Evelyn Page 7

  My heart flipped in my chest and I was flustered. I didn’t understand his comment but his confidence was infectious. It made me want to trust he could help me by doing something that sounded simple. “Ace, you’re cute and everything, but...”

  “Cute? Just cute?”

  “Seriously. I don’t know if I can pull this off. I’m not even sure what you want me to do.”

  “Just be yourself,” he said with a wink. “Only, not exactly yourself because of the obvious. You know, with you being a drug dealer and all.” His blue eyes sparkled, and he grinned at his own joke.

  I was more stunned that he was considering this at all. Could I pull it off by changing everything about myself?

  If he could do what he promised, it might be my only shot.

  I considered what I would have to do. I could blend in with society. I knew what to say. I knew what was expected of me. Make small talk, drink champagne, and somehow convince this rival of his to leave Ace alone.

  One party, or turn myself in?

  Did I have much of a choice?

  Dangerous

  (Ace)

  Ace encouraged Eva to go upstairs and put on more aloe.

  Her face...her skin was so red. When he shocked her about knowing what happened to her though, it turned brighter. The more he informed her of the reality, the more she shook, the more she seemed surprised.

  It was all too clear she was telling the truth.

  Which was odd, considering he was a stranger who was pointing it all out. She incriminated herself as having access and if he was any sort of official law enforcement...if he had been a licensed private investigator like Diego, he would have had to call the police and tell them everything.

  He should, of course, but a day or two delay wouldn’t hurt. She was harmless.

  She needed help.

  Once he heard her footsteps on the second-floor landing, he returned to the office and shut the door. It wasn’t his favorite place in the house, but it had the wide window.

  Loïc had ample opportunity to see her. They had lingered long enough.

  Ace sat in his office chair, twisting from side to side, the arms of the chair knocking into the desk. He considered his next move. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Soma.

  Soma answered within a half a ring. “I’m on my way,” he said.

  “I know.” Ace turned his chair around and stared absently out the window to the chessboard garden. “I need you to turn around again and pick something up for me.”

  “Text me a list.”

  “I just need hair color, various shades. And supplies to cut hair.”

  Pause.

  Soma’s voice deepened. “I’m not a hairdresser. I can’t cut your hair. Shouldn’t we just make an appointment somewhere?”

  “Not for me. For Eva.”

  Another pause, longer this time. “You said she’d leave this morning.”

  “She’s decided to stay.”

  “She decided? She’s refusing to leave?”

  Ace smiled and leaned back until the back of the chair was stopped by the desk behind him. “I may have talked her into it.”

  “You’re absolutely insane,” Soma said, his voice shaking. “He’ll find her soon. He’ll find out who she is...”

  “No doubt he will, and I want him to this time. I left the window open in the office.”

  The stammering on the other end of the line amused Ace immensely. He pushed fingers to his lips to stop himself from laughing.

  “Does she know what’s going on? Did you tell her?”

  “No, but that’s okay. She has nothing to lose, Soma.” The more he considered this, the more he was sure. “She’s perfect. And she said yes without asking much. I didn’t force her. She could have walked out of here, but at the chance to save her own skin, she’s willing to do whatever I ask.”

  “I think you’re making the mistake,” Soma said. “She’s not the sort to bend over and just do whatever you want.”

  “I’m not asking for blind faith, but you heard her. She’s got heart, and she’s willing to take a risk. We’ll take some time to get to know her. Who knows? Maybe after, she’ll want to stick around.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “In the meantime, we need to change her appearance. Loïc isn’t going to attempt anything dangerous, but we don’t need anyone else interfering just yet.” He always found his French rival’s name interesting to say out loud. He made faces as he repeated it silently to himself. Low-IEEK.

  “Hair color, then.” Soma sighed into the phone. Clicking sounds emerged like a turn signal. The car engine revved. “Turning around. Anything else? Probably some makeup, yeah?”

  “Nothing that will damage her skin,” he said. “Ask specifically for anything that won’t hurt a sunburned face. Also, get in touch with Diego again. Have him check on what’s going on in Atlanta. Find some loophole to get her off the hook. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “What about a lawyer?”

  “No,” he said. “I mean yes, eventually, but I want Diego on it first. Whatever will clear her name. A signed confession from that ex of hers that she had nothing to do with it. A private interview. Anything to not have to walk into the police station in Atlanta. If it can be done from here, all the better. I don’t want someone who could be paid off to bumble this.”

  Ace hung up, and slid the phone onto his desk.

  The phone vibrated immediately.

  He swiped to check the text message.

  It was a single photograph from Loïc.

  The photo showing Ace and Eva, a photo as if taken from the chessboard garden, at the time when Ace had hold of Eva’s wrist.

  Ace grinned, his heart drumming, his skin tingling.

  A follow-up text came in.

  LOÏC: ?

  Ace stood, shaking his head, and then left the phone on the desk. He turned to the window, staring right out it. He wouldn’t see Loïc from here, but he was absolutely sure Loïc could see him. He’d been out there watching. Unable to hear, only because the house prevented it.

