Best She Ever Had (9781617733963) (10 page)

“Thanks for the ride,” she said nonchalantly before slamming the door shut and racing up the slate driveway to the Gibbons mansion's French doors.

She didn't look back.

Korey drove home, not knowing what to think. He lay awake in bed later that night, replaying that day, wondering if what happened between them held any potential.

No,
he resolved before turning off his television and lights and closing his eyes. A girl like Cynthia would never be interested in him. He had been a passing amusement, and it was best for him to forget what had happened.

By the time he arrived at school the next morning, he had prepared himself to once again be ignored by Cynthia, and she proved him right. He saw her near her locker, and she looked past him as though he were a pane of glass. He saw her in line at the cafeteria, and she continued to chatter and laugh with her sister Dawn, like he wasn't there.

“Told you so,” a voice in his head chided as she walked by his lunch table, completely oblivious to him.

So when the school day ended and he walked back to his car, he was shocked to find—of all people—Cynthia leaning against his car hood, waiting for him.

“Wanna go for another ride?” she asked with a grin.

What was he supposed to say?
No?

He eagerly nodded and stepped forward to unlock his car doors.

That's how it all started . . .

 

“That bitch Vivian knew she couldn't win in a fight with me, so she got back at me the one way she knew how—by fucking
you!
” Cynthia screeched as she pointed at him, making the cabdriver lean over to stare at her in the rearview mirror, then slowly shake his turbaned head.

Korey rolled his eyes. It was obvious that she hadn't paid much attention to his suggestion of letting go of her grudge against Vivian.

“She knew we were together! She knew you were—”

“I don't know how she would have known that,” he replied, deciding if Cynthia wanted an argument, then damn it, he would give her one. “How would anyone have known we were together with all the cloak-and-dagger bull you made me do! ‘No one can know we're together, Korey! It can't get back to my mom,' ” he said in a high-pitched voice, mimicking her. “For seven months, I kept making up stuff and sneaking around like a criminal so no one would figure out we were a couple. It got so bad my mama thought I was on drugs! She was about to send me off to rehab until I told her about you!”

“Well, Vivian sure as hell figured it out! She wanted you all along and she got you!”

“And you got everything else! So what's your point?”

“What?” She stilled. “What does that mean?”

What did she think he meant? If you considered how the two women's lives had turned out, Cynthia definitely was the victor. She was wealthy and beautiful—basically a more mature version of the knockout she had been in high school. Meanwhile, the years hadn't been as kind to Vivian. She was about sixty pounds heavier, had a lot more wrinkles, and was far from wealthy. In fact, she and her second husband were up to their eyeballs in debt thanks to Vivian's crazy spending habits. She had even swallowed her pride and borrowed money from Korey a few times to pay overdue bills.

“You won, Cindy. You won, all right?” he said. “You got the big house. You got the millionaire. You got everything your little heart desired. Why can't—”

“No, I didn't,” she blurted out, making him frown.

“No, you didn't what?”

“I didn't get everything my heart desired,” she answered softly.

Their eyes locked, and Korey saw longing and regret in those irises that unnerved him.

Not possible,
he told himself. There were many things he knew Cynthia was capable of, and remorse wasn't one of them. She was probably still drunk from what she'd swallowed on the plane, and he remembered that sometimes alcohol made her maudlin and moody. She'd turn back into the old Cynthia as soon as she sobered up.

The cab pulled to a stop in the semicircular driveway in front of their hotel. Korey broke his and Cynthia's mutual gaze, ending the charged moment. He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “When we get to the reservation desk let me do the talking, okay?”

Her brows furrowed. “Why do you get to do—” She then snapped her mouth shut. Her nostrils flared. “Fine,” she murmured, surprising him.

He had definitely expected an argument.

Thank God for small favors,
he thought.

Korey handed several bills to the driver as Cynthia threw open the taxi door, stepping out of the AC and into the dry desert heat. He climbed out after her. Each had a carry-on case in their hands when they made their way to the hotel's gold revolving doors: his was a cheap pleather case that he had picked up at JCPenney four years ago; Cynthia's was a brown Louis Vuitton luggage bag.

Probably given to her by one of her ex-boyfriends
, he thought.

Korey hoped he wouldn't have to wear any of the clothes he had hastily packed. He wanted to find the kids as quickly as possible, before they had the chance to do anything stupid that could impact the rest of their lives. But time wasn't on his side. He glanced down at his watch. It was already 10:13 p.m. Pacific time.

Korey and Cynthia stepped through the glass revolving doors and were hit by a rippling wave of sound. They entered a maze of gift shops that sold a menagerie of shot glasses, liquor bottles, T-shirts, baseball hats, and every overpriced tchotchke one could imagine emblazoned with the words “Las Vegas” or “What Happens in Vegas . . .”

They then passed rows upon rows of slot machines. In front of each machine was someone on a stool pulling a lever—men and women, young and old, some chain-smoking and others sipping their drinks with tiny red straws. Several had giant plastic tubs filled with coins perched beside them.

Korey and Cynthia finally reached the opulently decorated lobby, with its three-story Corinthian columns and cheesy six-foot Roman statues. They dodged a group of rowdy drunken men who were laughing and high-fiving one another and then a bellhop who was struggling to load more than a half dozen suitcases onto a luggage cart.

Korey walked up to the reservation desk with a smile. The petite brunette at the counter smiled back, showing the dimples in her plump cheeks.

“Hello, sir, welcome to Pompeii Hotel and Casino! How may I help you today?” she asked warmly.

“I'd like to get a room if you have any available.” He glanced at her name tag. “Judy.”

