Wicked Release (3 page)

4

D
ane,
Jess thought, wanting to protest, but knowing it was useless. Just another person she could add to her list of liars. With numb fingers, Jess dialed Dane's number, her hand shaking the whole time. What exactly was she supposed to say to the man who pretended to have no knowledge of her sister's death when Jess told him about it? He was supposed to have been Cass's friend. Someone she could rely on, but he hadn't even come to her funeral. He answered almost immediately on the first ring.

“Jess,” he said quickly into the phone. “Jess, I am so glad you called. I was hoping you would after I left my note—”

“Dane,” she said, and as she opened her mouth to say more, Elliot snatched the phone out of her hand.

“Ah, Daniel. Hello, my friend.” Elliot's voice boomed with arrogance.

“My name is Dane,” Jess heard on the other end of the receiver. Elliot tossed her a wink to which she responded by folding her arms. At least she wasn't the only one he played name games with.

“Jessica and I need your assistance. Today. As soon as possible, actually.”

Jess could feel Elliot's attention following her as she wandered around the room. There was a large, built-in bookshelf along one wall. She dragged a finger along the book spines:
Robinson Crusoe, A Tale of Two Cities, The Catcher in the Rye.
On some of the books, the edges were worn so thin they were frayed.

Her shoes clicked against the marble floor as she continued her march around the room. She dared a glance at Elliot. He had angled features sharpened like the sheer edge of a deadly cliff and a lock of bluish-black hair fell over his brow, adding a boyishness that was contradictory to his beauty, softening his severity. And while he wasn't her type, she could absolutely see how Cass had fallen so hard over the edge for him.

“Uh-huh,” he said into the phone, and yet, somehow it felt as though he were talking directly to her. “We can explain more when you get to Cassan—” Her sister's name caught in his throat and after taking only a second to compose himself, he continued. “I mean, Jessica's house. Though, I'm sure you could figure it out if you think really hard. You're a smart guy.”

Yeah, not quite a compliment.
And she was pretty damn sure Dane knew it.

“One hour?” Elliot checked his very expensive-looking watch. “That will do.”

Jess wandered behind Elliot's desk, running her hand along every surface she could find. Damn, she wished she had her camera in here. Photographing this place would give such insight into this man. She could see things through the viewfinder that she simply couldn't see with her own eyes. It was what she loved so much about photography. Her camera was like a second set of eyes; eyes that could capture motion, freeze a moment in time, evoke mood and emotion with a quick click. And, more than anything, she wanted to dissect this man. Know what the hell he had been like with her sister. In a way, he knew a side of Cassandra that Jess never would—she couldn't even imagine her sister in an office like this, let alone dating a man who owned the whole damn building.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but instead of succumbing to the emotion, Jess brought her teeth down hard onto her tongue, dulling the emotional pain with a physical one.

When Elliot hung up, Jess plopped back down into his leather desk chair. His lips tightened and she felt an odd sense of joy at getting under his skin. Everything was so perfect; so orderly. She relished throwing his tidy life around in a heaping mess.

“So . . .
El,
” Jess said, “Why didn't
you
just call Dane? Why have me do it if you were going to take the phone from me anyway?”

As quickly as the scowl surfaced, it was replaced with a small smile. “Because Dane never would have answered my call,” he said. “Nor would I blame him for that.”

Well, that was an honest answer. And for once, Jess had no idea what to say in response. “Why?” she asked.

Elliot gave her a thoughtful once-over before lifting her purse off the club chair where she had left it and zipping up her suitcase. “I think we've both had enough questions for one day. How about some answers?” He walked over to her, her purse dangling by the strap from his fingertips.

“I would love some answers,” she said.

“Would you mind if we kept this luggage here? It's probably one of the safest places to keep an amount of cash this large.” He walked briskly behind his desk, not waiting for her answer before opening a bottom cabinet. After sliding out a series of filing shelves with a few clicks he opened a hidden safe.

Whoa. That was some serious shit.
Jess's feelings must have been pretty damn apparent because when Elliot caught her glance, he answered her unspoken question. “I keep cash on many of my properties. And if Cass had gotten a safe as I suggested, you may not be in such a predicament.”

