Chapter 20

 

 

Belinda had stopped buying shoes. Well, not entirely, but let's say, she stopped buying shoes as a hobby. After Mark Nichols, her old love interest, passed away, she unintentionally used shoe shopping as therapy and wound up with more shoes than closet space. Her mother finally intervened, and after examining her shoe collection, Belinda realized she hardly wore any of them anyway. So after a massive clean out, she vowed not to use shoes to make her feel better ever again.

But Belinda had other reasons to give it up, and she listed these as she gripped the steering wheel of her Mini in the driveway once she had time to digest what she'd just done. And all of the horrible consequences if anyone ever found out.

ONE: Shoes—even cheap shoes—get expensive when you buy multiple pairs. At this time in her life, she was hardly in a position to spend like money came from hacking up bushes in the front yard. (Though some video games would lead you to believe otherwise.) She'd never had to ask her parents to bail her out (unlike some of her former classmates), and she wasn't starting now.

TWO: Shoes require storage space, as previously mentioned. And while space wasn't a major issue at that moment (discounting the living-in-the-carriage-house situation), Belinda knew she would not always live in her family's home. (But that was a problem for another time.)

THREE: Shoes require wearing or there's no point in buying them. Again, as stated, she gravitated toward a handful of pairs. She didn't picture that changing.

FOUR: Belinda had avoided shoe-buying therapy for years and she didn't want to backslide now!

FIVE: (She couldn't think of a five.)

SIX: (Well, if she had no five, then she had no six.)

This crisis did not justify slipping back into old, unhealthy patterns. Buying a new pair of shoes for the summer, however strappy and cute, would not solve the problem. Making things right would. But she had no idea how to make this right. Belinda sighed and leaned back in the seat.

She did, however, know how to make things right with Bennett. Well, sort of.

Put it this way: Belinda was more determined than ever to make things right with Bennett. No two-timing personal assistant was stealing her man. And no manwhore designer was ruining Belinda's chances with the finest piece of man meat she'd ever dated. Bennett was hers. Hers. And that was all there was to it. He could say what he wanted, and make Grumpy Cat faces at her for eternity. But he wasn't getting away. Not now. Not ever.

Okay, that sounded a bit stalkerish. But it's how she felt at that moment resisting the urge to go buy a pair of sandals. She'd overcome other obstacles. Belinda could overcome the obstacles separating her from Bennett. And buying shoes would not get her what she really wanted.

Her phone blipped and she checked it, expecting a text from Victoria, but it was Finnegan.

Finnegan!

She'd completely forgotten to call him back...again. After promising she would.

He'd texted, saying he had something important to tell her and would she please call...if she had time. Belinda responded immediately. Maybe he had something that would bash through the dead end and help her avoid a complete catastrophe.

"I'm a horrible, horrible person," she said as soon as Finnegan picked up. "I'm soooo sorry! I'm not usually this scatterbrained, I swear. I should have called you back. I'm so sorry!"

"I believe you," Finnegan said, then laughed. "Sort of. But let me just tell you this before something more interesting comes along and you hang up on me again."

He had her undivided attention.

"So I know I didn't impress you with the phone info," Finnegan said quickly, "so I did some digging into Sawyer. I think you'll want to know what I found. I just e-mailed a link to you. Take a look at the caption."

Belinda hurried to open her e-mail and pulled up Finnegan's link. It led to a shot of Sawyer smiling with Brooke, but without her glasses. She figured it was recent, except that Brooke wasn't openly at the cocktail party or jazz club. And it looked like a nighttime thing. Plus, Brooke was dressed a hundred times fancier than Belinda ever saw her. She scrolled over to expand the photo and read the caption like Finnegan told her.

It was tagged Sawyer and...

Riley.

She gasped. Belinda's eyes darted from the photo to the caption and back.

"Did you see it?" Finnegan said once she came back.

"This changes everything!" Belinda's mind flew to the Sykes' hidden notebook with Riley's name, the Sykes firing Riley for peeking at confidential files, and now Brooke (aka Riley) kidnapping Mrs. Sykes! "Finnegan, you have to call Jonas and tell him this! Now. I can't explain fully right this second, but I promise you this info is more vital than you probably realize."

"O–okay. I will. Are you about to hang up on me again?"

"I'm sorry, Finn. But I am. I owe you big time. Call Jonas!" She threw her phone on the other seat, put her car in reverse, and slammed on the accelerator. She made the two minutes to Victoria's in about thirty seconds.

"Why would she change her name?" Victoria said in disbelief as she stared at the photo in her kitchen.

Belinda paced, her heart in overdrive with this new information. Why, indeed? With Brooke's seeming CoveOps experience, Belinda was seriously starting to wonder who she'd hired. "Victoria, I have to tell you something."

