The Set Up (11 page)

That day never came.

Alex slows and I pick up the pace. “Meet you over there,” I mutter under my breath, knowing full well he’s long forgotten about me.

Will, Jake, and Drew are already at the site waiting for me. I hop over the rope and go to stand beside them. On the way, I find myself looking for my mother, but of course, this has memories of my father stamped all over it and regardless of how much Hank thinks she’s over his death, she’s not here. And that fucking, so familiar disappointment spreads in my gut. All the years of memorials for those who died in the plant explosion, and never did she show up. Not once.

Will bumps me. “We did it, JJ. We did it.”

“Yes, we did. We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, Alex’s voice booms. He has a wireless microphone in his hand as he heads our way. “This is the day we’ve all been waiting for, Motor City.” When he wedges his way beside me, pushing Jake out of the way, I swear I hear Jake curse under his breath and I have to laugh.

These guys are all I need.

With a grin, I raise the shovel and then look at Alex for the okay. He gives me a nod. Once more, everyone is looking at me. Toward me. Hope is on their mind. “Don’t count on me,” I want to say.

Instead, I step forward and plunge the shovel into the ground. As my eyes descend, I find myself scanning the crowd once again, but this time it’s not my mother I’m looking for. It’s the girl who I once considered my best friend, the girl who was always alone, the one who closed her eyes tight every time she was afraid. The same fucking girl I can’t get out of my head.

As I lift the first shovelful of dirt, I spot her and my eyes catch hers. She’s clapping along with everyone else.

My breath catches at the genuine smile I see on her face.

I shouldn’t want to talk to her. Find out where she’s been. Why she’s here. How she is. I shouldn’t want any of those things—but I do.

Trapped in her gaze—in the way her lips are turned up, in those eyes that look so much like a perfect summer day—I can’t look away.

She notices my stare and her smile brightens.

It’s now, in this very moment, that the oddest feeling overtakes me. Nothing like I’ve ever felt before. I can’t even adequately describe it. It’s like a storm in my body. Thunder and lightning and rain raging through me and threatening to turn into a hurricane. The whirlwind takes flight and surges and roars until it lands right in the middle of my fucking heart.

Out of nowhere I feel this insane attraction coursing through my veins.

What the fuck?

Quickly averting my gaze, I refocus.

I don’t have time for distractions.

Especially not one with the last name of Lane.

A lay is a lay, and if I still need to get this strange feeling out of my system later, I know I can certainly find someone to help me take care of my needs without the last name of Lane.

Dropping the first load of dirt purposefully next to Will’s newly shined shoes, I hear his curse and laugh.

The dirt is soft and this time when I plunge the shovel, I go a little deeper, but the shovel stops. I must have hit a rock. Eager to be out of the spotlight, I expedite the process by bending down and using my hands to clear away the area. I fumble around. The rock is big and oddly shaped.

“Need help?” Alex offers.

I look at his hands, his uncallused palms and manicured nails, and shake my head no. “I got it.”

“You sure?”

I nod again. As I start to pull the item out, I consider throwing it at him but decide that won’t earn me any brownie points. Still, it was a good idea. My mind is still considering that option until I secure the item. And then every thought in my brain is gone.

It’s not a rock in my hand . . . it’s a shoe.

A very red shoe.

In a flash, everything around me seems to fade away. With both hands I frantically start digging in the dirt and when I do, what I feel isn’t hard at all.

It’s soft, with something hard beneath it.

My fingers sink into it.

I know what it is. Skin—flesh and bone.

I can’t stop myself from pulling it out.

Something gold glistens in the haze of the faint rays of sun breaking through the clouds.

Shocked, I drop it instantly and stumble backwards at the sight of what I’ve uncovered.

It’s a foot.

A woman’s foot covered in mud, with painted red toes and a gold ring around one of them.

Oh fuck.

Gasps erupt from the crowd.

I flinch.

Will’s grabbing me, pulling me up.

Fighting back nausea, I let him help me to my feet.

My knees are weak. Sweat stings my eyes. I wipe my face on the sleeve of my shirt and look at Will, who’s gone pale.

Someone yells, “Call the police!”

Someone else is asking, “Who is that?”

I can hear dozens more voices now, all shouting something different.

Screams.

Hushed whispers.

Shocked cries.

More screams.

The night before comes rushing back to me with dread. A strangely familiar face, big tits, a flat belly, and the curve of an ass I couldn’t ignore. Long, red hair. A mouth that had my cock inside it.

Oh fuck!

My heartbeat feels as though it is in the base of my throat, uncomfortable and loud. My palms are sweaty. I can’t fight the nausea creeping up my throat and turn to puke. When I do, I just narrowly miss a completely stone-faced Alex Harper.

There’s screaming, and I know one of those screams belongs to Charlie.

I’m breathing deeply, trying to slow my heart rate, to squash the panic rising in my chest. My eyes dart into the crowd, but it’s also a sea of panic.

People are moving in all directions as if they might be next. I can’t find her, but I know she’s there. Charlie. Shocked and afraid. I hate the thought.

“We need to move back,” Will tells me.

There’s no hesitation in my movement. Still in a state of shock, I do what he says.

