backseat, waiting for her to enter.

“Thank you, Lyle.”

“Yes, thank you, Lyle. I appreciate any man willing to get her home safely. But I can take it from here,” said Sam.

Lyle shifted uncomfortably, his attention steadied directly on Jess. “I'm being paid to ensure her safe delivery home. Ms. Walters, if you prefer to ride with him, you may. I'll be following behind you the whole way.”

“You don't have to do that—”

“Yes, I do. Besides, I don't live on the island. I have to take the ferry to get home regardless.”

Sam's blue eyes cut through the dark night, leveled at Jess. “Well? Who would you like to ride with?”

He was actually asking her? That was a change. A request for her decision rather than a demand that went against her will. And above all else, she wanted to ride with Sam.

The most unforgivable secrets are the ones that take the most courage to be honest about.
Elliot's words from earlier buzzed in her mind. Sam reached his hand out, brushing it down her arm. The friction between his touch and the sleeve of her cardigan sparked and though she knew better, it felt like a sign.

“Jessie,” Sam said.

She wanted to talk with him. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and maybe tie her up like Elliot did. But any time spent with Sam was detrimental to both their lives, regardless of the fact that this lie hung over them like creaky scaffolding, ready to collapse and destroy them at any moment.

“I appreciate your concern, Sam. As always. But I'll have Lyle take me home tonight.”

A shadow crossed over Sam's face, darkening his already grim features. “Wait . . . I just . . . I need to see you. I need to talk to you.” Awareness tingled over her shoulders and down her chest until the feeling resonated at her nipples. The spread of warmth surged through her body and she wasn't sure if it was because of the very charged evening, or because she'd just experienced shibari for the first time, or if it was because this was Sam. The very man that she could never quite let go of.

If Sam ever found out that she allowed Elliot to tie her up like that . . . her focus drifted to his gun, holstered at his hip, and she tilted her head. “Your gun . . . you're not supposed to have that on you until—”

“I'm back on active duty. I was released for work earlier this evening.”

Her eyes traveled over his body, hard and masculine in all the right areas. And in his presence, she felt feminine. Soft. Maybe that's why being around Sam was so unnerving. It was like what Elliot had described—she'd spent her whole life trying to fight for control of her life. But with Sam, it felt more natural to let him take care of her. Even though she still fought him for her independence, he was the one person with whom she could see herself letting go.

Her gaze landed on the bandage still peeking out from underneath Sam's baseball hat. “But . . . but your head is still bandaged. Sam, there's no way you're ready for fieldwork so soon.”

“The doctor signed off—”

Realization slammed into her and Jess shook her head. “What did you do? Did you force Dr. Adams to let you go back to work?”

“I—”

“Never mind.” She held up a hand, shaking his explanation off. “It's none of my business. Not anymore.” She placed a hand on his arm. “We can't talk here. Out in the open like this. It might feel remote but it's not.” She glanced around and back at the car. Lyle was leaning against the trunk, his eyes glued to his phone. And yet, she had no doubt that he was hanging on to every word she said, on the orders of Elliot Warner. “Let's talk later.” Then, backing away toward the limo, but still looking directly at Sam, she said. “Take me home, Lyle.”

Sam nodded, backing away, and Jess was glad that he understood and didn't fight her for once. She could go home, have a hot bath, and give him a call in the morning. “See you around, Jess,” Sam said, pulling out his keys. With that, he got in his car and drove off to the ferry and she did the same with Lyle.

 

On the ferry ride back to the mainland, Sam stayed in his car and Jess stayed in hers. For Jess, it wasn't the same magical ride over the water that it had been coming there. It was tense and Lyle seemed to pick up on that immediately.

“That guy doesn't like to hear the word no, huh?” Lyle asked.

“No. He doesn't,” Jess answered. The half-empty bottle of champagne sat next to her in a bucket of fresh ice with a clean flute beside it. Whereas before it was a lovely gesture meant to make her feel cared for, now it simply mocked her. Sam was going to get himself killed if he wasn't careful. Even aside from the drug dealers and their warnings for them to stay apart, he was going to kill himself.
You don't mess around with head injuries,
thought Jess.
If a doctor says to stay off your feet, dammit, you need to do just that.
And that's exactly what she planned on telling him tomorrow.

As soon as their cars pulled off the ferry Sam took a left turn, heading down to the wharf. Jess released a relieved breath. She only hoped he was on his way home to get some rest.

Though the drive from the water to Jess's house was a short one, it seemed to take forever. When Lyle pulled into her driveway, he popped out of the car to open her door before she could stop him. “Unnecessary,” she said, smiling up at Lyle. “But thank you. Again.”

He tipped his hat and even though it seemed genuine, there was a hint of playful mockery to it. “It's my job, Ms. Walters.”

“Seriously, it's Jess. Call me Jess.”

He smiled, revealing that dimple once more. “As long as Mr. Warner isn't around . . . Jess it is. I'll wait until you're safely inside before leaving.”

Jess walked up the steps of her house, taking note of Cass's ceramic frogs, all facing front. No Dane inside. She would hope not, considering it was after eleven. She slid her key into the lock, and the door creaked open. She gave a wave to Lyle before closing and locking the door.

She couldn't wait to sink into a hot bath with a good book . . . or at the very least, get out of her restrictive dress. It was gorgeous, but the lace sleeves were itchy and the waistline tight. She and Cass were almost the same size, but it seemed Cass had lost some weight since Jess had seen her last.

As she turned to go up the stairs, the light beside her couch clicked on and a deep voice crooned her name.

“Jess . . .”

All the organs in Jess's gut seized up into her throat and she let out a bloodcurdling scream as a hand came down over her mouth.