The Set Up (48 page)

Disappointed, I shake my head.

“I tried to call but he didn’t pick up.”

Dropping back into my seat, I sigh. “I scoured the news, but there’s nothing yet.”

Jake tosses his car keys on my desk. “Yeah, I did too. It’s coming, I’m sure.”

Reaching for his keys, I give him a slight smile. “Thanks again.”

Jake being Jake, he just shrugs it off. “I left it parked out front of the building. No reporters out there today.”

“You found a spot?”

He nods. “My lucky day.”

I ignore his sarcasm. I’m starting to get used to it. “Hey, can I run something really crazy by you?”

He raises a brow. “You sure you want to do that?”

I sit back in my chair. “I’m serious.”

He takes a seat and crosses his arms. “Go for it.”

“What if one person is responsible for all of this—the explosion, the accident, Eve’s murder?”

“As in the same person?”

I nod. “Who are you thinking?”

“Hank Harper.”

Jake starts laughing. “You had me. Here I thought you solved a twenty-year-old crime.”

“I’m serious. Think about it. Who gained the most from the plant explosion? Why doesn’t he want to help Jasper—perhaps because he doesn’t want Jasper to build the plant?”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. He’s always been supportive of Jasper.”

“Yes. But business-wise it makes sense. It will hurt his business when Jasper brings other businesses back to Detroit. He’ll no longer have a monopoly.”

Jake scratches his head.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. Even if Jasper weren’t like a son to him, what would be his motive for killing Eve?”

My lips purse. “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“And besides, he’d never kill all those people on purpose.”

I nod.

“Charlotte, I know you want to clear your father, but I think you need to take this a little slower. Jasper looks up to Hank. I would keep that theory under wraps until you have a little more proof,” he says and turns around in his chair.

He’s right, of course, but even though I try to dispel the idea, my mind is on those bank statements. Why was HH paying Laneworth for parts, even if they weren’t widgets? It doesn’t make sense. From everything I read about HH, they should have been able to procure the parts cheaper than Laneworth.

At three fifty-one, I can’t take it anymore. I still haven’t heard from Jasper. Hopefully, he’ll be back by the time I am. “I’m going to head out now. I shouldn’t be too long,” I announce.

Deep in concentration, Jake gives me a nod to let me know he heard me.

Not a man of many words.

As soon as I set foot on the sidewalk, I freeze.

The car is right in front of me.

It can be rather intimidating.

Sure, I’ve heard the Storm described as visionary and cutting edge. In a class of its own. And yes, it’s super fast, super sleek, and a performance machine, but it’s also a manual transmission, and the stick shift is what scares me the most.

The first car I learned to drive on was a stick shift, but it’s been a while and this isn’t my car. What if I stall in the middle of the road and someone hits me from behind? Worse, what if I ruin the transmission?

I turn my phone to silent; I need all my attention on getting from point A to B to C with the car in one piece. I must have been crazy when I decided to go home, get the key for the storage unit that I keep taped under the coffeepot from the bed-and-breakfast, then go to the storage unit, then go to the grocery store, all before heading back to Jasper’s place.

Nuts.

Nuts.

Nuts.

Once in the driver’s seat I think back to watching Jasper do this.

Car in neutral.

Foot pressed on the clutch.

And turn the ignition.

The car purrs to life and I’m off to a good start. I put it in reverse and just like riding a bike, driving a stick comes back to me.

Soon I’m shifting out of instinct.

I got this.

OVERDRIVE

Jasper

SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT.

Streaking down the highway, I can hear the roar, hiss, and whistle of the engine. Normally music to my ears, it sounds off. I look over at Will. “Do you hear that fluttering?”

From lids half-mast with exhaustion, he fully closes his eyes and listens. “Sounds like the headers might be leaking.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Are the RPMs within range?”

A glance at the dashboard tells me what I already know. “No, they aren’t ticking all the way through.”

“You might want to have Max look at it,” Will says.

I nod. “I think while he’s at it he should recalculate the pipe lengths. What do you think?”

“Maybe. Not sure if that is it or if someone messed with them when the car was at impound. But either way, taking another look will only make the Storm go faster.”

That puts a smile on my face and I focus on the road ahead, and then try Charlotte’s cell again.

Still no answer. This time I leave a message. “Hey, it’s me. It was a crazy day and I haven’t had cell service for past couple of hours. Call me.”

Soon enough, it’s home, sweet home.

It’s after four when I’m finally nearing my building. I crest the slope into the garage like a skateboarder taking flight over a mondo ramp.

It’s been one long fucking day.

All I want to do is see Charlotte and not leave my apartment for the entire weekend. I don’t want to have to submit to police searches because a dead body was found in the abandoned car near where my mother lives. I don’t want to wait outside for hours while my mother cries on my shoulder that Hank is going to break up with her if word gets out about who she is. I don’t want to have to explain to her that she’s his
tenant
, nothing more, if asked.

And for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to be trapped in the limits of Bloomfield Township unable to leave until the crime scene investigation is complete, with no fucking cellphone reception to boot, like I have most of the day.