  Ace spoke, knowing Loïc’s lip reading was pretty good. It was why he kept moving Evelyn around. “Come and find out who she is.”

  He turned away from the window, leaving his phone. Let him find out.

  For the first time in a long time, this game was about to turn in his favor.

  Change

  (Eva)

  I might have agreed to Ace’s plan, but something wasn’t right about it.

  I sat up in the bedroom he had given me, with the curtains drawn in tight, fearing someone could peek in at any moment. I traced my fingertips across my dry, cracked lips, testing the damaged areas around my face for tenderness.

  Public disgrace used to mean embarrassed by family and friends. Now it meant your face was plastered all over news channels and hate rained down in the form of email and comments on your social media. People who didn’t know you, nor cared to find out the truth, because truth today was someone else’s opinion.

  I knew this because I’d seen it happen a few times. Clients coming in complaining about someone, a person they had never met, and how horrible he or she was. Some internet outrage firestorm they felt passionate about.

  Once, it was the person I was talking to that was at the heart of it. She needed a new look because she was leaving the country. She said something off the cuff online, meant to be a joke, and it turned around on her, taken way out of context. No one cared about the context. They just wanted to hate. Her story about how she lost her job and couldn’t look at a cell phone any more haunted me.

  This was why I had my initial reaction to skip town and just forget about everything. If there was nothing important I needed, it was better to simply go away until people forgot about you. It could take a couple of months, or more. I just happened to not need anything at all and I could have disappeared forever. Eventually, quietly delete my accounts. Maybe never even join again.

  I reached for the phone on the bed
, tracing the rhinestones. I was tempted to simply throw it away, but I had no idea what I might need it for later.

  Ignore it all. They can’t reach you here. No one knows where you are.

  I opened the side table’s drawer and threw the phone and my wallet into it. After a second thought of consideration, I took out what little cash I had left—around sixty dollars—and put that in my pocket. If I ran into a situation where I couldn’t come back, I wanted at least enough for food and a night in a motel.

  There was no way I’d assume I was safe. As much as I hoped Ace would be true to his word, I needed proof. I didn’t know him enough to trust him. I couldn’t. Not now. I’d let my guard down before.

  I went to the door and opened it slowly, peeked out into the hallway and listened.

  There was an echo of Ace’s voice downstairs, around the area of his office. Silence followed.

  No footsteps. Nothing to indicate there were any other people in the house.

  I eased out into the hallway and I waited. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I just wanted to get to know Ace without him knowing I was looking into him.

  I tried the next door over, which was a small sitting area with bookshelves lined with novels.

  I stepped into the space, reading the titles. They were mostly action adventure, with a few westerns and a slew of fantasy. Almost all of them novels with only a smattering of nonfiction.

  The next door had another guest bedroom, clean with a bed ready, the main color blue instead of green but with little other difference.

  On the other side of the stairs, the door was locked.

  Odd. I listened downstairs but when I heard Ace walking around, I froze. His footsteps echoed deeper into the house, but I couldn’t figure out where.

  I wasn’t about to risk trying to break into the door, but I bent down to spy through the keyhole.

  The room was dark. There were boxes along one wall. For all I knew, it was just an old storage room.

  Further down the hall, the space opened up for an informal living room with a large television display and plush, modern couches. There was a single remote on a wide coffee table and more bookshelves, this time with more knickknacks and small collections of colorful books I imagined were more decorative than for reading.

  The space was also open to the main stairs, part of it overlooking the front foyer below. The steps continued up to a third floor.

  A master suite would normally be on the bottom level, but as Ace was downstairs, I didn’t want to take that much risk, not yet at least.

  I eased my way to the third floor, just to get a layout since I wanted to get back to where I was supposed to be.

  The third floor opened up immediately with a bare black and white kitchen tile floor, with a kitchenette along one wall. There was a small, two-seat table and the counter for the kitchenette was clean, with two coffee cups and two plates drying in a rack next to the sink.

  Two. Did they both have breakfast upstairs today?

  Above the informal living room toward the front of the house, there appeared to be an exercise room with weight equipment and treadmill and walls lined with mirrors.

  Behind the kitchenette was another closed door.

  I went to it, peering into the lock and then at the edges to ensure no one was behind it. When I heard nothing, I tested the handle, ready with an excuse on my lips that I was just exploring.

  It was a bedroom, but clearly in use. The walls were painted white brick, with wood beams to give it an antique appearance. The curtains were drawn, so the area was dark even with a desk lamp still on, but there was a fresh basket of folded dark clothes sitting on the bed and a Kindle on top of one of the side tables.

  There was masculinity on the dark dresser top: a wrist watch, a couple of cufflink sets, a tie pin. On the corner lay more books, thick literary and fantasy volumes.

  I suspected this was where Soma stayed. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of going any further. I stayed for a minute, examining the space and just taking in what I could about him.

