Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) (22 page)

But nope. He’s still alive. Because he’s been checking emails. None of them with a reply, but every day some are marked read.

He’s not even leaving me messages or texts in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping, so he doesn’t have to talk to me. Not an email—I mean, he’s online, right? He can’t just bang out a few words?
Hey, it was fun, but moving on
? And there’s always good old snail mail. I’m not expecting a Hallmark card, for fuck’s sake. A few words scribbled on a Taco Bell napkin would suffice. And do I really need a slap in the face like that to take a hint? He’s just not coming back.

So I left.

I packed up my backpack, sold my damn car, got on a plane, and left.

And I’ve been here in the Bay Area for almost ten days now, telling myself there are so many new things to do and see, I will never miss Paxton Vance. I will move on and chalk it all up to a bad case of delusional lust. And I have already answered ads for two jobs, and closed both cases with one hundred percent customer satisfaction. So, good omen, right?

But man, does my heart ache. My whole chest, really. Every guy I see who might be a reasonable alternative just gets compared. Like I have this checklist with Pax on one side and the whole world of men on the other.

And no one will ever come close to what I feel for him. All the billions of things I love about him, like the way he plays along with my crazy and calls me Miss Sugar Cookie while trying to give me his bazillion-dollar house on the beach. Or the way his head angles down while he walks, but his eyes are always aware of everything around him. Or that his mother bought him a baseball for Christmas last year with a card inside that said,
Remember that day I took you out of school early when you were eleven so we could go watch the Bats opening game? Well, my gift to you this Christmas is the memory of that day.

Is his mother adorable or what? I mean, my mother is fucking adorable too. The best. But you gotta love a man who loves his mom. She gives him memories for Christmas, because really, what do you give a man who can buy himself anything he wants?

I’d like to think we were making memories that would last forever. That we’d be old one day and I’d write a note saying,
Remember that day we pretended you were a detective and I was Miss Sugar Cookie
? And make his whole life brighter just thinking about it.

I sigh as I look out at the ocean. I found another place to rent, this time a real house. Well, cottage. OK, vacation shack on the beach, if I’m being honest. But it’s the same ocean as the one we had back in Malibu. And picturing him looking out at the Pacific is just about the only thing that makes my heart stop hurting.

Heartbreak is a real physical condition. Not a disease, exactly. But something worse. There is no cure for heartache except time. I am broken. I had never realized that the same love that pulls you together can break you in half. I literally feel broken.

I wish I kept my old phone number, but I was so angry when I left Southern California that I cancelled the account, burned the chip in the microwave, and tossed it in the ocean. The only way he can reach me now is… well, he can’t. He said once if he left I’d never find him, and I guess he’s right. But I’m just as elusive as he is. I can throw things away with the best of them. I didn’t want to bring anything with me. Not even my clothes. So my backpack had nothing in it but the contents of my purse.

I won’t call him again. I refuse. I just need to accept that it’s over and move on.

I pick up a rock from the beach and skip it across the water. There are almost no waves this morning, so my rock jumps three times.

Maybe I should call Oliver and see if he can tell me what’s going on?

But then I’d have to explain this whole fucked-up stalking thing to him. And I can’t do that.

“Cynthia?”

I whirl around, startled. “What?” I say, not quite believing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Mariel Hawthorne is standing on the ridge that leads to my cottage, long coat pulled tight around her body and cinched at the waist with a belt. It’s not a trench coat. She’s too high-fashion for that. But it’s got the same look and what I see is Pax the Detective when I look at her features. She’s wearing sunglasses, even though the sun is just barely rising, and she slides them down her nose to see me better as I stare.

She starts walking down the embankment, her designer leather boots sinking into the sandy pebbles that line beaches up here. “I think we need to talk.”

“Did Pax send you?”

“No.” She laughs, and my heart hurts so bad, I have to clutch at my coat to try to numb myself from the pain. “No, I’m here for something else. Something I need to tell you. Probably should’ve told you that first day we met.”

“Back in Del Mar?” I ask, happy that she’s here. That some small bit of Pax is so close to me again. But confused. So utterly confused.

“No, dear. We both know you came to see me at Belmont a while back. I don’t recall exactly when it was, but I never forget a face. Especially one as beautiful as yours.”

“Oh,” I say, letting go of my coat. “Well, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until you’ve heard the whole story.”

“Story?” What is she talking about?

“Of why you’re here. Why all this is happening. And what we might do about it.”

“We?” I ask. “As in, you and
me
?”

“Yes, we, Cynthia.”

“Cinderella.”

“Oh, I know, dear. I just want to smile every time I say your real name, and what I have to tell you isn’t anything to smile about. So Cynthia it is. Until all this is over, at least.”

“Oh, God,” I squeak. “It’s Pax? He’s dead? They killed him? That last job?”

“No, no, no,” she says, coming within arm’s reach, so she can pat my shoulder. “He’s back from that. He’s looking for you, actually. But of course, he got drunk last night and told his friends who you really are and now I’m just not sure what to do. So I came here. To talk to you and see if we can’t come up with some kind of understanding.”

“Fuck,” I say, forgetting who I’m talking to for a moment.

“Right. You’re going to have to deal with that, of course. The next time you see him. But I’m here about something else entirely.”

“What?” I ask, a chill riding up my spine. The kind of chill you get when you’re about to hear bad news. “Why me? What could I possibly tell you?”

