Be Mine Page 18

  Lainey's jaw grows tight. "Yes, but I have those questions anyway."

  Her hand tugs on the file, but it doesn't move. Not with my heavy paw clamped down. "Here's my favor," I barrel forward. "I'm asking you not to look. I'm asking you to let me take care of this for you. All the what if questions in the world won't change what happened in the past. You made the right decision for you and Cassidy based on the information you had at the time."

  A hollow breath rattles in her chest. "All these girls, though, Nick. All of them, and if I'd spoken up, how many of them wouldn't have been hurt by him?"

  "If you had come out and said that Chip drugged you, used you, and wanted you to get an abortion, he'd have had those pictures plastered everywhere. The other guys in that group would have made the same accusations. Everything you feared for Cassidy would've come true. You were nobody, and Chip was a pro football player with a lot of money. All the reasons that were right and just and important at the time don't change today because you suddenly have new information. You’re the victim. You get to decide how you want to share this and when. Don't let Chip affect your future any more than he already has. Don't let him win." I reach across and grab her cold fingers in mine. "Let me take care of this."

  Her eyes are unreadable for a long, silent moment. I hold my breath. I'd gotten the file last night from Tom Kellogg, a former Naval investigator, who did private work for big corporations and wealthy individuals. He was known as the Excavator, a guy who could dig up secrets buried under concrete.

  And apparently, Chip's secrets weren't very deep at all, judging by the volumes of material Tom had dredged up in only a few days. Guy's an idiot, Tom had said.

  I knew what he meant after the first document. Tom had found eight girls, all between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, that Chip had violated using the same methods he had used on Lainey. They were vulnerable, impoverished girls from broken homes who were desperate for affection and a better life. He charmed them, plied them with drugs and alcohol, and then passed them around to his coterie of sick friends.

  If they got pregnant, as Lainey did, he'd offer to pay for an abortion. Most agreed. Lainey was the only one who didn't. At least, the only one Tom had found who didn't.

  "What will you do?" Lainey finally asks.

  If you need help burying the body, let me know, Tom added as I was leaving. The world won't hurt if he's missing. Can't imagine anyone would look too hard. Be a service.

  I don't think he was joking.

  "I'm going to ruin him." Killing Chip is too easy of an out. Plus, it puts Lainey and my family in danger. Taking away everything Chip values, however, is a punishment that keeps on giving. “I have the means to do this. All you have to do is trust me.”

  She tugs her fingers free from mine and rubs her hands on her lap, finally coming to a decision. "All right. I'll let you do this."

  "Thank you."

  Her eyes stay downcast, as if she's ashamed of the decision she just made. My heart aches for her. I scramble for the right words to say, but while I can make poetry on the football field, off of it, I'm not much of an artist.

  "It's the right thing, Lainey."

  "I hope so."

  "It is." I gather the file under my arm and get to my feet. "I've got a team meeting, and after, I'm going to take care of this thing, once and for all."

  We are both missing Cassidy who is with my parents, and until Chip is out of the picture, there’s no way for us to be a family. That's unacceptable.

  It's hard to sit in the quarterback meeting, reviewing our plays for Sunday, and not launch myself over the table at Chip. But tipping my hand wouldn't do any good. All the pieces have to be in place before I can bring this asshole down. If I don't do it right, he's going to pop up out of another hole, and then I might have to enlist Nate's help, which I definitely don't want to do.

  I know Lainey wouldn’t appreciate me trading my Mustangs uniform for an orange jumpsuit. I can probably kiss conjugal visits and being a father to Cassidy goodbye as well.

  I pause at the door and grab my center, Darnelle. “Is Coach around?”

  My teammate nods and jerks his head down the hall toward the training rooms. “Meeting with the med staff for an injury round-up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, you all right?" Darnelle asks. "You look tense and pissed off."

  "Just excited about killing my opponent," I reply. If only. Swiftly, I make for the door. A certain reporter likes to hang around after team meetings, and I want to catch him before he makes the rounds.

  I find Garrett Williams, the reporter, hovering by the locker room door. "Williams, what’s up?"

  He jerks around in surprise. "Hey, Jackson. How's it going?"

  I don an aggrieved expression. "I've had better days."

  His jaw drops at my unusual response, but he’s a pro and recovers quickly enough. His eyes light up as he tucks his phone away. His reporter senses are tingling. "I've got some time if you want to grab a drink."

  I make a show of checking my watch. "I don't know." I can't appear too eager.

  "Come on. One beer. Off the record, if you like,” he presses, glee and desperation dancing a salsa below the surface.

  One puzzle piece shoved into place. I hide my satisfaction behind a frown. "How about three? Over at the pub on El Segundo?"

  If Williams wonders why I suggest a place so far from the training facility, he doesn't show it. His professional mask is now firmly in place. "I'll see you there."

  William’s speculative gaze follows me down the hall as I make my way to the training rooms to push the second piece into place. Coach Zupp is bent over a table, his head close to Doc Vishwanath as they look over some player’s chart. I clear my throat.

  Coach looks up in irritation. “What is it, Jackson?”

  “Need a minute.”

