Leave Me Love (10 page)

THAT NIGHT, I
told Ash my suspicions as we sat in the upstairs patio outside our bedroom, taking in the sights and sipping on cabernet.

"I don't think it's Maxwell," he said, stroking my hand. "Alice trusted him with that letter, with that information. If Lauren's right and Alice started to suspect someone close to her, it couldn't have been Maxwell or she wouldn't have confided in him, right?"

"True." He had a point. "But maybe she was wrong. Maybe my mom trusted the wrong person, suspected the wrong person."

We sat in silence for a few more moments as my brain churned with ideas. "What if we bait him?"

"Who, Maxwell?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll tell him I found the book and see what happens. If he's the killer, he'll act."

Ash frowned. "That's risky, sweetheart. Acting could mean hurting you."

I cuddled up against him. "That's why I have you to keep me safe."

"Speaking of, this weekend we're going shooting and doing some hand-to-hand combat training."

"Okay, deal. But first, we set this plan in action."

Ash pulled me unto his lap. "That's not what's happening first."

I smiled, rubbing against his already-hard cock. "Oh, really? What are you doing first then?"

"You." His hand slipped under my shirt and up to my breast as he kissed me, first tenderly, slowly, then with deepening, toe-curling passion.

"Shouldn't we go back in the room?" I asked.

"Why? No one can see us out here. I want you under the stars."

He lifted me up, switching places with me, pushing me into the couch while he kneeled in front of me and stripped my pants and underwear off. The cold air hit the warm folds of my pussy as he spread my legs and licked the sensitive flesh between my thighs.

I moaned and thrust my hips toward his mouth. Using two fingers, he entered me, finding the right spot to rub as he used his mouth to bring me to climax.

I came hard, my body bucking under him, and he shoved his cock into me as my pussy still clenched and unclenched. "God, you're so tight, Cat. You feel so good."

He fucked me hard and fast and I begged for more, faster, harder, as another orgasm wracked my body. I dug my fingers into his back, scratching his flesh as a wave of pleasure released in me and I sank my teeth into his shoulder. He moaned and nipped at my neck as we fell into each other's arms, breathing heavily and leaving trails of cold air between us.

"That was… amazing," he said.

I shivered in his arms. "You're amazing."

It was too chilly to sit there half-naked, so I pulled on my pants and curled up in his arms, satiated from our lovemaking and content to stay there forever. Ash, however, had other plans.

He stood and went into the bedroom, then came back with two Cuban cigars. "It's time we smoked together. You said, not too long ago, that you wanted to."

I smiled. "I do."

He clipped one and lit it, then handed it to me and did the same for his. I sucked deeply then exhaled, enjoying the night sky and the relaxing evening.

After a few more puffs, I set the cigar down on the crystal ashtray he'd brought out. "I'm going to get some water. Do you want any?"

He shook his head. "I'm good." He pulled me to him and kissed me again. "Hurry. I miss you already."

I went downstairs to the kitchen, still marveling at the epic size of this house and that I lived here. I poured a glass of water, then turned off the kitchen light. On my way out of the room, my hand knocked over something on the counter, sending it crashing to the floor. “Shit!”

I turned the light back on and found a shattered bowl of mints. I thought of the note I'd gotten in the hospital. Mints and cigars.

My head spun, eyes buzzing as lights flashed around me.

Then, nothing.

***

I sat in front of a house I didn't recognize, but I knew the address. Lauren, my therapist. How did I get here? She came to the door, her face pinched in annoyance. "It's really not appropriate for you to show up at my door unannounced in the middle of the night, Catelyn. This crosses a line."

My face burned in humiliation. "I'm sorry. I don't know how I got here."

She looked around outside, then opened her door. "Come in. It's too cold out there."

I looked down and realized I wasn't wearing any shoes or jacket, just the sweater and pants I'd been wearing while with Ash.

We sat on her living room couch, and she offered me some hot tea after I texted Ash. She wrapped herself in a silk robe, her hair loose and draped over her shoulders. "Tell me what happened."

I told her what I was doing before finding myself at her house, and she told me to make sure Ash brought my medication when he came to pick me up.

We sat and talked and she probed me for what I was thinking before I blacked out. "These things usually happen around a stressful trigger. What triggered you this time?"

"I'm worried about Ash," I confessed. "Do you know anything about Ash's trial when he was young? The one my mom was involved with?"

"I do. I was the psych consult. I worked on a few cases back then."

"What did you discover?" I wiped a sweaty palm on my pants and tried to stop my shaking.

Lauren looked troubled, her mouth pinched. "I can't share that with you, Catelyn. You know that."

"Is… is there something there to share? Something I need to know?"

Lauren didn't answer, and the doorbell rang. Ash looked worried sick. "What happened? You went downstairs to get water and then you were gone."

I buried my face in his chest, wishing I could trust him without reservation. Wishing there weren't so many secrets in my life. "I'm sorry. I blacked out and must have done some kind of sleepwalking. Did you bring my meds?"

He handed them to me, and I took them and waved goodbye to Lauren, who still look haunted by something she couldn't talk about.

