One Last Hold (21 page)

“Earlier, on the phone. I couldn’t get in touch with you so I called him. What’s your password?”

“Webb87.”

Rayma’s lashes flickered. “Webb?”

“Yes, plus eight-seven.”

Rayma nodded and keyed in the password.

Caitlyn chuckled. “Do you have a problem with my password?”

“No, it’s just no wonder you couldn’t get over your first love when you surround yourself with reminders of him.”

“He wasn’t just my first love,” Caitlyn whispered. Her friend didn’t understand, and she wasn’t in the mood to explain it right now. Besides, Rayma was in a tizzy about something anyway.

Rayma shoved the laptop to her. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I think I’ll just let the news tell you.”

Her stomach rolled. “What is it?”

Rayma tapped the screen. “Watch.”

Footage of Wesley being placed in cuffs and ushered into the back of a police car flashed across the screen.

“Wesley Joel Webb was arrested today for the murder of his rival, Chad Armstrong, known as ‘Strong Arm’ to many of his fans.”

“What!” Caitlyn shot up. Rayma managed to catch the laptop before it plummeted to the floor, but Caitlyn could care less about the laptop. Her whole world had plummeted.

The newscaster appeared to have no concern in the world, as if her news hadn’t exploded Caitlyn’s already shattered world.

Her nose clogged, chest heavy as tears stabbed at her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to eliminate the fog overtaking her mind.

“You okay?” Rayma stood beside her and jostled her shoulder.

“He didn’t do it.” She folded her hands and pressed them against her chin, fighting back tears “He didn’t do it,” she said again, this time with more force. She wheeled to Rayma and clutched her friend, desperate to find hope. “I have to go.” She dropped Rayma’s hand and whirled away, her thighs shaky.

“Where?” Rayma asked, following Caitlyn into her room.

“To see Wesley.” She stopped, shoulders hunching as she looked at the floor. “Tell me he bailed out.”

“They haven’t set bail,” Rayma said.

“Oh God.”

She wanted to rant and rave. Wanted to call every cop in the world and tell them Wesley did not kill Chad. He didn’t. How could this happen? How could they accuse him of murder?

She rubbed her neck and blindly went to her closet, her footsteps scuffing against the floor as each forward motion seemed to push her backward. She steadied herself on the doorframe, her body limp, and skimmed her closet but saw nothing.

She couldn’t just stay here and wait. She sensed Rayma’s presence behind her but everything around her was dark and muted.

A knock sounded at her door. She bolted into action, sprinting to the door all the while praying it was news about Wesley.

“Keegan,” Rayma said when Caitlyn just stood there. “Come in.” Rayma grabbed Keegan, eyed Caitlyn, and pulled him inside.

Caitlyn ignored him and returned to the bedroom, pulled clothes from her closet and stuffed them into a suitcase. No thought of what she grabbed or if she’d be able to wear any of it.

Emptiness crushed her as she pictured Wesley, in a cold dark jail cell and with his name in ruins. First the article, now his arrest. Had she inadvertently caused this? Was Blake involved?

Yes Blake was involved. He wrote that article and forged her byline. To destroy Wesley. But how did Chad’s murder relate?

Chad. Blake’s son. Maybe Blake suspected Wesley of murdering his son and set out to destroy him with that story. Was it a coincidence Chad had been killed the same night Blake assigned Caitlyn to do the story?

Doubt knotted her stomach.

Rayma snatched the clothes out of the suitcase that Caitlyn haphazardly threw in. “What are you doing?” Caitlyn asked.

“Preventing you from making a horrendous mistake,” Rayma said. “You won’t be able to see Wesley anyway.”

“I can stand outside with the rest of the crowd and support him.”

“Yeah that shows a lot of support,” Rayma said as she hung a shirt in the closet.

“I can be near, so when he gets out…”

“Do you really want to be a part of the media mob?” Rayma asked. “You’re staying here. Keegan needs to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to him.” Caitlyn pulled clothes out again. It was a chain, her pulling clothes from her closet, Rayma stuffing them back in, but was finally broken when Keegan gently tugged Caitlyn aside.

