The sincerity in his voice pushed away any animosity I might have had. “No, I appreciate it. I don’t actually have anything formal and I’ll let you know by tomorrow. Let me look at my schedule.”
His phone beeped and he glanced at the screen. His face instantly paled. “I have to go.” He grabbed the bill that the waiter had discreetly placed on the table and then peeled off some twenties from his wallet before setting them inside the leather folio.
“What is it?” I asked.
He leaned forward and whispered, “The men who were supposed to deliver the product to your boutique were found shot to death in their van this morning.”
“What?” I felt ill. “Why? What’s going on?”
“That’s all I know.”
“Who told you?”
He ignored my question and sent a text message before he finally looked up and answered me. “A news text alert. I’m late for a meeting. I really should be going.”
For some reason, I didn’t believe him. I pushed my plate away. “It’s fine. I’m done.”
“Are you sure?”
I waved my hand. “Yes, go.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t be late for this meeting with my br—” He stopped before finishing.
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
That was another lie.
I wasn’t sure I would be fine ever again.
I sat there, watching the rain out the window for the longest time. Something was going on. Something more than I had imagined. Would Logan have eliminated the deliverymen so as not to expose the fact that the product had actually been delivered to my boutique? I just didn’t think so. If not him, then who did? It was way too coincidental to be a random crime. I pondered it for a long while before leaving to go home in the pouring rain.
Later that evening, I was lying in my bed, my mind a web of tangled lies, lost love, and incoherent thoughts, when my phone rang.
I grabbed for it, hopeful, yet knowing I shouldn’t be. I was in the very state of mind that I wanted to avoid. I hated feeling like this. Glancing at the screen, the number attached to the call was blocked, but I answered anyway. “Hello?” I said quickly.
“Hello, Elle.”
“Who is this?”
The voice was deep. “Someone who wants to help you.”
“Who is this?” I asked again, this time louder.
“That’s not important but what is important is that you understand your role and understand that sometimes the toughest decisions are also the easiest. If you doubt you should say yes, just think of the little lives God has created and go forth wisely.”
Chills ran down my spine.
Say yes?
Say yes to what?
DAY 13
LOGAN
The general etiquette in black-tie dressing was that there should be no watch on your wrist. The unwritten rule stated that if a timepiece had to be worn, it should be a pocket watch, but if one absolutely must wear a wristwatch, it should be a slim dress version thin enough to hide underneath French cuffs.
My big, sporty Patek didn’t really meet the qualifications, but then again most of the time I doubted I myself met the qualifications.
I hated going to events like this because of all the social niceties one had to abide by, but at least this time I wasn’t being forced to attend by my mother or grandfather. This time I was on a mission that would bring me closer to getting Elle back in my life.
The campus was all too familiar. After I’d fucked up and gotten kicked out of Harvard at orientation for stupidly thinking I could sell drugs on campus and get away with it, my father pulled some strings of his own and got me into the School of Law at UMass. My mother was so disappointed in me that she didn’t talk to me for almost a year, and my grandfather Ryan was equally as upset and only talked to me a dozen or so times during my entire law school stint. Like I’d come to realize, they were two peas in a pod.
As I parked and looked out over the harbor, my mind was anywhere but here. It was on Elle. It had been since I saw her get in that cab. How was she? What was she doing? Did she miss me as much as I missed her? Fuck, just standing there, I could still remember the way she tasted.
Shaking my melancholy off, I forced myself to focus and headed inside to find Pierce Foley. Pierce was a thirty-something Upper East Sider whose wife was connected to the Kennedys, and that relationship had the couple rallying among the political fundraisers all up and down the East Coast.
James had called me back as promised with five names of guys who he had heard the elite grapevine used cocaine and were also highly connected to the Boston social circle. I couldn’t believe it when I called Foley’s New York law office and they said he and his wife were in Boston for a fundraiser.
Maybe luck was on my side.
A quick sweep of social media informed me that I was looking for a man of average build, a little on the husky side, with thinning brown hair deeply parted on the side. I hoped it wouldn’t take long to find him, and then I hoped even more that it would take even less time to befriend him and find out what he knew. From what James had told me, I was certain pumping a few drinks in him would help me with that.
The place was jammed with people, and even at a cost of a grand per ticket, it didn’t surprise me. The rich always loved things that were expensive. In my monkey suit, I moved around in the way I’d been groomed. After having to stop to talk to the few people I knew, I tried to sideline any more familiar faces. I grabbed a quick glass of water with a lime wedge from the bar and was finally able to start my search.
Through the crowd it was hard to spot anyone who didn’t look like Pierce Foley. I walked the perimeter of the room, moving closer to the center with each lap. Thirty minutes later I still had not found him. This time I started in the center and worked my way outward. I was almost to the wall of windows that overlooked the Boston Harbor when I spotted him.
At the bar.
Bingo!
Casually, I made my way over and sat beside him, setting my glass down. I leaned in toward the bartender and ordered a gin and tonic, which I had no intention of drinking, and then looked toward a very bored-looking Pierce. “I’m on my third, what about you?” I lied.
He swirled what I guessed was a scotch and raised it. “My third as well. Long fucking night.”
I smirked. “You’re not kidding. I swear having to be on good behavior always makes time pass even slower.”
His roar of laughter told me I was in. “What do you say we do a shot?” he whispered.
I pretended to look around. “I’d better not. If the fiancée catches me getting out of hand, I’ll be in the doghouse for a week.”
Just saying fiancée, making up another woman, made the words burn in my throat.
“Good point. If my wife, Sarah, sees me drinking too much, I won’t even tell you what will happen to me.”
My grin came easily. “What’s it like?”
He arched a brow.
“Being married, I mean. I’m supposed to get married next month and I have to be honest, I’m not really feeling it.”
“Cold feet. I get it. I went through the same thing. Marriage is hard. I’m not going to lie. Of course, it has its ups and downs. I’ve been married for almost seven years, and I have to say I’ve been feeling the seven-year itch for a while now. But on the whole it’s worth it.”
The bartender set my drink down. “My friend here needs another.”
Pierce held his hands up. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“Come on, one more, and you can give me some honest advice. No one ever wants to be honest about marriage.”
With a quick gulp of his drink, he set it down. “Sure, one more.”
As he glanced around the room to be certain his wife wasn’t anywhere nearby, I poured half my drink into my water glass. Last thing I needed was to fog my brain. Fuck only knew what I’d be saying then.