Once home, Ash wanted me to go to bed, but I couldn't rest. I needed to know what happened to my mother all those years ago. I pulled out the box of pictures and letters I'd been collecting and started looking through them again.

One picture seemed thicker than the others, and I realized it was stuck to another one. I peeled the hidden one off the back, careful not to tear it, and found a picture that sent shivers up my arms.

It was of my mother in a formal ball gown, holding a glass of champagne.

With Mr. Beaumont putting an arm around her.

ASH HAD SOME
meetings that afternoon, and I used that time to drive to the Beaumonts’. The entire drive there I questioned whether this was the best course of action, but I knew I wouldn't turn around. I had to know what the picture meant, if anything.

I felt a pang of sadness when I pulled up to their house. They had to live with the daily knowledge that their daughter was missing. It weighed heavily on me, but I couldn't imagine being a parent and losing a child like that. And once again I felt guilty for what happened to Bridgette.

Mrs. Beaumont answered the door, dressed in her customary pearls and a cream cashmere dress. Her face paled when she saw me. "Oh, Catelyn, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here right now."

"I just need to ask you and Mr. Beaumont a few questions. I'll be very fast. I'm trying to help find Bridgette, I swear."

At the name of her daughter, Mrs. Beaumont's face collapsed.

Mr. Beaumont stormed in. "What are you doing here, young lady? How dare you come to our house after all you've done? Get out! Right now!" He was screaming in my face, his spittle hitting my nose, and Mrs. Beaumont shied away in fear or grief, I couldn't tell which.

I backed up, my heart pounding, fear coursing through my veins. "I'm sorry. I'm leaving. I'm just trying to help."

"You've helped enough," he screamed. "Your whole family has helped quite enough!"

I didn't know what he meant by that, but didn't think this was the time to ask. Instead, I drove away as fast as I could, still shaking from the confrontation, and wiped my face with my sleeve.

Just as I pulled onto the freeway my cellphone rang. "Catelyn, it's Mrs. Beaumont. I need to speak with you. Can you meet me for coffee?"

We met thirty minutes later at a coffee house near Harvard, a place Bridgette and I liked to meet when I had the money.

I secured us a table outside, under the sun, which had come out today and made me feel like spring was coming soon.

When she sat down her eyes scanned the place like she might get caught doing something illegal.

We ordered coffees and, when they arrived, sipped our drinks for a few minutes before I spoke. "Mrs. Beaumont, I didn't hurt Bridgette. I swear."

She patted my hand. "I know you didn't, dear. That's why I'm here. My husband is an angry man and can let past hurts blind him."

"What did he mean when he said he'd had enough with my whole family?"

"It's nothing," she said, but I could tell she was lying. "What did you want to ask me about?"

I pulled out the photo of Alice and Mr. Beaumont and laid it between us.

She sucked in her breath and picked up the picture. "She was a beautiful woman." She laid it down again and looked at me. "You look so much like her."

"What kind of relationship did your husband have with my mother?" I asked, wondering if she would answer the question honestly or not.

She surprised me.

"Alice used to work with us on legal disputes from time to time. She consulted with us and helped our company out of a few binds. We had some legal problems with the Davenports’ business and Alice was supposed to help us, to be on our side. Instead, she threw her lot in with the Davenports, and we lost a lot of money and clients. Henry's never forgiven her. Unfortunately, his hatred for your mother extended to you. He was upset with Bridgette for being your friend, but she told him he either needed to be nice to you or lose her. Henry loves Bridgette more than anything, so he agreed to her terms."

I felt like I'd been hit in the stomach. Everything they'd done to help me, all the kindness they'd shown me. It was all because of Bridgette's threats. They'd never cared about me at all, this family I'd considered my own.

Mrs. Beaumont held my hand. "That's not how I feel. To me you are part of our family and are always welcome. I never wanted you to know about this, but with Bridgette…” her voice caught, "…missing, things have changed. I'm sorry."

Across the street, something caught my eye. Jon stood in an alley talking on the phone. He looked angry, and I could almost hear what he was saying, he was talking so loud.

Mrs. Beaumont followed my eyes and frowned as Jon punched the brick wall after hanging up.

She shook her head. "That poor boy, he's always had a temper."

I looked at her, unsure if I should speak, but knowing I would. "Did you know he was dating Bridgette?"

Her mouth dropped open. "No."

"They started seeing each other right before she disappeared."

WE DIDN'T BOTHER
calling first, but drove straight to the police department. Mrs. Beaumont followed me in her Cadillac, likely still shocked that Bridgette had a boyfriend she didn't know about. A Davenport, no less.

Detective Gray didn't make us wait long, probably because of the grieving mother angle, and we shuffled to his office and closed the door, his face grim as he sat behind his desk. "What can I do for you ladies?" His jaw worked his nicotine gum as he spoke, making his words sound muddled.

Mrs. Beaumont wiped a tear under her eye. "Did you know Bridgette was dating Jon Davenport? Secretly?"

She said the last word like it was a scandal, despite the fact that they'd had the Davenports over many times for their fancy parties. It must have galled her husband to have them in his house, but societal pressures being what they were, it would have caused too much tongue-wagging to not invite them.

