The Dangerous Edge of Things

CHAPTER 46

The Phoenix team descended like a thunderstorm, and Trey disappeared into the chaos. I didn’t have time to ponder the rescue mission, however—I was shoving my way through a sea of perplexed rich people, keeping my eyes on Gabriella. She stood beside the vanishing edge pool, her hair loose and rippling, her expression curious. She didn’t attempt to flee, but by the time I reached her, my sides heaved from my sprint across the courtyard.

“Stay where you are!” I yelled.

She shrugged. “Why would I run?”

And she didn’t, she just stepped behind a cabana out of sight of the other partygoers. This wasn’t how I’d expected the encounter to go, but if she wanted to surrender, that was cool with me. Of course if she didn’t, and I had to wrestle her to the ground and throw her thieving French self into the pool, I was okay with that too.

Once I got Trey’s gun back.

“Here,” she said, “it’s unloaded.”

She handed me her purse. It was like holding a brick. I peeked inside and saw Trey’s H& snuggled in the red velvet lining, the magazine nestled beside it.

I closed it back up. “Why?”

“Why did I take it? Or why did I bring it back?”

“Both.”

She sighed. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Very well. I had a vision.”

I stared at her. “A what?”

“It was horrible—blood everywhere, and Trey…” She trailed off, one pale hand trembling at her temple. “All I could think about was what happened last time, when he shot that man at the convenience store. Do you know that story?”

I folded my arms. “I don’t see—”

“The vision wasn’t clear, but I could tell he was angry, and that he was very close to hurting someone, just like then. And I knew I had to stop it from happening.”

“So you decided to steal his weapon?”

She ignored me. “Only once I got home, I realized I might have misinterpreted the vision. So I laid out the cards. And there it was—Justice. And I knew then that no matter what, he’d be all right, being of pure heart. So I brought the gun back.”

She laid the story out so simply, as if this happened to everyone all the time. Visions, cards, thievery, pure hearts. I was at a loss.

“You went in his computer.”

“I sent him an e-mail, to explain. Didn’t he read it?”

“No, he didn’t read it! There was a freaking key logger…” I rubbed my temples. Why was I explaining this to her? “Never mind. Just tell me—how did you get on the property tonight with that in your purse?”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if that were the dumbest question ever. “I bribed the person in the van, the curly-haired one? Two thousand dollars.” She made a face. “Terribly rude young man. But he knows how to bargain, I’ll give him that.”

***

Trey sent me a message about an hour later, telling me to meet him on the deck behind the Beaumonts’ cabin. I found him standing at the railing, his hands resting lightly on the white wood, one finger tap-tap-tapping a steady rhythm.

I handed him the purse. “Your girlfriend is a f*cking lunatic—I’ll explain why later. Other than that, I have nothing to report.”

Trey looked inside the purse and his jaw clenched. “How did she get past security with this?”

“She waved two thousand dollars at Steve Simpson and he let her through. When I see him again, I am going to strangle him with his own hair.”

“This is what happens when people break the rules. I try to explain this, but nobody listens.”

He checked the gun—it was unloaded. The secondary magazine was full, but unengaged. Satisfied, he handed the purse back to me. “Take this to the suite, please, and secure it in the safe. I’ll use the one you provided for the rest of the night.”

He looked exhausted. I imagined his every sinew pulled tight, every nerve stretched thin. I put a hand on his shoulder and the muscle tensed beneath my palm.

“How’s Charley?”

“She’s resting. One of the guests gave her a tranquilizer.”

Nothing like a classy Schedule IV opiate to make things all better, I thought. “What happened?”

“She said she got dizzy because she hadn’t eaten and that Jake grabbed her to steady her.”

“Bullshit! Jake said something to her, and it upset her so much that she fainted. She can’t blame that on an empty stomach.”

I leaned on the railing beside Trey. In the distance, the sun set in a slow melt of honey and amber. I kicked my shoes off and wiggled my toes. The wood under my stocking feet felt cool and moist.

“What happened to Jake?”

“Mark had him thrown off the premises.”

“And that’s it?”