“Those silver envelopes. You said you’d never seen one before.”

“I hadn’t,” I say. “Not until that day with you at the track.”

“Think back, Cynthia.
Never
? Are you sure?”

I shrug. “I don’t remember them. But then again, I was never on the lookout.”

“Your sisters? They never got one?” She cocks her head at me, like she might think I’m lying. But I’m not lying.

“Not that I saw. Why?”

“I think we should take this conversation inside. Have a hot cup of tea. Some scones I brought with me from the bakery down the road. Something soothing.”

Just picturing this makes me frown. “My mom used to do that when she had to break bad news to me and my brother and sisters. She’d bake all day, or make a big roast, something huge and delicious for dinner or dessert. And then she’d say, ‘You’re not getting money for that trip, Belle. Your father does not approve.’ Or, ‘There is no new car in your future, Ariel. So put that illegal hacking site aside and get a real job.’ So this must be your version of parental guidance night if you’re trying to feed me tea and scones just to have a talk.”

She smiles, like she’s picturing my family dinner. “I think I will love your mother when we finally meet.”

“I think you will too. If…” I say. “If you ever get to meet her.”

Mariel pats my hand and then nods her head towards the cottage. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s too cold and damp up here in the north. And I don’t approve of your rustic accommodations, Cynthia. You’re going to be in a five-star resort this afternoon. I’m not against roughing it, sweetie. But this is going too far. Your parents would never forgive me if I let you stay out here for one more second.”

Chapter Twenty-Four - Paxton

Present Day - Mr. Perfect’s House

“And that’s the last time I saw her. Well,” I amend, starting to sober up, “the last time I talked to her too. I went back home yesterday after our meeting at Corporate’s house—”

“That was two weeks ago, Pax,” Perfect says. “You’ve been drunk on mint juleps for two fucking weeks?”

But I wave him off. “Yesterday, two weeks ago… same thing. Once I figured out who she was I was gonna go home and confront her. But she wasn’t at my house when I got there. So I drove to her trailer and it was empty. She ran, man. She picked up and ran.” I sit down, my head in my hands. “Because I left her there. Just a fucking note, man. Saying I’d be back and to stay put. And now she’s fucking gone. It took me weeks to take care of all that Corporate shit and she was like, ‘Fuck you, dude. I’m outta here!’” I look up at Mac and Five, who are both staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Do you think you can call Oliver and ask him where she is?”

“Is he fucking serious right now?” Five practically growls at Mac. “You do realize I’ve know this girl since she was fucking
born
?” He’s looking at me now. “And if you ever talk about fucking her again, Oliver and I will both kick your ass to—”

“I love her, OK? I
love
her. You guys are just gonna have to accept that she’s mine now.”

“Fuck that,” Five says. “If you were fucking my baby sister, I’d kick your ass into next year. No,” he says, pacing the room as he rubs his chin. “I’d blow your fucking head off with a shotgun.”

Perfect rolls his eyes and mouths
drama
to me.

“Better yet,” Five continues, “cut your goddamned balls off. Or your dick. I’d like to see you fuck anyone else’s baby sister after that.”

I let out a long exhale. “What’s done is done,” I say. “It can’t be undone. I just need you to find her for me. Call Oliver’s parents’ house. Or…” I get excited with this idea. “Ariel! Yeah, Ariel will know where she is.”

“Oh”—Five laughs—“you’re gonna undo it all right.” He stops pacing and points his finger at me. “You’re gonna break up with her, that’s what you’re gonna do. Hopefully she’s gone and won’t ever bother with you again. But if she does show up, you’re gonna cut all ties, send her ass back home to Colorado, and wash your hands. Do you hear me?”

I stop to think for a minute. “The Little Mermaid. Ariel is named after the Little Mermaid. Which princess is Belle?” I suddenly have a need to know all the Disney princesses. So I take out my phone and start to look it up.

“You know, Pax,” Perfect says, ignoring my question.

“Beauty and the Beast!” I say, so proud of my skills.

“You’re the next one they’re gonna fuck with, right?” Perfect continues. “If Cindy’s around when that happens, she might—”

“I’ll kill you,” Five says. “Dead. If anything happens to Cindy Shrike, I will kill you. You’re gonna forget you ever heard of a girl named Cinderella.”

I want to object, but Perfect’s words are ringing in my head. Could they use her against me?

Could?
Could
? More like, they absolutely
will
.

I get up, walk to Perfect’s bar, make myself a bourbon, and drink it down in one gulp.

“Yeah,” Five says, practically spitting the word out. “And if I see you drink another mint julep, I will kick your ass just for being so goddamned wussy. You understand me, Mysterious? Am I making myself clear?”

I pour another drink, down that one too, and then let the burning sensation in my gut numb me from the waist up.

“Oliver can’t ever know about this,” Five says. “Thanksgiving is coming up next month, so she’ll come home for that and I’ll take her aside and explain things. OK? You don’t tell her shit if you find her. Not one word. If you have to say something, then you just say, ‘Sorry, I’m an asshole. I cheated on you in—’”

“I’m not telling her that, you dick. Fuck, no.”

“Oh, I don’t give one fancy fuck what you think you’re gonna tell her. I’m the one with access. So I’m gonna find her and I’ll be the one to tell her you’re a cheating motherfucker and she will never look at you twice again.”