Wicked Release (9 page)

“No? Then how—”

“He has his own boat.”

Of course he does.
Jess took the glass of champagne from Lyle's hand, sipping it, careful not to spill on her camera. The bubbles fizzled against her sinuses and tickled her brain.

Without waiting for her to ask, he took the glass back from her. “Here, let me,” he said as she moved to reposition the camera, this time, angling it toward Peaks Island.

“Can we see Elliot's house from here?”

“Not from this far away. Not unless you've got a wicked long lens in that bag.”

She didn't. And even if she did, they didn't tend to work that well in dark lighting. “But closer? And in the daylight?”

“You can see his property from the boat, but his home is mostly shrouded by the trees.”

She took the glass again, this time her sip far less careful. She winced, the sweetness a little much.

“Is the champagne okay, Ms. Walters?”

She smiled, nodding. “Thank you. I just tend to prefer red wines and hard liquor in the amber family—scotch, whiskey, bourbon.”

“Ah, a woman after my boss's own heart. And quite the opposite of your sister.”

Jess's spine bristled. “You knew Cass?”

A moment of regret passed along his features, but it was gone almost as fast as one of the ripples in the water. “Not well. But on these drives, we became . . . acquainted.” He covered the bottle and slipped it back into the liquor compartment of the car, tidying the backseat as Jess leaned on the railing. The boat picked up speed and she shivered, pinching her glass in one hand and hugging her body with the other arm. Though pretty, her lace top offered little warmth.

Lyle had his jacket off and around her shoulders before her shiver could travel from her head to her toes. “Your sister loved her champagne, though,” he added with a wistful smile.

Jess didn't say anything more, but watched as his expression shifted from professional to something more personal. Just how much did her sister chat with this guy? He seemed . . . he seemed to miss her; he had a heaviness in his voice that wasn't present until the subject of Cass came up.

Just how loyal was this guy to Elliot? How much did he know about his operations—and her sister's as well? Did Elliot buy his trust? Because if so, there was no doubt that other people in this town had pockets just as deep as Elliot's. And for the right price, just about anyone would deceive.

She took another sip of her champagne and this time it went down easier. “I'm surprised,” Jess admitted. “With Cass and Elliot working in the same building, I would think they'd mostly travel together . . . and that she wouldn't need a car service to transport her.”

“Mr. Warner is a busy man with a lot of early meetings and late nights in the office. I was always happy to help and he wanted to ensure her safe travels even when he couldn't be there.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer. Waves splashed against the side of the ferry and though they weren't going fast by any means, the boat tipped a bit as the water surged. Jess turned to look at him, bringing her camera to her eyes. She studied him from within the viewfinder. His profile was highlighted by the smallest strip of silvery moonlight. His reddish brown hair took on a purplish tint in the inky night and though his features had a boyish playfulness to them, the beginnings of wrinkles flanked either side of his mouth and eyes. He was likely in his late twenties or early thirties, if she had to take a guess. A little older than herself probably; about Cass's age when she died.
Click
.

He seemed startled by the image and grinned, holding a hand up to block his face from the lens. “Sorry,” she said, gesturing with the camera. “Force of habit. I can put it away, if you prefer?”

His dimple deepened. “No, it's fine. It's nice to be the focal point of anything for once.”

Jess moved the camera for a close-up of his hands clenched on the railing of the boat, wakes of water providing a dark, blurry backdrop.
Click.
“How did you know Cass is—was—my sister?”

“The proper answer?” He glanced at her carefully. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he kicked a foot up behind him, his knee propped on the boat railing. “Mr. Warner told me, of course.”

“And the improper answer?” She was almost afraid to ask. She'd had her fair share of creepers enter her life since her sister's funeral. But he didn't seem creepy. He seemed nice. Genuine. And she wondered if Cass had felt the same immediate kinship with him as well.

His grin widened, deepening that dimple. “You two have the same smile. If he hadn't told me, I would have assumed you were related. Besides, it wouldn't be hard to figure out. Same last name, same pink house to pick you up in.”

“Ah, yes,” Jess chuckled, “The infamous pink house.” With the twinkle lights around the edge of the boat, she could almost see her reflection off the water—inky, but with the golden hue cast in its ripples. “And would ‘Mr. Warner' approve of you hanging out so casually with me tonight? Hanging on the boat with me as I sip champagne and snuggle into your suit jacket?”

“It's my job to keep his guests comfortable on the ride to his home.”

“And is it also your job to notice things like your boss's girlfriend's smile?”