The tap-tapping of Trey’s finger on the wood railing intensified.

“Look,” I said, “something’s up and nobody’s talking, not Charley, and especially not Mark.”

“Mark and Landon are heading back to the reception. Charley’s staying in the cabin.”

“She shouldn’t be left alone, not with Jake lurking about.”

“Mark asked me to stay with her. Charley wants the cabin empty, however, so I’m supposed to wait here until she goes to sleep.”

He looked across the lake as he spoke, the polished water a darkening void before him. And suddenly nothing made sense, nothing in the whole world, and all I wanted to do was get out of my ridiculous dress and into some jeans.

And I especially wanted to lose the heavy cargo in the spangled purse. One gun was protection, but two was a burden. Dexter was right—guns aren’t easy things.

Trey buttoned his jacket. “What will you do now?”

“Wait for you in the suite. My stint as girl detective is over for the night. Find me when you’re done?”

He took his eyes of the horizon for the first time. They were tired, but steady. Dark, like the coming night. “I’ll find you.”

***

I walked back to the main resort, shoes in hand. I’d left Trey at attention on the deck, his only concession to comfort a fresh bottle of Pellegrino. I could hear the party still going on by the swimming pool and could see the aura of the lights, bright and contained like a football stadium. It held no appeal anymore, none whatsoever.

I plodded on in the dark. I’d just hit the main property when I saw a figure duck behind one of the columns along the front entrance.

Jake!

I threw down my shoes and Gabriella’s purse and drew my own weapon. It was more baffling in the dark than I would have predicted, but I got it in hand quickly. Was I willing to use it? Or was it just a cold metal bluff?

The figure slid from the shadows into a pool of light. And then I saw the chestnut tumble of curls.

Not Jake.

Steve Simpson.

I pointed the gun right at him. “You!”

He spun around and threw his hands in the air. “For crissakes, put that away!”

“Why aren’t you in the van?”

“I’m getting a cup of coffee.”

“Bullshit! You’ve got a coffeemaker in there, I saw it!”

He put his hands down. “Fine. You caught me. I’m running away. Happy now?”

I kept the gun on him. “Running from what?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, f*cked-up shit is happening, and I’m not talking about Trey’s usual weirdness or Charley passing out or that crazy French chick.”

“You’re the one who let the crazy French chick in!”

“So what? I quit. A little wire tapping is one thing, but people are getting killed, and I don’t want to be next.”

“Why do you think you might be?”

“Because I know stuff.” He folded his arms. “And so do you. Which means I’d keep that gun ready to go if I were you. But not aimed at me, okay?”

I watched him in the light at the edge of the darkness, the groomed safety of the hedges behind him. He held the key to the whole mess, I knew he did, and if I didn’t think of a way to get it out of him, he’d vanish into the night, and the Parade of Almost Truth and Sorta Justice would keep marching on.

“You know,” I said, “if you know something and don’t tell anyone, that makes you accessory after the fact. All I have to do is get out my cell phone and bam—you’re a fugitive from justice.”

“Get real. The cops don’t care about the truth.”

“I know one who does.”

He hesitated. I waited, ready to fire if he made one wrong move. Then I noticed the bulge in his shirt pocket.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah?”

I lowered the gun, took my finger off the trigger. “Come on, I know someplace out of the way. You tell me what you know, I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe we can work something out.”

***

I took him down to the lake edge, far enough away from the party that we could have some privacy, but close enough that I could scream and be heard easily. Excellent girl detective behavior.

“We’d had Eliza under surveillance for about six months,” he began, “ever since she showed up in Atlanta. I didn’t ask why. That’s part of the job, you know—do what you’re told and don’t ask questions—and frankly, I didn’t give a shit.”

We were in the boathouse, which was deserted except for a few party yachts bobbing in the water. Aside from the distant drone of the party and the slap slap of waves against wood, it was silent.

“Anyway, Landon made sure that the camera outside her apartment was functional from the get-go, and that we had our own copies of the footage. He had me reviewing those—when she left, who came over, how long they stayed. Nothing exciting. And then he asked me to put in the phone tap.”