  He waits for me to tell me what it is. I tip my head toward the doc, indicating I’d like the meeting to be alone.

  Coach sighs and straightens. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  Dr. V gathers up the files, gives me a warm smile, and leaves.

  “So this all right here or do we need to go to my office?”

  “We can use Dr. V’s office,” I reply and walk over to hold the door of the office open for Coach.

  He ambles over reluctantly and takes a seat. “You unhappy with the set plays for Sunday?”

  “Nope. They’re all good for me.” I sit down across from him, slim file in my lap.

  Zupp’s shoulders relax. “Then what’d you want to see me about?”

  “It’s about Chip Peters.”

  Zupp’s eyebrows gather together. “What about him?”

  “He needs to go.” I toss the folder into Coach’s lap. He catches it in surprise. “Go on,” I encourage. “Take a look.”

  The investigative report that Tom prepared has no names, merely ages, dates, times, locations, and genders. The pictures included all have the faces pixelated with the exception of Chip’s.

  Coach's face goes from blustery red to chalk white. "What the hell is this?"

  "This is the tip of the iceberg that our expensive, state-of-the-art ship is heading toward. We either get rid of the iceberg or suffer a fatal crash,” I say bluntly.

  "How'd you get this?"

  "I paid an investigator to look into it."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to win." I don't specify what I want to win at. Let Coach draw his own conclusions. "And this is going to keep us from winning. I thought I’d bring it to you before I go to the front office.” In other words, if Coach doesn’t immediately fire Chip, then I’m taking it up the ladder, and the front office guys are not going to like it.

  "So I fire him? Right in the middle of the season?” Coach Zupp starts sweating.

  "You fire him,” I confirm.

  “When?”

  "Today."

  "Today?" He balks. "We have our first game in two days. The distraction will be…"


  "I'm meeting with Garrett Williams today at three. If I don't hear that Chip's been fired by that time, this entire file—" I tap the folder on his knees. "This entire file will be given to Williams."

  "Our team could suffer. Let's get with PR to see how we should best handle this," Coach suggests.

  I get to my feet. "You have until three."

  And then I walk out.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lainey

  “They told him that if he wants to spend the entire time drawing with one crayon then that’s what we should let him do. He’s ten, for crying out loud! What happened to math and science?” The second Mrs. Ledet, Emily, rants on about the first Mrs. Ledet’s choice of schooling. The Ledets are new clients of Charlotte’s, and since she’s with her new husband, I’m taking point.

  I adjust the volume in my headset. “That doesn’t sound productive.”

  Despite wife number two’s relatively young age, twenty-one, she does have a point. The Meditative New School for Youth sounds ridiculously unfocused, but since the ten-year-old isn’t hers, she doesn’t have much of a say in where he goes to school. While counselor isn’t an official part of my job description, being good listeners is part of why we get repeat business.

  Emily rants for a few more minutes. As she winds down, I jump in with a suggestion. “Why don’t I set up some science camps for next summer? Maybe a father/son one so the two guys can spend some time together before Simon has to go off to training camp.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Emily pauses, and then in a small voice says, “I’ll never remember, though.”

  I scribble a note. “Not to worry. That’s why you have Forget Me Not. We’ll take care of everything.”

  The doorbell rings, saving me from any more discussion with Emily. “There’s someone at the door, Emily. I’ve got to run, but I promise that I’ll set up the summer camps.”

  “Oh, wait, we didn’t get to the last item on my list,” she protests. “I want to have holiday lights for the house. All white, large bulbs. One of the ladies at the club told me everyone in the homeowners association does them. They use a company called Lights On. This will be our first Christmas here and if we don’t participate, I know they’ll talk about us!”

  Rising to my feet, I make another note. Schedule Xmas lights even tho it’s Sept, I jot on a sticky. “On it, Emily.”

  The doorbell rings again, and I say my goodbyes before she can speak up. “I’ll touch base with you at the end of the week. Bye!”

  In my haste to get off the phone, I don’t look in the peephole. I don’t ask who is outside. I don’t pause to think who it might be. Instead, I swing open the door with an expectant look on my face. I see only half of Chip’s face before I realize my mistake. I should’ve made Emily go through her list another dozen times instead of answering the door.

  My ex darts inside before I can stop him. I fall back, watching helplessly as he kicks the door shut and locks it.

  “How’re you doing, Lainey? Feeling safe and smug in your house?”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms around my waist and backing into the room. “How’d you get past the doorman?”

  “Told him I was surprising my girlfriend.” He tosses a bouquet of mangled flowers to the side.

  The backs of my legs bump into the coffee table. I look behind me, wondering how fast I can get into my bedroom and lock myself inside.

  “Get out,” I say, but the words sound more like a plea than a command. I try again, this time with bravado. “Get the hell out!”

  A nasty smile stretches across Chip’s face, as if he can smell my fear. “Make me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my phone on the table. I lunge for it, but before I can make contact, Chip’s fist whips out and strikes me in the chin.

  I spin around, knocking the lamp over. Stumbling, I try to catch myself, but my hand slips off the edge of the table, and I fall to my knees. His sneaker-clad foot is in my gut before I can steady myself.