His dimple disappeared. “Are you referring to
your
smile or Cass's?”

Though they were a good several feet apart, something sparked between them and Jess found herself taking an instinctual step back. Her phone vibrated from within her sister's clutch and she rushed to pull it out, thankful for the distraction. Sam's name lit up her screen with a text message:
We need to talk. Where are you?

She hesitated before typing:
Can't tonight. Dinner plans. Besides, what is there left to talk about?

She looked up to find Lyle's gaze still burning into her. “Mr. Warner won't like it if you've double-booked for the evening.”

The phone buzzed again in her hand and she maintained eye contact with Lyle, tucking it back into her purse without reading it. “I don't double-book.”

“You better hope not,” he said.

“Is that a threat?”

“Not from me, it isn't.”

“But from . . . him?”

A horn sounded from somewhere on the boat. Lyle pulled the keys out of his pocket, opening the door for Jess. “We're about to dock.” She paused, hovering at his shoulder just long enough to get a whiff of his cologne. It was clean, fragrant, and nearly on the verge of feminine but with a spicy end note. Brushing by him, she slid into the backseat of the car once more, unsure of what to make of this nervous energy between Lyle and herself. He flicked a glance to the right, dropping his voice even lower before speaking.

“And . . . consider it a warning. Not a threat.”

For the first time since she'd met Elliot, Jess had a foreboding sense about him. What exactly was Lyle saying by not saying? Did Cass cheat on Elliot? That didn't sound like her. Then again, she knew there was some weirdness between Elliot, Cass, and Dane. And it was obvious there were a lot of things about her sister that Jess had never known before. “Did Cass get that same warning?”

Though his brown eyes darkened with something tumultuous, he shut the door and got into the driver's seat. “Let's get you to this dinner, Ms. Walters.”

15

O
nce they were off the ferry, the drive on the dark, quiet island was fast and nearly silent. There was something unnerving about having dinner in a man's home when you were really, truly trapped there with no easy way off the island in the event that something went wrong.

Jess shivered, despite the fact that she was still nestled in Lyle's suit jacket. The car turned up a long driveway. It was steep, the incline feeling like they were climbing a mountain. As they arrived, Lyle turned the car off, the engine winding down like a cat's purr once you've stopped petting it.

Jess moved for the car door, tugging the handle only to discover it was locked. She looked up to find Lyle staring at her from the front seat. “Put my number into your phone,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just in case you need me. For anything. I can be here very quickly and I'm typically in the area when Mr. Warner has guests. It's my job to keep his friends safe. So whenever, wherever, even if you've been out in the peninsula and you're afraid to walk home—call me.”

“Seems a little extreme for a guy I just met.” She slipped her arms out of his jacket and passed it over the console.

“It probably is.”

She pulled out her phone once more, Sam's response from earlier blinking back at her:
You're with him, aren't you?

Heat seethed through her body and she resisted the urge to respond, instead swiping away from her text messages and plugging in the numbers Lyle gave her.

“I doubt you'll need it tonight. But never hesitate to call.”

She didn't want to be reliant on any man. And yet, she couldn't help but feel a little comforted by having an ally on this island. Someone other than Elliot who knew where she was and, if she disappeared, could trace her.

She pushed the overactive thoughts from her mind. Yes, it was good to be safe, but there was no need to be skeptical of everyone when they had done nothing to deserve it. She couldn't become that sort of paranoid woman who suspected everyone of everything.

The door to the brick mansion swung open and if she hadn't already seen Elliot in casual attire last night at the bar, she may not have recognized his silhouette. He was backlit with golden, ambient lighting, wearing a button-down shirt, slacks, and no jacket. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets. Her fist clenched around her camera, finger tickling the shutter. Lifting it to her face, she took the silhouetted image of Elliot standing in the doorway of his mansion. Through the viewfinder, she could see more clearly that despite his seemingly casual stance, there was a predatory alertness tight in his muscles.
Click
. She pulled the camera away from her face and he was back to being the casual millionaire.

“Let's get you inside, huh?” Lyle gave her one last smile before climbing out and opening the door for her.

The stony walkway was surrounded by manicured shrubs and a lawn. Everything about the home looked perfect; out of a fairy tale. And yet, for Jess, it was the sort of home that felt like anything but. It was a museum . . . not a home. The sort of place she would enter and immediately fret about breaking something. The sort of place she'd be afraid to walk around in for fear that her shoes were dirty.