“Johnson wanted me to tell you a few things,” Keegan said. She observed him, wondering who this man was and if she and her friend should truly trust him.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t go tonight and stand in that crowd,” she said, replying to Rayma’s remark of earlier and ignoring Keegan’s hands on her shoulders. “I should find out from Blake what the hell is going on,
then
I should go.”

“You shouldn’t go see Blake,” Keegan said, “because you shouldn’t trust him. He’s the cause of all of this. He’s trying to sabotage Wesley’s career to get to Johnson because they had a major falling out. He hates Johnson.”

“Enough for him to kill his own son?”

Keegan shrugged. “There’s no love lost between them.”

“I’ve worked for Blake a long time,” Caitlyn said, trying to digest this information. “There’s no way this could be true. I don’t even know you.” She wrenched away from Keegan, crinkled her nose at Rayma, and marched into her living room.

“You said you hated Johnson. Was that a lie?”

“Please listen,” Keegan said, following her. “You may think you know Blake—”

“I think you should leave,” she said, interrupting his spiel. Didn’t matter that he was right. Blake
couldn’t
be trusted. But she had worked for him far too long to believe he was capable of murdering his own son or framing an innocent man. Even if she hadn’t known he had a son. “I need to get this straightened out on my own.”

“Cait.” Rayma caught her elbow. “Blake keeps lying to you. He lied to you about being married. He’s lied to you for years about his business. You can’t trust him. What else do you think he’s lied to you about? He sent you on this assignment, then put his own story in the magazine with your byline. He’s using you, and you’re going to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to see Blake. I’m going to see Wesley.”

The crowd surrounding the county jail was a mixture of people who supported Wesley, those who wanted to see him hanged, and those who wanted to catch a story. Why they would wait around on the verge of mauling each other was beyond Caitlyn, but she was doing the same thing.

She tried to keep her professionalism when a news cameraman panned right over her, but realized anyone who spotted her—including Wesley—would think she was only here for a story.

A story didn’t matter to her anymore.

She acted like a needy woman who, after the most memorable weekend of her life, now thought her future was to include the man who gave it to her. Their lovemaking didn’t mean they had a relationship. It didn’t even mean he wanted her back in his life. Yet here she was. And she planned to stay a while.

“What are you doing here?” Someone captured her arm and she whipped around, ready to defend herself.

“Tim?” Relief washed over her when she recognized Wesley’s uncle through his hazy disguise, although relief probably wasn’t something she normally experienced when she saw Tim.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again as he pulled her through a throng of people. She never realized Wesley was
this
umm…popular, and cringed to see some people holding signs reading ‘execute him.’

Caitlyn had to slow down and let go of Tim’s hand when she couldn’t keep up. She carried a bag small enough to utilize as a carry-on for the airplane. It held bare necessities: her phone, pens, a notepad, a tablet and camera, but she’d left her coveted laptop at home. The bag was still awkward to carry. She bumped into several people and when they glared at her or pushed her around, she had to take it slower. Tim looked back, grabbed her bag and her hand, and pulled her away again.

She had no idea where he was taking her, or why she was following him.

“I came to give Wesley my support,” she said once she was actually able to hear herself think.

He tipped his head toward the crowd. “In a mob like that? Most of them will be staying overnight, sleeping on the ground. No telling what could happen.”

News vans were perched in the parking lot, cameras rolling, newscasters talking and showing viewers what was happening outside the jail.

“I’ve been known to do that myself,” Caitlyn muttered, none too proud.

“How will Wesley even know you’re here for support?”

“How did you know?” she countered.

“Saw you on the news.” Tim stepped up into a motorhome, much smaller than Wesley’s RV, and ushered her in.

She spotted a television, Wesley’s picture splayed all over the news. Tears burned her eyes, carving a hole in her chest. She couldn’t believe he was in jail.

Tim cranked the motorhome and drove off. Caitlyn didn’t protest. He could’ve had something to do with Chad’s murder. She wasn’t sure she could trust Tim but if he was taking her to her death, she didn’t have the strength to fight.

He drove to Wesley’s RV, situated inside the RV camp set up for the racers and their families.