"I didn't know that, no." He looked at me like I had a murder weapon hidden in my purse.

"I didn't know either," I said. "Jon told us recently."

"Us?" he asked.

"Me and Ash." I told him about Bridgette signing my name for the car and how Jon was with her.

Mrs. Beaumont sniffed. "He could have written things in her journal. That's possible."

Gray wanted to roll his eyes; I could see it in the way his face twitched. "It's unlikely he became a handwriting expert at Harvard. Writing like Bridgette would have been beyond his skill set."

She dropped her head. "Oh. Of course."

I knew she was trying to exonerate me and I appreciated it. "All those pictures of Ash and Brig, what if Jon was collecting them? Maybe he was jealous and was trying to frame me? He wanted to date me at one point, but it didn't work out. Maybe he manipulated Brig somehow." It was a theory that had been rolling around in my brain for awhile.

Gray stood. "Sure, that's possible, I suppose. We'll look into it. Thanks for coming by, ladies."

Dismissed.

I stood, muscles tense from anger. "You have to do something. I'm being framed and you don't seem to give a shit. This isn't justice, detective. You're not doing your fucking job!"

"Catelyn, you need to calm down before I put you back in that cell. Take your medication and let us handle this case. If you're innocent, the evidence will prove it."

He spit the gum he'd been chewing into the trashcan by his desk, giving the room the faint scent of spearmint and nicotine.

Mrs. Beaumont hugged me, telling me to keep in touch as she drove off in her car. As I walked to mine, holding my jacket over my head to keep the rain from soaking me, I spotted Ash's private investigator and changed direction toward his car, ready to give him a piece of my mind, even if it was drugged-up and crazy.

"Shouldn't you be looking for Bridgette?" I asked.

He sucked in his cigarette and exhaled. "Ash likes to keep an eye on you."

"I'm fine. Tell him I'm fine."

"It won't matter." He flicked ash out of his window, and I had to step back to keep from getting it on my shoe.

"Why not?"

"Love is as love does," he said, echoing his words from before.

I dropped my jacket and let the rain soak my head. "The day Bridgette disappeared, were you following me?"

He nodded.

"Did you see Jon around her house?"

He shook his head. "I had other errands to run that day."

A dead end. "Have you looked into Lucky's contacts?"

"He had a few cell mates back in prison."

"Great. Have you tracked them down yet?" Lighting stuck in the distance, and I wondered how long until the thunder. Somewhere in the back of my mind I started counting, remembering an old scary movie I'd seen as a kid.
Poltergeist.
Even the memory made me shiver.

"Yeah. They're still in prison."

So they couldn't have done it.

Jim continued. "I talked to them. They said Lucky was really messed up. Some serious trauma shit. He…"

"He what?"

"He ran his own kid over in his driveway. Was too drunk to notice."

"Shit. Does he have a wife?"

"She died young. Poor bastard had it hard."

I remembered the night he kidnapped me. The way he held the knife to my face. "He wasn't a poor anything."

"Catelyn, don't feel sorry for the man who hurt you. Feel sorry for the kid he ran over, the wife he lost. Feel sorry for the man he was
before
he turned hard." He breathed out smoke. "A hard life makes a hard man. Who's to say which one's to blame?"

I sighed, frustrated and lacking any sympathy or empathy for criminals at the moment. "So do you have any leads?"

"Whoever kidnapped Bridgette was close to Lucky. Someone who would have visited him, maybe even at his kiosk.  Likely, they were both behind the Midnight Murders. You know anyone like that?"

"I never saw him with friends."

"Anyone kind of older? Got coffee from him often?"

"No one comes to mind."

"Keep thinking about it." He leaned back in his seat.

I turned to leave. "You can go now."

"Hey, I'm following you."

***

I ignored Mr. P.I. and drove to the address Ash told me to meet him at for our first gun and fight club lesson. He kissed me when I arrived and escorted me into a shooting range where we spent the next two hours. Ash trained me in how to hold a gun, how to shoot without stumbling back from the recoil, how to load the gun, and how to turn the safety on and off. By the end of our time, I could successfully hit a target 60% of the time, which I thought wasn't bad at all, all things considered.

He just smiled and kissed my head. "We'll keep working on it, sweetheart."

When he showed me how it was done, I knew I had a long way to go. As he pulled the target toward us, I only saw one hole, straight through the heart, but he'd shot five times. And then I realized all his shots had gone through that one hole. I whistled. "You're like that dude in
Lethal Weapon
."

Afterwards, he took me to the gym and we sparred. And by sparred I mean he knocked me on my ass a lot. I got a lot of bruises and in the end I learned, A: how to disarm someone who came at me really slowly from one very specific angle, and B: how to fall into my attacker to throw him off balance in order to get away. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to duplicate either of those lessons in real life, but Ash assured me it was a start and we would keep at it until I was one “badass motherfucker." That was my goal.

Ash was holding a punching bag and making me beat on it as he corrected my form, over and over, when his phone rang. I sighed with relief when he frowned. "Time to meet Maxwell. Game on."