  Tears spring into my eyes, but the physical pain jolts the fear out of me. I scramble backwards for space, casting about for a weapon. There are magazines on the table. There’s the lamp that fell down. There’re my feet and my fists. I’m not going to make this easy for him.

  Chip bends down, shoving a hand in my hair and wrenching my neck back. “Guess why I’m here.”

  “Because you got fired?” I reach up to grip his wrist and try to pry it away from my head.

  His nostrils flare in anger. “That’s right, bitch.”

  His hand comes up to slap me, but this time I block it with my other hand. The impact sends a sharp pain from my wrist down my arm, but the resistance surprises Chip. Only for a second, though. His hand tightens in my hair.

  “You broke the deal, and now I’m breaking you.” He tries again to strike me, but I fend him off.

  I kick out like a child having a tantrum, windmilling my legs. I hear him grunt as my foot makes contact with his thigh.

  “You fucking bitch. I’m going to hurt you so fucking bad.” He wrenches my leg to the side and then falls on top of me. Two hundred plus pounds drive me into the carpet.

  I thrash underneath him, but he’s too strong. Keep fighting, I tell myself. He pulls on my hair again and this time I let him, allowing the pain to feed my own anger. I scratch at his face, catching him in the eye.

  “Goddammit!” he screams. He pushes up to his feet and for a moment, I think I’m free. For a moment. Then he starts dragging me by my hair toward the kitchen. “I’m going to cut this fucking hair off, and then I’m going to rape you with a knife because you’re not worth sticking my dick in again.”

  I can’t stop the tears—the ones of pain, the ones of fear. But I can still fight.

  “This is stupid, Chip. And you’re not stupid.” I make an appeal to his vanity while frantically thinking of a way to free myself. I need to jerk free. He’s got one hand on my head. I can get out of this. I can. I need leverage.

  “This is the best idea I’ve had yet.” He sounds cheerful. The man has lost his ever-lovin’ mind. My butt hits the tile as we cross the threshold from the living room into the kitchen. “See, if Nick is going to ruin me, then there’s no reason for me to be careful anymore. And if I’m going down, I’m going to make him regret it. What better way than to fuck you up? Literally.” He chuckles. The ball of terror in my stomach flips as he halts in front of the counter.

  “Hurting me isn’t going to hurt Nick. We’re friends.” I claw at his wrist, but he doesn’t even flinch.

  “Right. That’s why I got fired today. Because I messed with his friend. Fuck you, bitch.”

  The sound of a knife leaving the butcher block sends chills down my spine.

  “You’ve always loved your hair, Lainey. You know what they say? Pride goes before the fall.” He chuckles again.

  When he applies the knife to my hair, I can’t stifle my sob. He’s right. I do love my big, messy, curly hair. But I love my life more. I shut my eyes and force myself to concentrate. When the hair is sliced off, I’ll have a moment of freedom. I wait for that. I ignore the strands of hair that fall to the floor and concentrate all my energy on the tiny window of opportunity that will be coming.

  “You must have a magic pussy, huh? What’d you offer him that some other jock chaser couldn’t? Did you let him fuck you up the ass? Does he have some fetish? That’s it, isn’t it? He’s got some weird-ass kink, and you’ll do anything for him, won’t you?” He grabs me by the chin, the knife’s blade precariously close to my face. “What is it?”

  I clench my jaw shut. “Tell me!” he screams, leaning down to make sure his spit hits my face. But as he does, his grip loosens. And there it is—my chance.

  I spring forward, right into his hand holding the knife. It slices me across the cheek, but I keep going. I keep running, pushing toward my bedroom. There’s a roar behind me. His feet slam against the carpet.

  I lunge for my nightstand, and i
n one smooth, superhuman motion that I’d never be able to repeat if I practiced it a thousand times, I pull out the handgun my momma gave me all those years ago and swing it around, shooting Chip in the chest just as he reaches for me.

  The blast sends him backward. I pull the trigger twice more. There’s a gurgling noise, and then the sound of a body crashing to the floor. The recoil from the handgun knocked me down too. I push myself up on an elbow, holding the gun up with my other hand—just in case.

  But the body in the doorway doesn’t move. I reach up and grab the phone from my nightstand—it’s a miracle I didn’t knock it off—and dial Nick’s number.

  “Lainey? I’m on my way to meet with—”

  “I shot Chip in the chest,” I interrupt. “I may have killed him.”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up and call 9-1-1.

  “This is 9-1-1, please state your emergency.”

  “I’ve had an intruder…”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nick

  “Tell me again why Miss Valdez called you before calling 9-1-1?”

  “Like you said, I’ve already explained multiple times,” I snap. The lawyer the team sent over clears her throat from the end of the sofa, a sign she wants me to answer the question. Except I’ve answered it three times already. Gathering my composure, I say evenly, “I don’t know.”

  “Can you elaborate?” The detective—her nametag says Ramos—poises her pen on her notebook as if waiting for something revelatory to fall from my lips.

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing because she was afraid that her attacker would hurt her again.”