Victoria stared with wide eyes while Belinda filled her in on the assault by Mrs. Sykes, the subsequent rescue by Brooke, and then their foray into kidnapping. She tried not to leave out any important details or nuances of the experience.

"I would say how horrifying," Victoria said when Belinda finished, "but this is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to either of us. Please, go on."

"Why did Brooke act like she doesn't know these people?" Belinda paced. "She worked for Sawyer and the Sykes, plus she's involved romantically with Sawyer, but she pretends like she's never seen them until now."

"You also need to consider that they pretended like they didn't know her." Victoria raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Sykes didn't tell you Riley is Brooke, and he must have known she was here at some point."

Belinda stopped by the window, staring off into the side yard. "Okay. So we know that Riley—Brooke or whoever she is—worked for the Sykes, got caught trying to access protected files, and got fired."

"Then, using the same name," Victoria said, "she left Portside for New York and got a job as Sawyer's assistant."

Belinda nodded. "Then Riley's employment stalls out for a year."

"She shows up here as Brooke and becomes your assistant working on a fashion show where two of her former employers converge."

"Two former employers who we know are involved with each other somehow, and at least one of them is embezzling from her business and fundraiser." Belinda meandered back to the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter, picking at one. "And the Sykes' notebook has Riley listed, so she may have been receiving money from them."

"So what does it mean? What is she? A blackmailer?"

Belinda shook her head. "It doesn't make much sense, unless Sawyer and the Sykes have something to hide that Brooke knows about. Or vice versa. Though that still doesn't explain all of Brooke's odd skills. Unless they're all secret agents."

"Well, Mr. Sykes volunteered the embezzling situation." Victoria drummed her nails on the counter. "So that's essentially out, and may be in bigger ways eventually. They won't be able to hide that forever. We don't know any of Sawyer's secrets, unless you count the shellfish allergy." Victoria leaned on the counter. "So, hypothetically, they make a deal that they won't give Brooke away if she leaves them alone?"

"Or vice versa," Belinda said. "If Brooke is running around using aliases, she has something to hide."

"So maybe something went awry with the deal or plan," Victoria said, "and that's why Brooke wanted to hide Mrs. Sykes."

"Brooke told me we were all in danger with Mrs. Sykes blabbing though." Belinda shook her head. "I need to get back to the boat before worse things happen here."

Victoria held up her purse. "What are we waiting for?"

Belinda drove them back to the Portside Harbor Marina. It was past dark now, and she hoped no one noticed and thought it odd she showed up twice in one day with her parents out of town. Especially at night. She could always go out on her own—she had a crew to call upon to man it if she desired—but it was still odd for Belinda. But it was too late to do anything now.

"So you stay here," Belinda said, unbuckling, "with Baby Hart and keep a lookout. Call if you see anything untoward. If unsafe things start going down, drive off without me and get help."

Belinda smiled and headed back down the same ramp and docks she had earlier, only without the weight of a live person. She walked casual, hopped on board, and unlocked the sliding door. She peeked inside, flicking on the lights, and stopped to listen. Nothing happened, so she kept going, flicking on lights as she moved down to the staterooms.

She inhaled to steady her pulse before opening door number three, the stateroom they'd plopped Mrs. Sykes into. Belinda opened the door slowly, peering through the crack, until she could reach the light and walked inside. She stared at the empty bed. Empty bed. Panic filled her gut. What had Brooke done?

Belinda checked all the other staterooms and ran back up to the main deck to make sure she wasn't there and Belinda missed her. Gone. Mrs. Sykes was gone! She texted Victoria and went back to the original stateroom to look for any evidence she hadn't dreamed the whole thing. But when she looked closer, the comforter was rumpled and a stray hair or two, long and blonde, graced the pillow sham. There was no blood or anything else gross, so more than likely Mrs. Sykes was alive.

Except that April Arteau had been smothered to death.

Belinda swallowed. Then the boat rocked. Victoria? No, it couldn't be. Victoria had just texted back for Belinda to get back to the car. But that wasn't an option now.

She quietly shut the door and turned out the light. It might buy her a few minutes anyway. She could hear feet padding around the carpet. She grabbed a way old fashion magazine in one of the night table drawers (probably hers—this was her stateroom) and rolled it up, psyching herself up to make a run for it.

She wrapped her fingers around the knob and held up the fashion magazine in the other (it was a thick special edition), shaking her head at how utterly nuts this was. On the count of three, she was swinging it wide open, like pulling off a bandage.

One. She steadied herself, gripping the magazine tighter.

Two. She mentally traced her way back to the outside deck.

Three. She prepared for fight and flight.

Okay, so she technically opened the door on four. But that's beside the point.

Belinda ran. She never considered herself a good runner. She felt clunky and awkward when she ran, and doubted she'd make it far in a race. But when you think someone might kill you, running becomes a whole new sport.

