Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (22 page)

“My dad calls us the two stooges because we’re always managing to fall over something or get hurt somehow. He tells me I’m never allowed near him with a needle once I become a nurse.”

“Smart man.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and gets up off the floor before walking to her original seat on the larger sofa. “Luckily, both Steph and I can handle pressure.” Her face grows serious. “Usually.”

“What do you mean usually? What happened?”

“You know how smart Steph is, right? Contrary to my actions just a moment ago, I’m not exactly stupid.” She ignores my ‘yeah right’ look. “Seriously, we both made really good grades until lately.”

“Stephanie mentioned that tonight, about her grades being bad on tests.”

“Yes, exactly. Except I’m sure she and I probably did well. I think someone… J-hole… has tampered with them. So far, I haven’t been able to convince the professor it’s not just some random fluke.”

“And you both told the detectives about this?”

Beth nods. “Steph and I made a list of all the weird things that have happened. Some could be totally coincidence or bad luck. But, we thought we should tell them everything.”

“I’m glad you did.” I look around Beth’s apartment again. “Did they do a tech sweep of your apartment too?”

She looks around too, her eyes wide. “No, do you think they should have?”

I stand up and walk around the walls of her apartment, looking for tiny holes. Beth stands up and begins looking too. “Do you think he could have gotten in here?”

“Beth, honestly I don’t know what all he’s capable of, and I’m no expert in this spy shit, but I know you have a key to Steph’s apartment; does she have one to yours?”

Beth nods.

“Then he could have made copies. You might want to get your locks changed just in case. I don’t see any holes in your walls, but you might want them checked more thoroughly. I’m sure if you mention it to the detective, he would send a forensics specialist out.”

I walk over to her laptop sitting on the desk and put my finger on the touchpad. I jump back and Beth shrieks when a video of a heavy metal band comes screaming to life on the screen. The volume is on full blast, the speakers are blaring. I recognize
Welcome to my Nightmare.

Beth fumbles for the speaker volume, turning it down as quickly as she can. Her eyes are huge. “I wasn’t listening to that!” I look at her browser, but YouTube is the only tab that’s open. The screen flashes and winks out, as if the battery just died.

Beth shivers visibly, a full body shudder and her chin begins to quiver. Her eyes grow bright from unshed tears. I hold open my arms and she steps into them, beginning to cry.

She cries for a few minutes before stepping back and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, I hate to cry and I hate being scared. It pisses me off.”

“I think you need to call the detectives tomorrow. Have them sweep your apartment and get your laptop checked, just in case. Oh, and change the locks. Promise?”

She nods and sniffs. I walk into her kitchen and take a chair from her table, carrying it to the door. “When I leave, I want you to jack the back of this chair under your door knob and close all the curtains and shades. That way you can get some sleep tonight.”

She nods and sniffs again. “You gonna be alright?” I ask her.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for the little breakdown. I’m good.”

“Then I’m going to head out. Remember, jack the chair under the knob. I’m going to stand outside and test it for you.”

She looks better. “Thanks so much, thanks for coming up and talking with me.” She gives me another little hug.

“Anytime. Don’t lock the door until I’ve tested the chair.”

I step out on the landing and listen as she shoves the chair against the door. I hear her call out, “Okay.”

Putting my shoulder to the door, I shove and it opens about an inch. I shove again, but it goes no further. Straightening I say, “You’re good. Have a good night.”

“Bye,” she yells and shuts the door again, locks it and shoves the chair back in place. I walk back to the steps, unable to stop myself from looking at Steph’s door. Thank God her locks were replaced earlier.

When I’m almost to my truck, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen. I’m a little pissed that I’m so disappointed it isn’t Steph. Instead, it’s an ‘unknown’ number. I swipe my thumb and open the text message:
I’ve got you now.

Chapter 7 – Steph

If misery was a creature, it wouldn’t be the monster I imagined. As a younger girl, I thought of grief as a vampire whose teeth sank into your neck and drained you of hope.

Now, as I stare at my phone, I realize that misery is more insidious. It doesn’t attack you full on. It hides in the shadows and hovers ominously in the dark. It traces its icy fingers down your spine when you aren’t looking.

This time, the shadow isn’t Jerome. It’s my best friend.

It began innocently enough, a ping of my phone, although these days, that ping sends a surge of adrenaline racing through my body. I picked up my phone, refusing to be scared. Another anonymous text message, but not a video this time. This message contained pictures of Beth with Ken and the following message:
Be careful who you trust.

At first, I couldn’t believe it. I felt sure they must have been photoshopped. I enlarged them as much as I could. They look real enough, although I wasn’t an expert.

The first is of Beth and Ken sitting on her blue loveseat, the one I’d sat on so often. Beth’s leg is pressed close to Ken, her hand on his arm. They are looking at each other, faces serious. Beth is leaned forward, her breasts swelling up and over her tank top.

In the second picture, Beth is on her knees beside him. Ken had turned to face her and she is much closer, her hands on either side of his face.

I still can’t believe the third picture. Beth is giving him a blowjob! Her head was in his lap, her ass in the air. Ken’s head’s lolled back, a mask of ecstasy on his face. His hand is on her hip, his fingers digging in and gripping tightly onto her shorts.