As she got closer, she could smell the fresh scent of aftershave on Elliot's smooth jaw and neck. She could see that his starched shirt had perfect creases as though it was just ironed. He was so put together. Nothing was done without intent. And even though it had been her idea to have dinner in his home, she got the odd sense that this was all still orchestrated by him. Even her “ideas” and thoughts around this man were no longer her own. She didn't know how he did that—but she was certain this had been his plan all along.

“Jessica, I'm glad you made it.”

“It's Jess,” she said, even though she knew it was a pointless battle.

Her phone buzzed loudly in her purse as she entered the dramatic foyer.

He watched her carefully, his eyes flicking to her buzzing purse and then trailing to the camera bag. “Let me guess . . . your detective wants to know where you are?”

“How astute of you.” She should have known Sam wouldn't stand for her ignoring his texts.

“I don't mind if you want to answer him.” For a moment, Elliot's eyes looked soft—warm, yet still relentless in their intensity.

“No. It's fine. He doesn't deserve an answer . . . and I owe him nothing.”

Elliot's mood seemed to shift.
He trained submissives as a hobby,
thought Jess.
He's more than just a connoisseur of wine and food
.
He's a connoisseur of women, too.
She told herself that any woman at all could be awarded that same type of look from him, and yet, she knew better.

“Did Cass ever tell you that I lied to her?” he said, utterly catching Jess off guard with his question.

“No. But then, she didn't really tell me anything about you.”

“Well, I did. I hid many things from her but I only ever came clean about one thing. It was the most challenging moment of my entire life and now that she's gone I wish I had confessed everything to her.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because when I was finally honest with your sister, she didn't hesitate to accept my apology. Not even for a moment. She knew immediately how difficult it was for me to be candid with anyone. She told me she knew it was only one of many of my secrets and that when I was ready, she would be waiting and ready to listen.”

Jess listened intently, running the heel of her stiletto into a crack in the foyer's hardwood floor. “Cass was always really great about forgiving and forgetting,” she said.

“She was. Sometimes things are unforgivable, though. But it's important to remember that the most unforgivable secrets are the ones that take the most courage to be honest about. That was something Cassandra not only knew, but lived.”

Jess's eyes slid closed as he purred her sister's name. Did he know about Sam's lies? Sam's secrets? “That sounds like Cass,” she said.

“Just think about what I said.” Jess opened her eyes, taking in the details of Elliot's house, searching for a distraction away from her situation with Sam. There were marble columns and a dramatic stairwell descended in a large curve to what she could only assume was one of many floors. “You know,” Jess said, looking around the impressive entryway. “When I suggested dinner here, you could have mentioned that I would have to come by boat.”

“And why would I do that?” His wispy tone from earlier was long gone now.

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe so that I would be ready for the chilly boat ride. Or just in general so that I could feel prepared.”

“Everything you needed was inside the car. I was prepared
for
you. Besides, you were prepared enough to bring your camera, I see.”

“Well, it's practically like an appendage to me at this point.”

He moved to a cart that held a decanter of whiskey and poured two fingers worth in a cut-crystal bourbon glass. “Here.”

“And
this,
” she said, sloshing the drink around. “Why don't you try asking what I would like instead of assuming?”

He didn't look fazed. His eyes flashed, ripe with the challenge of Jess. As though she was his next conquest, which simply made her want to dig her heels farther into his Ralph Lauren area rug.

He poured himself a glass and clinked the edge to hers before taking a sip. “You said at the bar last night that you preferred whiskey, scotch, and bourbon, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“And so I took that information and anticipated your needs.”

“And the champagne in the car?”

“While driving, there's an ordinance in the city that liquor has to be in the beer, wine, champagne family. I took a guess. Besides, one can never go wrong with champagne. You should have had everything you possibly needed in the car. There was water. Snacks if you got hungry. Didn't Lyle give you the blanket I asked him to put in there?”

Jess paused, remembering Lyle's jacket wrapped around her shoulders. He hadn't given her a blanket . . . but he had made sure she was warm. “He made sure I had everything I needed,” she answered.

“Good,” Elliot answered quickly, then placed a hand at the middle of her back. Her lace top came down low in a V between her shoulder blades and his palm sizzled against her bare skin. She was thankful for the long lace sleeves that covered her goose bumps. “However, not exactly the question I asked,” he said. “Now, if you don't want whiskey, I have vodka, brandy, sweet vermouth . . . unfortunately, I'm all out of gin, which is a shame.”

