“Just spill the brilliance of whatever this is about,” Shane said.
“Only because you acknowledged its brilliance.” Marz sat, excitement rolling off the guy. “I figured out how to solve the problem of getting us eyes and ears in the back of Confessions.”
“By getting married?”
“By pretending to get married. And what does every pretend groom need?” Marz’s grin was full of anticipation.
“A bride?” Shane said.
Marz rolled his eyes and waved his hands. “Okay, but what else?”
Shane looked between the three of them. And then the lightbulb went on. “A bachelor party,” Shane said.
Marz clapped his hands. “Ding ding ding. Give the man a cigar.”
Yup. The idea was, in fact, brilliant. Really brilliant. “I assume there are private rooms in the back for parties or something?”
“Precisely,” Marz said, turning his monitor toward the other three men. The Confessions Web site promised discerning gentlemen a night they’d never forget with the sexiest, most exotic women in Baltimore.
Like, say, Crystal.
Shane swallowed the growl the stray thought beckoned. He read farther down the screen. “Says the rooms have to be reserved in advance.”
Beckett looked up from his phone and gave a small smile, or what passed for a smile with the hard-ass. “He’s way ahead of you, man.”
“True dat,” Marz said, reclining in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head. “While you were out chasing girls”—he waggled his eyebrows—“I got us a Plan B in the form of a bachelor party. We’ve got an appointment to see the private rooms tonight at eight.” He tapped his hand against a small box. “And I put together a couple different types of devices depending on what kinds of access we manage to gain while we’re in there.”
“Nice. Did you actually schedule a date for a party?”
Marz laughed. “Told them I was doing the deed on Saturday to make the appointment time-sensitive. So the party is Friday night.” He waved a hand. “We’ll just cancel it.”
“Who’s going?” Shane asked.
“The four of us,” Marz said. “Make it seem like a group of friends just hanging out together.” Beckett and Easy voiced their agreements. “I think Nick’s gonna sit this one out. Charlie’s going downhill, and Becca’s worried. She’s holding it together like a champ, but Nick’s not going to want to leave them.”
Damn. Shane had been so wrapped up in Crystal, he’d nearly forgotten about Charlie. And there was the problem in a fucking nutshell. “What did her friend say after he saw Charlie? Did you talk to him?”
“Murphy? I did,” Easy said. “Seems like a stand-up guy. Recognized things were dire. Supposed to be back around eleven with his rig and everything y’all need.”
Need. As in, for the surgery. Sonofabitch. What they were contemplating doing was a helluva lot more complicated than anything he’d ever handled before. What if it didn’t work, and Charlie got worse? Even a blind hog had to find an acorn now and then. Wasn’t it about their turn?
“We’ll get you back in time to help with that,” Marz said.
Which meant . . . Aw, hell. Would Crystal be there tonight? Shane scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to remember if she’d mentioned her work schedule.
“What?” Marz asked.
“Crystal. I should give her a heads-up. If I surprise her in there, and she gives away that she knows me, it could be bad for us and her.” Shit. So much for giving her the night to calm down. But who could’ve predicted Marz would get fake-engaged in the three hours he’d been gone.
“Guess you better get to whatever fixing things you need to do, then,” Beckett said, expression serious.
Shane struggled to yank his phone from his wet jeans pocket. He pressed a button and put the cell to his ear.
Straight to voice mail.
“Damnit,” he said. He’d called her this morning to see how Jenna was doing and gotten the same result. Though, if she was hiding the phone, maybe she’d turned it off, too. It was what he’d do in the same situation. “Marz, can you pull up some ears on her place.” He glanced at his watch. After five.
A few keystrokes later, Marz nodded. For a long stretch of minutes, the apartment on the other end of the devices sounded quiet, only occasional, small shuffling noises to indicate someone might be there. All four of the guys stared at the speakers like there was something to watch, their seriousness reflecting their understanding of what could happen to an informant who was outed.
Knock, knock. “Jenna? Can I come in?” Crystal. Bingo. Silence stretched out before another round of knocking. “Jenna? Please?”
Shane frowned. Crystal sounded almost upset. He imagined the expression she’d worn right before she’d bolted from the woods, and his chest squeezed.
“Jen, this apartment is seven hundred square feet. You can’t avoid me forever.”
Marz arched a brow and held out his hands like he was asking what was going on. Shane shook his head.
Something rattled and squeaked. “Actually, I could avoid you if I wanted. So don’t tempt me. What do you want?” Jenna, presumably.
“I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Crystal said, her tone conciliatory.
“I’m fine,” Jenna said in that tone women used that meant they were the exact opposite of fine.
“Please don’t be mad at me.”
The regret in Crystal’s voice reached right into Shane’s chest and grabbed hold. He’d seen how much her sister meant to her. He could hear it in her voice, even as Jenna came at her with anger. There was a long pause, and Shane leaned closer.
“Is he going to be at your work tonight?” Jenna finally said.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s a yes. I have half a mind to march into Confessions tonight and tell him if he lays another hand on you, I’ll call the police myself.”
Oh, shit, Shane thought. What a fucking disaster that would be. “You will not,” Crystal barked, apparently agreeing. “Do you hear me? You are never to step foot in there for any reason. You know how I feel about that. It’s not safe.”
“Oh, but it’s safe for you?”
“God, Jenna. Grow up. I don’t have a freaking choice.” The words overflowed with a desperation that sucker punched Shane and made it hard to breathe. She doesn’t have a choice? What the hell does that mean?
A gasp, then a sniffle.
“Aw, sweetie, come here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
Someone was crying. “No. Gotta get used to taking care of myself sometime. Might as well be now,” Jenna said in a strained voice.
“Jen—”
“I’m gonna lose you. Don’t you understand?”
“No, you’re not. I promise.” Sharp knots formed in Shane’s gut as the women fought. He identified wholeheartedly with Jenna’s concerns, but he hated the guilt and pain he heard in Crystal’s voice.
“You can’t make that promise. Not with where you work and who you date. God, I hate Dad. I hate him. This is his fault.” Their father? What did he have to do with this?
“Sshh, it’s okay.”
“No. None of this is okay. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed, you wouldn’t have gotten sucked into that world. But it’s your fault, too. Because you could get out, but you don’t. You just stay there and take it. You’re just like him!” The longer Jenna spoke, the more heated her words became. She had some of the same fighter qualities as Crystal, it appeared, though Shane wasn’t a fan of where that fight was being directed right now. Those words had heart-shredder written all over them.