“You can stay here for now,” Tim told her. She followed him to the door and waited while he unlocked it.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about staying in Wesley’s RV, alone. Not that she wasn’t fine being alone, used to being alone. But Chad had been murdered in his RV.

Alone.

She shuddered and ran into Tim’s back when he halted at the door.

A scream formed at the edge of her throat.

Wesley’s trailer had been ransacked. Broken dishes left trails of a madman. The couches were gutted, tables overturned, and cabinet doors left open. Even the refrigerator door was open, its contents spilling to the floor.

It appeared the intruder had been searching for something in a hurry, and didn’t take the time to be nice about it.

Tim laid a hand on her shoulder before she could run to the bedroom to check on the contents of the suitcase.

If it was gone…

What did this mean?

“Stay here while I make sure whoever did this is no longer here.”

He grabbed his phone and skirted the rubbish on the floors, picking his way through so he wouldn’t step on anything. Caitlyn assumed he was dialing 911 when she heard the three number cadences on the phone.

She didn’t stay put. She waited until he was deeply concentrating, then she ran into the bedroom, opened the closet and prayed the case would still be there.

It was gone.

*

“You have a visitor.”

Wesley was accustomed to those words now and expected to see his dad. But when he saw Caitlyn instead, his steps faltered.

Happiness, fear, dread.
Relief.
God, how could he face her?

His eyes roamed over her as he sunk into the chair and took the phone.

“Are you okay?” Caitlyn touched the smeared glass and curled her fingers against it. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face swollen. She looked like she hadn’t had much sleep.

Damn, she was beautiful. Even with her face all pale and puffy and swollen.

Wesley nodded and steeled himself against his rising grief.

“Tim was going to let me stay at your RV…but, we found it ransacked.”

He tightened his grip on the phone and brought his free hand to the glass. He wouldn’t react. Wouldn’t reveal a reaction. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t want her to worry.

If someone had ransacked his RV, that someone was probably the murderer, and that murderer was still on the loose.

“I don’t want you staying there,” he said, more forcefully than he intended. At her frown, he continued. “Whoever broke in could be back. You don’t need to be there when they do.”

“The box is gone.” Her words were weak and shaky. It took him a moment to realize she was talking about the paperwork hidden in the box. The paperwork that might hold the key to his innocence, if only he could figure it out.

“I have it,” he said. Her saucy eyes implored his, and he continued. “It’s at my house.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning. “I should go look it over.”

“No. Not without me.”

Her fingers folded in as if she reached for him through the glass. He imagined she was squeezing his hand.

He shifted in his seat. “Whoever went to my RV could go to my house next. I don’t want you there alone.”

“I could take Tim.”

For some reason, that left a sour taste in his mouth.

Tim didn’t think much of Caitlyn. He had access to Wesley’s RV and was always welcome, even though it was strictly Wesley’s. Letting Caitlyn stay the night in his RV, without asking Wesley, was a step in Caitlyn’s favor, even if it was only to keep an eye on her.

Or something worse. God, no. He swiped his hand over his face in an attempt to swipe the doubt from his mind.

He focused on Caitlyn. For the first time since his confinement, he feared he’d never make it out of here. Never be able to touch Caitlyn again.

“Wait for me?” He yearned to take his hands and wipe away the worry line creasing Caitlyn’s brows. He wanted to touch her face. Feel her soft skin beneath the roughness of his fingers. But that wasn’t possible.

Why hadn’t he touched her more when he had the chance? He should’ve. Every damned chance he had, he should’ve.

As soon as he got out of this place, he would touch every crevice of her body. He’d make up the past few days, the past few years. And she would know, without delay, how he felt about her. The words he couldn’t say.

For now, he was left with touching her hand through the glass separating them.

“Of course I’ll wait for you,” Caitlyn said. “And I’ll do what I can to get you out of here.”

*

“I want to know what’s going on,” Wesley demanded the moment Johnson entered the room in the jail’s meeting room.

Johnson was immaculately dressed in a gray pinstriped suit. He took his time shedding his jacket and placed it on the chair behind him.

Contempt rang hollow in Wesley’s ears. His dad was always good at melodrama.