“She had a safe. In the basement.”

“That wasn't
her
safe,” he said, pushing to his feet after securing the cash inside. Using a tissue, he lifted Cass's fake passport and held it up in front of Jess's face. “Would you like to hold on to this? Or should I?”

Jess stilled beneath his stare and even though it was a simple question, it felt like a test. A test of whether or not she trusted him. She grabbed the passport and tucked it into her purse.

Elliot sighed. “Well, then, shall we?” he said with a gesture toward the door.

They exited the building together, walking in silence the whole way. As they slipped off the elevator, Elliot brushed the small of her back. A minor gesture, yes. A gentlemanly motion, but not one she was entirely comfortable with. How could Cass trust someone so . . . so . . . demanding? Someone with such a clinical desire to be in constant control? But her sister
had
trusted him. That's what she had to remember. And Cass wasn't one to trust easily—he must have earned it. Then again, as judging from Cass's life choices, maybe her sister wasn't exactly the best judge of character.

Elliot held the door open for Jess, nodding at the man behind the front desk before once again placing that icy touch on her lower back. A chill skated down from the base of her neck to the back of her heels. This man completely unnerved her to the core. And why? Because he had money? Because he had walls up? Who didn't?

She shook the idea from her head, bringing her thoughts back to Dane and how he would be at her house within the hour. Sure, Jess had assumed Dane knew
some
thing about Cass's situation, but for him to know exactly where her sister was keeping God-knew-how-much money in drugs?

As she dragged her thoughts back to the present, Jess realized that they had stopped walking. Elliot had been leading the way in the parking lot, right to her car.

“How the hell did you know which car was mine?” Jess demanded.

“Shh,” he said, snapping his palm out behind him to quiet her. She damn near slapped his hand out of her face except for the tight look that passed over his features. The same awareness that she had seen up in his office had returned as he now scanned the parking lot. “Did anyone know you were here?”

“Huh? No . . .”

“Did anyone follow you?”

This time goose bumps lifted along her arms as a chill careened a path down her whole body. “I-I don't think so.” Moving around to the other side of Elliot, she froze, seeing what he was talking about. An envelope sat tucked into her windshield wipers. Which normally wouldn't be all that alarming, but the envelope had a lobster claw seal. The same seal on the letter she had received from the people using the masquerade to distribute their drugs. And it was the same stationery she had found in Dr. Brown's office after he was murdered.

“You don't think so?”

“I wasn't really watching, I guess.”

Elliot smoothed a palm down his clean-shaven jaw. A sprinkling of black stubble was pushing its way through his soft-looking skin. Even though it was similar to the stubble that Sam sported, on Elliot it just looked . . . different.

“You should know how to spot a tail, Jessica. I can teach you.”

Jess didn't know what it was about Elliot, but something told her not to fight him; not on this. She backed away from the envelope, as though walking away from it would delete its existence entirely. “No. No, this is ridiculous. That note's not for me. They messed up—whoever delivered it mixed up my car for someone else's—”

“Jessica,” Elliot warned, closing in on her. It only made breathing harder. He was the problem here. He was making it impossible to get air. “Jess!” His hands were gripping her shoulders, clenched tightly; not so hard that it hurt, but enough to apply pressure and bring her back to the reality of the situation. “You could run,” he said, and her eyes widened with his statement. The late September air was crisp and cool and made her eyes dry as she blinked. “Run, Jessica. Take your sister's cash. Get the fuck away from Portland and don't come back. They only attack when threatened and if you're not here, then you're not a threat.”

Emotion clogged her throat; it fogged her mind, her thoughts, her chest—just about everything. When did life get so damn difficult? Why couldn't she just have a normal person's problems? She'd already lost her parents at a young age—why this, too? It was maddening and suddenly that sadness that was hazing her thoughts cleared away and was replaced with pure, crystallized anger. Hatred for the people who took the only family she had left from her. She
could
run. She
could
start a whole new life. But then, there would never be any justice for her sister. Zooey would be blamed, the drugs would continue being distributed, and everything she'd worked so hard for would disappear along with whatever small dose of integrity she had left.