The blowjob pictures should have been the worst, but somehow it isn’t. Sex, I can understand sex. It can hit like a tidal wave, taking over everything in its path, leaving the victims wondering what had hit them. The last picture is intimate. They are standing now and Beth is in his arms. I can’t see Beth’s face; it’s crushed against Ken’s chest. But I can see Ken clearly. His eyes are closed and his face looks so soft, so tender. The way he used to look at me just yesterday.

Yesterday.

It was just yesterday that I broke up with him. When were these pictures made? I look at the picture again; Ken’s wearing the same LVFD t-shirt and khakis as he had on last night. But that doesn’t mean anything; he wears that same combination a lot.

Were they seeing each other while we were together? Was he going from my bed to hers? Or did they hook up last night? Was that even possible? Would he have left my apartment and gone straight to her?

No.

I had peeked out of the blinds and watched him walk down the stairs last night. Then I took a long bath and went to bed, heartbroken at what I’d done. It was the right thing letting him go, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Now I didn’t know what to think. Was he playing me all along? Was Beth?

I glance at my watch and realize I have to get to work. I have the store until noon and then classes in the afternoon. I dread it. I dread everything. I did think of quitting work, of simply not going in. But I can’t. I can’t let everything that’s been happening stop me from living. Rent is due next week.

Stepping out of my apartment, I look down the landing in the direction of Beth’s apartment. A part of me wants to burst through the door and scream at her, hit her, kick her. Make her feel as much pain as I’m feeling now.

I can’t believe she, of all the people in the world, would betray our friendship like that. The pain is stabbing, a mental knife to my soul. I close my door and walk down the stairs and to my car, daring myself to cry.

The moment I walk into the SaveAll, my manager, Diane, is upon me like a vulture on its prey.

“We need to talk. My office, please.”

Her face is neutral, but by the set of her jaw, she isn’t happy. As I walk with her, the other cashiers glance toward me, but then quickly away. Did they all see the amber alert too?

Inside her office, Diane gestures me toward a chair. She pours herself a cup of coffee, but doesn’t offer me anything. Her hands are shaking and her lips are tight as she takes a sip.

“Diane…” I begin, but she cuts me off, holding her finger up. She leafs through a folder before looking up at me.

“Stephanie, here at SaveAll, we have strict rules when it comes to hiring associates. It has come to my attention that you lied on your job application, which is a very serious breach of policy. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to let you go. Immediately.”

I stare at her, my mouth working up and down. I’m being fired? Lying on my application? What is she talking about?

“Diane, I never lied on my application. Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Diane slides a piece of paper across the desk to me. It’s a police report and there’s a picture of me on it—a mug shot. I scan down the paper. Prostitution? Three years ago?

“This… this isn’t me, I’ve never ever been arrested for anything…”

Diane holds up her hand. She still looks stern, but her face has softened a little. “I’m sure it must be mortifying to have this discovered, Stephanie. This is Vegas; I know a number of girls who got desperate and turned tricks to make a living. I’m proud that you walked away from it and got a legitimate job. You aren’t being punished because of your past, you’re being let go because you lied about it on your application.”

“But I didn’t. I never–”

“Stephanie, it’s okay,” she interrupts me again. “I would never have fired you had I known about this, but this came to my attention from the home office. Apparently, they got a phone call from someone talking about you being a porn star. Corporate looked at your application, did a background check and found this arrest record.”

Porn star? Prostitute? Arrest record? This isn’t possible. To my mortification, my nose begins to burn, my throat clogs and my chest grows so tight I’m sure my heart is seizing. I can’t breathe and I claw at Diane’s desk, desperate for air that won’t seem to flow into my lungs. She stands up and hurries around the desk, making me sit up straighter.

“It’s okay, Stephanie. Breathe in and out.” She inhales and I try to do the same, and am only marginally successful. “Come on, big breath in.” She inhales through her nose again and this time more air gets through. I begin to cry when my throat unclogs and she wraps an arm around my shoulder. She holds me tight as I cry.

Minutes later, she’s stuffing tissues in my hand and giving me a cup of water.

“Thank you,” I murmur, completely humiliated.

“I’m so sorry, Stephanie. I wish there was something I could do. You’ve always been such a good employee. This breaks my heart.”

I shake my head. “But I’ve never been arrested. That paper is a lie.” I so desperately want to cry again, but I hold it together long enough to tell her all that’s happened over the past forty-eight hours.

When I’m finished, Diane picks up the phone and presses buttons. I barely hear her as she speaks to someone in home office and pleads my case.

“But I think… (pause)… don’t you think we should… (pause)… I don’t agree with… (pause)… very well.”

She slams down the phone and I nearly jump out of my skin. Her face is red and she looks like the one who needs to breathe.

“I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that you’re not officially fired; they’re willing to allow you to prove your innocence.”

“And the bad news?”

Diane blows out a breath, causing her bangs to shoot into the air. “The bad news is that you’re suspended without pay until this is all worked out.”

“But that could take weeks.” Rent. Groceries. Gasoline. What do I do?

Diane’s eyes gleam and she blinks rapidly. “Maybe not. Maybe this can be cleared up quickly; you do have the attention of the FBI, surely they can figure this out.”