She escaped the reaching out hands of her intruder, not even wavering, and made it up the carpeted stairs with the sliding door in sight. Still gripping the magazine with one hand, she yanked on the annoying inlaid handle, barely able to keep her fingers on it long enough to make progress, but it wouldn't budge. They'd locked it.

Panic and Belinda trying to unlock a door was not going well. She couldn't get the small piece of metal to move. Salt water is wonderful until it mixes with your metal lock.

She could feel a human presence and whirled around, her cheeks hot, heart beating wildly, and her magazine held high. She was getting off this boat one way or another.

"Hi," Bennett said, his mouth pinched in a suppressed smile.

Belinda collapsed against the glass door, which squeaked as she slid down to the floor, dropping her magazine.

"You moved faster than I thought you would," he said. "I don't even think you saw me."

"You locked the door!" Belinda's voice cracked. "You scared me to death!"

"I didn't lock it."

"Yeah, you did." She jammed her thumb up at the lock. Bennett shooed her away from the door and without touching the lock, pushed the door open a crack. Belinda scrunched up her nose. Jerk. "What are you doing on my boat anyway?"

"Tailing you. You've been looking for trouble lately and I'm trying to help you avoid it."

"By scaring me to death?"

"I didn't mean to do that."

"And it didn't occur to you that with everything going on it might frighten me to have someone randomly show up here and shut the door and not say anything?" She was about to go into a tirade about Mrs. Sykes trying to dose her with epinephrine when she realized—oh, yeah. I helped kidnap her and now she's missing and might be dead.

Bennett did his hybrid head wiggle-nod move in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to freak you out."

"Well, you did!" She picked up her five-year-old special spring edition magazine and hurled it at him. With her nerves all bunched up, he only had to lean slightly to the left to avoid it. It didn't even faze him. He just launched into more questions.

"What were you doing here? At night?" Bennett's eyes grew suspicious. Belinda would need to tread this one carefully, but she had no prepared story in mind and with the scaring and the not-locked locked door, her mind was totally blank.

"I was thinking of using it—the boat—sometime soon and I wanted to check and see what we have here." Not bad on the fly.

"So you came here now. At night."

Belinda wrinkled her nose, still sitting on the floor. "I've been busy."

"You brought Victoria."

"Dan's working at home tonight and she was tired of having to be silent so she asked to come with me." So far, so good. Adrenaline can work miracles.

"You told her you were coming here?"

"We were chatting on the phone and yes, I told her." Belinda rolled her eyes, still steaming that he scared her so badly. "We're best friends. We tell each other stuff."

Bennett paused before asking his next question. "Why is she waiting in the car?"

Stupid observant man! "I was only coming in for a quick peek. There was no point in her coming too."

Satisfied for the moment, Bennett offered his hand and helped her to her feet. "Go home, Kittridge," he said gently.

"So you're going to tail me everywhere I go?"

"Very possibly."

Belinda looked at him warily. "So if I leave here and, say, go get dessert in town, you'll follow us?"

"Yes."

"The weather's nice and there's people about. We might decide to walk around a little before heading back."

"Go ahead."

"Then there's always the billiards place. They stay open late."

"I could use a beer."

Belinda chewed on her bottom lip. Was it just her or were they getting back to normal? He was bantering with her and his eyes—there was a glint in the center like he was enjoying this. That hope she felt at the police station. It was blossoming.

Bennett adjusted his hand, taking hold of hers more firmly. "Are you ready to go?"

Belinda nodded and after killing the lights, he walked her back to her car, leaning in to say hi to Victoria. And he called her Victoria, not Mrs. Hart. Another good sign.

"I was serious about the dessert," Belinda said out the window.

Bennett smiled. "I had no doubt." He knocked on the hood of her car and walked off toward the street.

Victoria raised her eyebrows. "What's going on there?"

Belinda's fear had slowly been replaced with butterflies. She felt giddy. "I think he likes me again."

Victoria clapped. "What's he doing here anyway?"

"What else? Stalking me."

"Well, naturally."

"I'm not sure." She glanced in her rearview mirror. "I still think he's up to something, but he's definitely watching me."

"So she's not on the boat."

Belinda pursed her lips, coldness seeping into her bones again. "No. There's no signs of a break in or struggling or anything."

"Then she may very well be fine."

Belinda heaved her purse out of the backseat, and dug out the sticky note with the numbers Brooke had texted to Sawyer. "What do you think those numbers belong to?"

Victoria read them, taking a second to mull over the possibilities. "A pin number? It looks like a pin number."

"For a debit card or something?"

"Could be. Or, you know cars and sometimes buildings use them." Belinda's eyes lit up and Victoria regarded her suspiciously. "Are we about to do something illegal?"

Belinda smirked. "I have an educated guess about whose apartment this opens. But we can't find out until much, much later. I need to make sure Bennett won't follow us."