Elliot's grip suddenly felt less binding and more secure. Solid. Strong. In control. He was exactly the kind of person she needed on her side for this. His bright eyes narrowed, almost as though he were reading her thoughts. “What's your end goal here, Jessica?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You can't take them down. You will not win. Do you understand me? And I'm sure as fuck not going to participate in some sort of suicide mission.”

Jess shrugged his hands off her. “I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't want to run . . . I don't want to leave my life and everything Cass worked so hard to get in this town. But I don't want them coming after me anymore. And I think you know how to get them off my back. I think you know what they want.” Because more than anything, she wanted to find that motherfucker who had pulled the trigger on her sister and lock him away for life.

They locked into another stare down for what felt like an eternity. Did he believe her? Hell, she almost believed herself.

“It could be anything. Drugs . . . money . . .” He backed away from her, snatching the envelope from her windshield. “Maybe this will tell us.”

Jess moved with as much confidence as she could. She took the envelope and carefully pried the seal open. Six black-and-white glossy images slid into her palm. There were three photos of Cass getting ready for one of her parties. Behind those were three images of Jess, half naked, dressing for the party that had taken place the past Friday. It was a warning. A warning that they were watching.

She should have felt fear. She should have been frozen where she stood, shaking with terror. She should have gone straight home and started packing and gotten the first ticket out of this godforsaken town. But all those images did was add gasoline to her rage-fueled fire.

Elliot took the pictures from her hand, gently holding the edges, careful not to smudge them. His face twisted as he stared at a photograph of Cass, her dress unzipped, twisting to look behind her out the window at the camera.

“This was the night she died,” he said, his voice hoarser than after a concert. He was quiet for another moment before tearing his gaze away from the image and looking at Jess. No . . . not looking at her. Those eyes were cold. Hardened. He looked
through
her.

“You want to know what they
really
want?” He dropped the pictures back into her hands. “They want a bullet in your head.”

5

T
he pounding in Sam's head had dulled to barely an ache. Not bad for it being only a few days post-concussion.
It also isn't great by any means,
Sam thought as he slipped his arms into a button-down blue shirt. He wanted to look more than capable if someone came by from the force to check on him. The sooner they signed him back into active duty, the better.

The TV was on in the background, the local news offering a white noise background as he spooned Kelly's casserole into a bowl and popped it in the microwave. Once it was done, he settled onto his black leather sofa, propping his feet up on the glass coffee table and cupping the steaming bowl under his chin as he ate.

As he finished his meal, he stole a glance at the clock. Seriously? Only ten minutes had passed? He groaned and let his head fall back against the back edge of the couch. Time moved fucking slowly when you were stuck at home like a man on house arrest.

His cell rang and Sam tossed his bowl to the side, muting the TV. An unknown Portland number blinked on the screen of his phone. Swiping to the right, he answered.

“This is Sam McCloskey.”

“Mr. McCloskey, this is Dr. Adams from Mercy Hospital. How are you feeling?”

Sam sighed.
The doctor, of course.
Other than Matt or the captain, who the hell would be calling him? His mother and stepfather had long since passed away. And Jess . . .
Well, it wasn't as though she's going to be calling me,
he thought, driving her delicate face from his mind. “I'm feeling great, Doc,” Sam lied. “Could run a marathon tonight if you let me.”

Dr. Adams gave a quiet chuckle from the other end of the line. “Somehow I doubt that, but I'm glad to hear you're feeling better.” There was a pause as something sat static in the air between them.

“Dr. Adams? Is there something else you need?”

The older man sighed. “I tried calling your partner, a Detective Matt Johnson, but he didn't answer and I didn't want to wait—your suspect, Zooey Devonshire, woke up about thirty minutes ago. I thought one of you should know. Detective Johnson had mentioned he wanted to speak to her the second she came out of her coma.”