As I take that step back and another and another, though, my eyes land on the red shoe. My mind spins. Red shoes at the party on the roof last night and then later red shoes in the penthouse, red shoes in my bedroom.

Were they both the same person?

Time seems to mash together.

Last night.

Even later last night.

Today.

My hands shake as much as my voice trembles. “Will, that is the same girl I was with last night.”

“Shhh . . . don’t say a fucking word right now. We’ll go down to the station on Monday.”

“Monday?” I whisper.

I feel sick again. I want to hang my head between my legs. “Yes, Monday with an attorney. I mean it, JJ—don’t say a fucking word right now. Besides, we don’t know for certain who she is.”

I do know.

I nod anyway.

“Stay here—I’ll be right back. I want to find out what’s going on.”

Drew and Jake are unusually quiet but move closer. Both seem to be going into a state of shock, too. I can’t believe this is fucking happening.

Flashes are going off. People are moving around. Eyes are on me. Like I’m the killer and not the unlucky asshole who just uncovered a dead body. I feel their glares. Too many to count. I try to look anywhere but into the swarm of people across from me and yet there’s one pair of eyes I can’t avoid. And they’re the pale ones that belong to Charlotte Lane, who is now standing just on the other side of the roped-off area with a look of horror written all over her face. Her hands are on her mouth. Her eyes are wide. Shock seems to engulf her every movement. Cole Reynolds has his arm around her and his lips haven’t stopped moving. He’s talking to one of the policemen.

Sirens wail in the distance.

The few cops and firemen who were already onsite are trying to control the hysteria.

This can’t be happening.

None of this seems real.

I can’t breath.

My lungs are aching for air.

Will returns and reinserts himself between Jake and me.

“What’s he saying?” I ask Will, pointing to Reynolds.

Will leans in and whispers, “He thinks he knows whose body it is.”

“How would he know?”

“His junior blogger from
The Detroit Scene
never showed up here for work this morning and she was last seen wearing red shoes.”

“It can’t be the same girl then. Drew would never let press into the party.”

Still whispering, he says, “I don’t think Drew was in any state to care who showed up. Girls were coming and going until dawn, Jasper.”

Bile rises up my throat and another wave of nausea rolls over me. I can’t fight it, and this time when I turn to puke there is no one behind me.

Alex Harper is long gone.

No surprise there.

As I straighten, I can’t block out the truth—the girl that I brought into my bed last night was the one wearing the red shoes. The same girl whose dead body is buried in the ground. And she was a member of the press.

I’m so fucked.

RED SOLES

Charlotte

LOUBOUTIN SELLS MORE
than five hundred thousand pairs of shoes a year. It’s true. I looked it up after Eve left the room last night. They’re designed to be beholden. The sole of each is lacquered in a vivid, glossy red, which is meant to signal a sort of sumptuary code that promises a world of glamour and privilege to their wearer.

I laughed when I read that and thought, what a great marketing gimmick. Every time I see red bottoms, I will always know that person is wearing shoes that probably cost close to a thousand dollars.

I guess they’re somewhat iconic.

What I would do with that useless knowledge I hadn’t considered. Now, though, I can’t stop thinking about those red shoes with the red soles.

Eve.

She’s dead.

I can’t believe she’s dead.

“Come with me!” Cole snaps.

Blinking out of my shocked state, I follow without hesitation. I know what this is about—he knows who I really am.

He knows that I’m a Lane.

Not a generic Lane either.

That
Lane
.

The police figured it out right away when they asked me my last name. Cole never did though. The last name too common and the event too long ago. Embarrassment isn’t what kept me from telling anyone over the past two months since I arrived—it’s the wall they would put up as soon as they found out—the one that would have a sign on it saying I am
that man’s
daughter. The person I am would mean nothing. My abilities would be disregarded. My actions discarded.

Cole’s stride is fast and we cross the parking lot quickly. His bright yellow Corvette can’t be missed. There’s a double click and the doors unlock. He climbs in the driver’s seat and I walk around and get in the passenger side, ready for the tirade to begin.

The seats are low and I can hardly see over the dash. Yet I know, I
know
Jasper’s eyes are on me. I can feel his burning stare. I felt it the entire time I was being questioned. At times I think it’s one of comfort and at others, I wonder if it isn’t one filled with hatred. Still, he hasn’t left. He’s with his friends. Heated conversations between tense silences seem to be taking place. They all seem pretty shaken up.

We all are.

Cole and I were asked to stay.

To identify the body.

And answer some questions.

Hours ago the Crime Scene Investigation units arrived. They went right to work and put their yellow tape around the site. It took a little longer after that for them to fully uncover the body. I watched in dread and silence.

Because I knew.

I
knew
.

I knew it was Eve.

Even from a distance I could see it was.

Not that I didn’t know it the minute I saw the designer red shoe and that toe ring glistening in the sun. It was only further confirmed as the excavation proceeded. Even though her hair was coated with dirt, the hints of red still bled through. Her lips were stained with dark red lipstick and her eyes were smeared with that same smoky gray eyeliner she wore every day. My suspicions were correct: she must have never returned to the room. She was still wearing those short black shorts and although her blouse was no longer sheer white, it was the same one she had worn last night.