“Well, damn,” Jess teased. “The one thing I wanted was a gin martini.”

“A true martini is always gin, Jessica. If you're going to be cheeky, at least get it right. And don't even ask me to make you a vodka martini. I absolutely refuse. And unfortunately, as I said, we don't have a drop of gin left in the house.”

“Are you sure? Did you check the bathtub?”

He paused, staring at her, a bemused smile just barely lifting at the corners of his mouth. That might be as much of a reaction as she'd ever get from him in the humor department . . . and she'd take it. When he didn't respond, she winked, sipping from her tumbler. “Just kidding. Whiskey's perfect.”

An older gentleman in a pressed suit entered. “Appetizers are ready, Mr. Warner.”

“Thank you, Simon.” With his free hand, he gestured to the doorway. “Shall we?”

Jess moved through the impressive foyer into a parlor that was decorated almost entirely with '60s antiques. On the cherrywood buffet table were silver platters of goat cheese, almonds, bacon-wrapped dates, pâté, and miniature baked brie slices. “Where the hell are we? It's like we stepped onto the set of
Mad Men
.”

“I have a thing for the nineteen-sixties.”

With the dark furniture and polished wood floors, there was a regal quality to the house, and though it lacked a feminine touch, it was certainly not a bachelor pad. “You said you made your fortune in real estate?” Jess asked, bringing her attention to the hand-painted plaster ceilings.

“Yes,
made
. Past tense.”

“I thought you were still in—?”

“I still dabble. I also run a consulting business.”

“Consulting?”

“Businesses that aren't reaching their maximum potential bring me in to overhaul their books, cut waste—that sort of thing.”

“And when a business is failing, they can still afford to pay you whatever exorbitant fee it is you charge?”

“It's not easy for them. But I manage to earn them that money back and then some almost every time. I have a wildly high success rate and hardly any of the businesses that follow the plan I lay out for them go bankrupt. The ones that do? I give them a full refund—so long as they prove that they implemented my strategies. If they ignore my suggestions, well, then I can't help them.” He spread some pâté on a cracker, holding it up for Jess. “Here. Try this.”

She scrunched her nose. “I'm not really a liver kind of girl.”

His features sagged as though she were in for a scolding. “Just try it. It's foie gras with apple chutney on top. Paired with the whiskey I handed you, it should be quite delicious.”

Jess pinched the cracker and gave it a sniff. Her stomach turned at the thought of what she was about to eat. But before she could think too hard about it, she popped it into her mouth and chewed quickly. The burst of creamy with the pop of sweet was rather nice. Still not something she'd go out of her way to order, but not altogether bad.

“Now take a sip.” She did as she was told—perhaps for the first time in her existence. Most of her life she'd been told that whiskey went with two types of food—steak and bacon. She didn't exactly see it being paired with such a delicate appetizer. “The whiskey has caramel undertones,” he explained, “and the sweetness of the apple should bring that out. Meanwhile, the smoked pâté mirrors the whiskey's smokiness just about perfectly.”

She nodded, brushing the crumbs off her fingers. “That's probably the closest I'll ever get to liking goose liver.”

“Well, I like an adventurous woman. At least you tried it. Here . . . wash it down with some bacon-wrapped dates. They're glazed with barbecue sauce and should also pair well with your whiskey, but in a much more bold and obvious way.”

Jess rolled the piece of food between her fingers, its stickiness clinging to her skin. “Is this how you started teaching my sister? With food pairings?”

Elliot's eyes lingered on the floor for all of a moment before lifting and capturing Jess. “I don't like answering questions when the person asking clearly already knows the answer. But for the sake of being agreeable . . . no. Your sister and I didn't start this way. In fact, she already knew quite a lot about food and wine.” His angular features softened, that cutting scowl lifting into something more melancholy. “Even if she was more of a champagne drinker. She knew her stuff.”

Jess recalled one of the e-mails she had read. “And so you started by having her undress in front of you? That was how you saw fit to begin an introduction into this sorry excuse you call a relationship?”

That moment of softness—of vulnerability—was almost as fleeting as the foie gras on her taste buds. Anger flashed once again across his stunning features. “Don't get judgmental on me now, Jessica.” Though his face flared with indignation, his voice maintained a state of quiet control. “What your sister and I had was consensual. Neither of us is broken. We didn't enter this lifestyle because we were damaged. What we got from it was pleasure. And with the right person, the right amount of trust . . . my kind of sex is mind-blowing. She knew she could leave at any time. She knew her safe word.”