Sam's pulse flicked, pounding against his wrist.
Where the hell is Matt?
It wasn't like him to not answer a call . . . particularly not in the midst of such a high-profile murder case. “I thought she wasn't doing well? I thought the chances of her waking up were slim to none—”

“The human body is a mystery. With the extent of her injuries, it was most definitely a surprise to see her bounce back within a few days. I don't think she'll be up and escaping anytime soon, but . . .” His voice faded away.

“But what?”

“She's extremely disoriented. Can't remember a thing and, understandably, had a massive anxiety attack with what little energy she had when she saw herself restrained to her bed.”

Shit.
He thought that restraining her had seemed a little extreme when Matt said that. Then again, she had supposedly run from Jess when she was found . . . and the first thing he ever learned as a detective was that only the guilty run. If his head wasn't hurting before, it was now.

“I'll be—I'll send someone down there right away to talk with her. Thanks for the call, Dr. Adams.”

“Of course. I'll see you Friday for your follow-up.” With that, the doctor hung up. Sam grabbed his badge, cell, and wallet, stuffing the various items in his back pocket as Matt's face on the television caught his attention. The local news was showing various cops scattered along the wharf, below the docks. The area that led directly to the tunnel into Jess's basement. Sam gulped.
Fuck.
If Jess wasn't out of Portland yet, she better be soon.

 

Jess pulled into her driveway with Elliot following her closely the whole way. As she walked up the front steps, Jess noticed that her sister's ceramic frogs were turned with their backs facing out. “Dane's here,” she said.

She turned to look at Elliot as he scanned the house's perimeter. “I know. I saw his truck parked down the street.” Elliot raised a brow in her direction as she unlocked the door. “How did you know?”

Jess glanced quickly at the frogs; her and Dane's signal for when he would use a house key Cass gave him long ago. It was the result of Jess thinking he was an intruder and nearly blinding them both with pepper spray. “I saw the truck, too,” she lied.

She looked away as she said it and shouldered the door open. Why did she feel the need to keep the frog thing a secret? It was such a minor detail to keep to herself and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to maintain control over this man, even in the littlest ways possible. Even if no one else in the world knew that she still held some secrets,
she
would know. And she would hold on to those secrets as her own personal reminder that she was in control of her fate. Not Sam. Not Elliot. Not Dane. Jess Walters.

“Hey, Dane,” she said as she walked in, finding him propped against the doorframe that separated the foyer from the dining room. He had a mug clenched in his fist and was sipping something that had steam billowing from it.

He was six foot something of pure, hardened muscle. Sandy brown hair. Light, kind eyes and the no-bullshit attitude that accompanied a heart of gold. His mouth turned up in a slight smile as he saw Jess.

“Hi. I hope you don't mind . . . I made some coffee,” he said before glancing behind her to Elliot. The soft look he awarded her froze into a scowl. “I'm here for her. Not you.”

Elliot's sigh was barely audible. Jess was pretty certain he hadn't meant for her to hear it. “I know that.”

Dane took a sip of his coffee. “So long as we're clear.”

“Crystal.”

They had a stare down as Jess glanced between the two powerful, but extremely different, men. She couldn't stand the silence for another second. “What happened between you two?”

Dane's jaw twitched, the tight scowl softening as he met Jess's eyes. “He's a thief. He stole from me.”

Jess's jaw dropped as she stared at Elliot. “You're rich. And you stole from him?”

Elliot rolled his eyes, shuffling out of his suit jacket. “Calm down. He's being dramatic. He means that I stole Cass from him.” Tossing his jacket onto a nearby hook, he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. “And don't let those ripped jeans fool you. He's not hurting financially, either.”

Jess opened her mouth to retort, only no words would form. Instead she clenched it shut and moved beyond Dane into the kitchen. He towered over her and as her shoulder brushed his bicep, he laid a gentle hand on her elbow.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

The taste of something acidic burned in the back of Jess's throat and she swallowed it down. He wanted to talk about the night of the party. About how he stole a prescription pad from her. About how he didn't care that stealing something like that could potentially put Jess in even more danger than she already was. At least when Sam lied, it was under a delusional pretense of trying to protect her. Dane on the other hand didn't seem to have the slightest concern for her well-being, no matter how many times he had apologized in his note to her.