“Those are illegal.”

“Yeah. But Landon said he had APD authorization.”

“And you believed that?”

He blew out a stream of smoke. “Nope. But I didn’t argue. I figured if it blew up, I had deniability and could throw the shit back uphill. We didn’t get anything interesting, though. Eliza was loose, but she wasn’t creepy. Jake Whitaker, now, that’s a different story.”

“Let me guess—he liked to watch.”

“Yeah, peeping in people’s windows, messing with the surveillance cameras. He had the one outside Eliza’s either pointed at the pool or the piece of lawn where people sunbathed, not at the apartments. And he used his passkey to get into women’s apartments when they weren’t home.”

“Did you tell Landon?”

“Yes. But he didn’t care.”

“Not even about the misuse of the security cameras?”

“Not enough to fix the problem.”

“Did you?”

“Not my job to care.”

My first drag on the cigarette sent a shot of nicotine right into my brain, like getting splashed with cold water. But it calmed me too. It made me forget I was sitting in a boathouse with a stranger, and with a killer on the loose. Of course I still had two guns in my lap, so there was that.

“How did Dylan Flint fit into the picture?”

“The papparazzi wannabe? Eliza e-mailed him, IM’d and texted too. They traded pictures a lot.”

“Did you help ransack his place?”

Steve shrugged. “Landon’s orders. Dylan had a lot of shots of the Beaumonts that we didn’t think he needed to have.”

I tapped the ash into the water. Something was trying to connect in my brain. “Jake said something to Charley that freaked her out so badly she fainted. He said it because he knew he was getting fired, and he was thinking he could coerce her into intervening. He found out something, probably by snooping on Eliza, and whatever it was, he’d been saving it for a while. Any idea what that might be?”

Steve licked his lips. “Eliza was seriously into Charley—she had hundreds of pictures of her. She sent e-mails too, lots of them.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or smack him. “Did Charley ever send anything back?”

“Just the usual form reply.”

“Nothing? No cease and desist warnings?”

“Why? Eliza was a dumb kid, annoying but harmless.”

Dumb, perhaps, but smart enough to call Eric and ask about confidentiality. By that time, she was out of her league and scared to death. So many clashing motivations and backstories—Jake, Dylan, Eliza, the Beaumonts, Phoenix, my brother. I knew there was a thread somewhere in there, a thread that connected everything. Pull the wrong thread, though, and everything unraveled. I knew that too.

“So why didn’t the cops find the Phoenix surveillance equipment when they searched her apartment?”

“Beats me. All I know is, the cops show up Friday night and that place is as clean as a whistle. I just assumed Landon pulled some strings.”

It was coming together, like an astrological convergence. I could feel planets sliding into place, meteors colliding, stars imploding.

“I need a flow chart.”

“A what?”

I handed Steve the rest of my cigarette. “Here. I’ve got to go find a legal pad.”

He took it. I grabbed my guns and my shoes and started up the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to talk to Trey.”

“You can’t just leave me here! What if—“

I gave him my revolver. “Here. It’s small and simple, loaded too. Point and shoot.”

He stared at it in bewilderment. I threw Gabriella’s spangled purse, now empty, into his lap and kept Trey’s Phoenix-issue H& for myself. I loaded it with a full magazine of eight. And then I squeezed the grip, watching with satisfaction as the firing pin pulled back with an oily snick. I disengaged the squeeze cock and tucked it in my leather purse.

“And Steve? You’d best be cutting yourself a deal, and soon. Call Dan Garrity, he’s a good guy. And tell him all hell’s about to break loose.”

***

I tried calling Trey on my way back to the Beaumont cabin, but got no answer. It didn’t matter—I was already on the porch. I tapped on the door, lightly, so I wouldn’t wake Charley. Still no answer. I tried the door and it opened easily, revealing the dark interior. No lights, no noise.

“Trey?”

I saw him then, on the floor, and my stomach clenched. But before I could make a move, Charley Beaumont stepped out of the shadows.

With a gun. Which she had pointed right at me.

“Close the door,” she said. “And don’t even think about screaming.”