  There was a desk to one side, with a laptop that was shut. Off to the side of that was a notebook, with a single pen on top.

  I listened again and then eased closer to check the contents, finding a shopping list and a random phone number off along the edge of the page. No name associated with it.

  I was about to leave when I spotted the trash can next to the desk, and a torn piece of paper, clearly from the same notebook, mixed in with other bits of trash.

  Do I dare?

  I made myself believe that I was trying to protect myself. I didn’t care what Soma or Ace did with their privacy, and I wasn’t about to make quick judgements. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t getting involved with people who could make my life worse than it was.

  What could be worse, I wasn’t certain, but I didn’t want to find out. What I really needed to know about Ace was if he could actually do as he promised. Otherwise, I was risking more by staying and pretending to be someone else. A judge wouldn’t see any of this as innocent, even if I could have persuaded one that my running off wasn’t an intentional effort to avoid questioning.

  I pulled the pieces from the trash, and used the pen and notebook to pull another sheet of paper, write something on it to tear and toss back into the trash.

  With that, I folded the page, put it in with the cash in my pocket. I repositioned the notebook and pen neatly, eased back out of the room and closed the door behind me.

  I ran as quietly as I could back to the stairs, easing myself down the steps to not make a sound on the way. The pieces of paper burned in my pocket. I’d never stolen a thing in my entire life, and my shaking was as hard as if I’d stolen jewelry instead of trash.

  Stupid. Stupid... As I moved through the hall, I reconsidered what I’d done. I shouldn’t have tried to write anything and left evidence. Would Soma notice? Still, I wasn’t about to get caught trying to piece together torn bits of paper inside his bedroom. I didn’t dare go back and replace the torn pieces.

  When I was back in the green guest bedroom, I closed the door silently and then braced my back against it. I let out a huge breath, trying to slow my racing heart.

  After quickly locking the door, I ran the water in the sink to cover any noise.

  Not that it mattered. I was back where I was supposed to be. Not like Soma could hear me fiddling with paper.

  I spread the paper over the side of the sink, careful not to expose it to water droplets flying from the faucet.

  I ignored the writing until I could complete the puzzle. I was missing one corner when I finished, but it was enough to figure it out.

  The top of the page had an Atlanta address, and from the street name, I suspected it was the hotel that Ace had stayed at the night before. It was famous tourist street block so it was recognizable.

  Then off to the side, there was a note to call someone named Diego, and then below that, there was a score card.

  A: 19

  L: 23 25

  The crossed-out number had me thinking of keeping score. A... Ace? Who was L?

  Or was it anything? It could have been the latest score to a local sports game for all I knew.

  I tapped my fingernails against the marble of the counter and considered the information, an odd collection of notes.

  Then I noticed the indentions, notes that had been written out on the previous page.

  I bent over, angling to see if I could pick out what it was. No chance. The lights were too bright in the bathroom to make it out.

  I returned to the bedroom and went to the desk off to the side. I found a desk set with a notepad in the drawer and fished out a piece of paper and a pencil.

  I went back to the bathroom and wrote down what had been written before. Then I worked carefully, using the edge of the pencil against the piece of paper, doing my best with the smaller torn pieces. I used the graphite to outline the dents in the page,

  There were a couple of phone numbers jotte
d down, a book title and author name.

  But in the corner was another scorecard.

  A: 19

  L: 22

  A daily score.

  Again, I suspected Ace was the A, but I could have been wrong. This could have been how many times Soma has beat a rival at chess online.

  I doubted it. The initials didn’t make sense.

  Who or what was L?

  I studied the numbers. I didn’t know what Ace was doing the day before yesterday, but as of yesterday morning, he was supposedly at a hotel getting a face full of camera from vloggers. He claimed it to be a rival.

  Was Soma keeping score of this?

  It was somewhat disheartening to think so, but it was a strong possibility.

  I wrote down the numbers and the score, marking dates on each. If I stayed longer, I wanted to see the update in his notes. Folding the paper carefully, I went back for my phone in the side table drawer. I pulled the case apart, stuck the note to the back of the phone, and put the case back on. Unless someone took it apart again, no one would see.

  I looked around to where I could hide the torn pages. I ended up tearing each one into even smaller pieces. One by one, I pushed the pieces into the sink drain and let them wash away. I probably should have used the toilet, but this seemed soothing for some reason.

  When the last of the pieces went down, I turned off the flowing water.

  I picked up the aloe lotion. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I mindlessly rubbed aloe into my skin. I barely felt the cool sting and then soothing.

  My heart thundered, sure that Ace had heard, or Soma. Soma would come back and notice the torn page missing from the trash. He’d know it was me.

  Who was L?

  Maybe my imagination was getting away from me.

  Still, this whole thing was starting to make less sense. When Ace promised to help and asked his favor, I was relieved. Yet encouraging me to postpone going to the police seemed like a bad idea all around.

  His secretive nature further led me to believe there was something I needed to know about him—and perhaps this rival of his— before I completely settled for whose side I was on, if any.