I give Charlotte another ring.

“Did she pick up yet?” Will asks.

I shake my head no. “Maybe she has her earphones in.”

Looking exhausted, he nods. “Probably. Knowing Drew and Jake, they’re jamming to happy-hour music by now.”

Screeching into my spot, I whip my door open and stretch my back. I’ve been in the car way too long.

Will does the same. “I’m heading home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Got plans with Whitney?”

There’s a hint of a grin there. “Yeah, I do.”

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs. He’s the only one out of the four of us who doesn’t kiss and tell. That is going to have to change. I’ll have to work on that—later.

Pressing my key fob, I pause for a second and lean over the top of the car and keep it simple. “Have fun. And, Will.”

He looks over at me.

“Thanks again. I really appreciate you being there with me today. You stopped me from losing my shit more times than I can count.”

The beep of his key fob unlocks his car. “You’d do the same for me.”

I would.

As I start to walk down the tunnel, I try Charlotte one more time. Still no answer. I hasten my steps and hustle to the elevator. Minutes later I’m at my door and then finally inside. Will was right. Music is blaring from up above. Some Stones. And I’m okay with that.

Grabbing a beer, I open it, take a sip, and then head toward the stairs to tell my girl the workday is officially over. Before I make it to the foot of the staircase, I hear a loud stomping noise out in the hall.

It sounds like a herd of cattle.

One foot on the step and I can hear it getting closer.

Wham!
All of sudden the door bursts open and four dark blue uniforms pound across the hardwood floor, guns drawn. The Detroit Police Department has arrived.

For me?

It has to be.

My throat tightens, forcing me to swallow and take deep breaths.

The music stops.

The giant space is dead silent.

Then Detective Hill enters the room.

Our stares collide.

“Jasper Storm, you are under arrest.”

Shock
isn’t even the word to describe what I’m feeling. “For what?”

Blue beady eyes stare at me. “The murders of Eve Hepburn and Tory Worth.”

I set my beer down on one of the steps. “What are you talking about?”

“Tory Worth was the victim identified today in Eve Hepburn’s car, and both murders have been linked to you.”

Tory is dead?

Why?

That storm in my chest that I haven’t felt for over a week starts to rage within me, wild and untamed.

Ravaging.

Devastating.

And not just for me—for Charlotte, too.

What does this mean for Charlotte? Will it bring her mother back to town? How will she handle seeing her?

Jake is standing behind me on the stairs and I can hear his heavy breathing.

Feeling sick, really sick, I look the detective straight in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere until I call my lawyer.”

Cuffs in hand, the detective steps toward me. “You’ll get your call from the station.”

I twist to look at Jake. “Keep Charlotte upstairs. I don’t want her to see this.”

“She’s not here. She went home sometime before four to grab some things.”

The wind is gone from my lungs, and my gut clenches to think she might walk in here and see me like this. “You have to find her and keep her away from here.”

“I will. Let’s get you out of this first.”

“No, you have to find her before she walks in on this.”

“I don’t think I can leave,” he says.

I look in front of me. The cops. The detective. The wall they are forming that is meant to stop me and anyone else from leaving.

For an instant I can feel what he must have felt. My father. Helpless. Unable to do anything as flames leaped up the walls all around him and then consumed him. Did he picture my mother and me in his last moments? I’m sure he did. I am not dying, but I am no longer in charge of my own fate. My mind is a jumbled mess. My legs are trembling. I can’t think straight.

Both Eve and Tory are dead.

Why?

Charlotte isn’t answering her phone.

Why?

I need to get to Charlotte and make sure she’s okay. I can’t stand here and let the fire render me useless.

Detective Hill is right in front of me now.

I feel trapped.

I blink a few times and wipe the sweat from my brow.

“Make this easy, Storm. Turn around and we can walk out of here without any commotion.”

Walk out. Yes, I can walk out.
He couldn’t, though. My father . . . he couldn’t. And yet I hated him for dying. Hated him all these years.

“Storm!” the detective shouts, holding up his arrest warrant.

“I didn’t do it!” I shout back, wanting to douse the flames I can’t see through.

“Jasper,” Jake whispers. “Go with him. You have to, man.”

Suddenly the flames disappear and I’m back in my loft with the police surrounding me, and I’m being accused of something I didn’t do.

“I didn’t kill them,” I say quietly this time.

“Well, probable cause indicates you did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The list is long. There were welts on Tory Worth’s buttocks that match your belt, which was seized during the search of your apartment, and the handprints around Eve Hepburn’s neck match yours. There’s more, too. Motive—the sale of the land. An earring belonging to Eve Hepburn was found in your mother’s house. Then there are the photos on Tory Worth’s phone of you and Eve that I won’t go into detail about. Ms. Hepburn’s laptop with a draft of a very incriminating story about you. Not to mention a Matchbox car with your name on the bottom of it.”

“She must have taken that from me that night.”

He shakes his head. “The abundance of evidence paints a very compelling picture.”

Stunned, I struggle for what to say. “I already explained most of those things to you.”

“And now you’re going to have to explain everything . . . to a jury of your peers.”