And in the end, what were all of Dane's lies for? For a prescription drug problem he had? An addiction that apparently Cass's involvement had clearly not helped. Jess never thought her sister would be an enabler. Cassandra Walters was a lot of things, but she cared about her friends. She'd dive off a cliff for the people she loved. That's almost exactly what her sister had done in the last moments of her life. And Jess needed to find out why. So that her sister didn't die in vain. “We do need to talk. But not right this second.”

“So,” Dane said, drawing Jess's attention right back to him. “Why am I here? What can I do for you?”

Elliot took a step forward. “We need—”

“Did it look like I was asking you?”

Elliot looked at Jess with lifted brows.

The testosterone in the room was palpable.
My sister would have been able to handle these guys,
Jess thought. And for the millionth time, she wished Cass were here to jump into the frame. “Look—I don't quite know why you would know this, but apparently Cass may have . . . um, hidden some things. In this house. And for whatever reason, Elliot thinks you may know something about it.”

“Does he?” Dane asked.

There was more silence as Dane's crystal-blue gaze swept the length of her body. She liked Dane. She had liked him almost from the first moment they met. And yet, there was something alarming about the guy. He was quiet and scrutinizing in a way that wasn't creepy. And he was always kind. Yet, he was a liar. She was beginning to think that the word
liar
was synonymous with “man.”

“Look,” she said. “If you're not going to help us, then just leave. Now, do you know where she may have hidden these things, or not?”

Dane paused while he sipped his coffee. “Follow me,” he said, pushing off the wall and heading up the stairs.

His heavy work boots clomped up the stairs one by one, a stark contrast to Elliot's leather dress shoes, which had a lighter clack to them; more graceful, calculated. They reached the second floor, but Dane just kept going, climbing higher.

“When Cass bought this house, it needed a lot of work. Nothing foundational, but cosmetic changes and polishing.” He got to the top floor—a refurbished attic that had an office and spare bedroom. Swinging the door open, he barged through. “When I was gutting up here to put in insulation, we found a weird room that had been plastered over. Based on the odd lighting choices, I thought the previous owners maybe had a darkroom or something. Cass was completely enchanted by the idea of a hidden room.”

Nerves jumped in Jess's belly. A hidden room in the attic of a one-hundred-year-old house? Of course Cass had loved it.

Dane stopped in front of a wall, running his hand along the smooth plaster. Halfway up was a '70s-style wood panel design and then it switched to the normal cream-colored plaster. He smiled as he stroked the section of panel, as if remembering an old, lost friend. “She loved those ridiculous murder mysteries. So I created this for her as a joke.” He tugged a nearby wall sconce shifting it down to reveal a keypad. “Unfortunately, I don't know her code to get in. It's different from her other ones.”

Meaning that he had tried it before,
Jess thought. That little voice in the back of her head that was telling her not to trust this man became louder.

“May I?” Elliot asked, stepping forward. Dane didn't answer, but took a step back. Elliot punched in some numbers and within seconds, a section of the panel popped open, revealing a small half-sized entrance.

“I told you she trusted me,” Elliot said. Then, pulling his phone out, he showed Jess a series of four numbers on the screen. “Memorize it. Don't tell anyone.” He jerked his chin toward Dane. “I mean that—no one. Not even him.”

Dane shouldered around Elliot, and turned on the sconce, illuminating the back room as well. “Go ahead,” he said, and jerked his head in the direction of the secret doorway.

Jess stole a look back at Elliot, who stood tall, chin high, but his mouth was tightened into a firm line. Ducking under the half-open wall, Jess entered her sister's secret room. It was painted white, with lots of little lamps to light the room. An old, ornately carved desk sat against the wall with a cozy-looking chair tucked in beside it. But most notable were the shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Not a single space was empty. Every inch of the shelves was occupied by bags of pills.

Jess felt sick, her head spinning and the walls closing around her. There were so many drugs. Shelves and shelves of prescription pills surrounded them. “Oh God, Cass. What were you thinking?”