“Well, if you had tried to book one last week when we had that big convention, probably not. But this week, you've got a good chance.” She winked. “Just let me check to confirm.” She punched a few buttons on the computer touch screen. She squinted. “I was right. You're in luck! We have a king and a few doubles available. Can I have your name, sir?”

He gave it to her and she nodded, inputting the information into the computer. “Looks like this is your first time as a guest at our hotel. Is this your first time in Vegas too, Mr. Walker?”

“No, I've been here before . . . back in the late nineties. Came here with a group of buddies.”

“Bachelor party?” the young woman asked, scanning the screen again.

Cynthia grumbled behind him. He had forgotten she was there for a second. He turned to find her with her arms crossed over her chest, impatiently tapping her foot.

“Something like that,” he said, turning back to the woman at the reservation desk. “We were trying to convince him not to get married. None of us liked his girlfriend very much. We figured a weekend in Vegas at strip clubs and getting him drunk would bring him to our way of thinking.”

The young woman giggled. “Well, that's an interesting tactic.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? We were twenty-something dudes. It made sense to us at the time. It didn't work, though. They got married anyway.”

“Really? Did you guys—”

“Ask her about Clarissa,” Cynthia interrupted, whispering from behind him. “Ask her!”

The young woman frowned.

“Excuse me, Judy,” Korey said, holding up a finger. He then turned to Cynthia. “I am going to ask her,” he whispered back slowly, leaning toward her. “Calm down, woman. I told you to let me handle this.”

“You're not handling it! You're shooting the breeze like you're sitting on someone's front porch, drinking lemonade. You're wasting time!”

“You ever heard the saying ‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?' ”

“Yeah! And?”

“Okay, then let me do this
my
way—with honey. Just calm the hell down.”

Cynthia's eyes narrowed. Her lips tightened. Korey turned back to the woman at the desk.

“Sorry about that. You were saying?”

The young woman laughed nervously. “I was going to ask you if you guys eventually warmed up to his wife. But that's all right. You're probably eager to just get to your hotel room.”

Korey grinned. “No, I'm fine. And no, we didn't warm up to his wife. But as it turns out, we didn't need to. They got divorced three years later.”

They chitchatted for a few more minutes as she finished checking him in. Korey turned on the charm, making her laugh several times, and making her blush at his bawdy humor. Meanwhile, Cynthia seemed to grow more and more annoyed. He could sense the tension emanating from her like a stink cloud. She wasn't being very subtle with her loud sighs, which sounded more like moans, and restless foot tapping.

The young woman handed Korey a small envelope. “In there you'll find two keys to your room, Mr. Walker. You're in room ten-sixteen, in the second tower. You want to go through the lobby,” she said pointing over his shoulder, “make a left at the Aphrodite statue, then another left at the giant seashell, and you'll find the bank of elevators that will take you to your floor.”

“Thank you.” He tucked the magnetic cards into the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, would you happen to know what restaurants I can—”

“Oh, for chrissake, Korey!” Cynthia threw up her hands, making the woman at the reservation desk jump in surprise. “I can't take any more of this crap! Would you just ask her already?” She then barged forward, shoving him aside.

The young woman at the desk looked aghast. Korey merely shook his head in exasperation. He should have known Cynthia wouldn't stay quiet and leave this up to him.

“Look, we're looking for a girl and a boy, okay?” Cynthia said, dropping her hands to her hips. “Two black kids in their late teens. The girl kind of looks like me—but darker. They probably checked in earlier today. The girl's name is Clarissa Simpson. The boy's name is Jared Walker. They would have booked the room under her name, more likely.”

“I'm . . . I'm sorry. I don't remember anyone like that checking in today,” the young woman said uneasily.

“Well, can you check your database to see if they checked in?” Cynthia asked, pointing down at the reservation screen. “I
gave
you their names!”

“Ma'am, we have to respect the privacy of our guests. We can't reveal if they—”

“Are you telling me,” Cynthia said between clenched teeth, “that child can steal my credit card, use it to get a hotel room where she could be doing God knows what with that boy, and you have to respect her privacy?” she bellowed, making several people who were lounging on the lobby's plush chairs stop their conversations to look at her. Even the koi in the nearby oversized fish tank seemed to do a double take. “Are you kidding me?” Cynthia screeched. “She got that privacy with my credit card! She's not even twenty years old!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Korey could see an officious-looking older white man in a suit with a gold nameplate near his lapel walking toward the reservation counter. A deep frown marred his wrinkled face. A security guard trailed after him. Korey suspected Cynthia's little meltdown was about to get them politely escorted out of the Pompeii Hotel and Casino only fifteen minutes after arriving there.

He instantly stepped forward, grabbed Cynthia's arm, and pulled her away from the counter.

“Uh, thank you for your help,” he said to the woman behind the desk. “We'll just head to our room now.”

“I'm not going anywhere until I find out what room Clarissa's staying in!” Cynthia shouted. “Do you hear me?”

Korey forced a grin. “It was nice talking to you, Judy.” He then yanked Cynthia across the lobby.

“If my daughter ends up pregnant,” she yelled as she was dragged toward the elevators, “I'm suing all of you!”

“H
ave you lost your damn mind?” Korey asked as the elevator doors opened.

He shoved Cynthia inside the circular elevator car, catching her off guard. She almost stumbled in her heels on the Berber carpet.

“That was some crazy shit! Crazy even for you! Were you trying to get us kicked out of here?”

His mouth was tense. His dark eyes were set in a steely glare. Cynthia had never seen Korey so angry. She would have told him he looked damned sexy if he didn't also look like he wanted to murder her at that moment.

“I wouldn't have flipped out if you'd handled it like you said you would! What was with all the conversation? Were you trying to find out where the kids are or get her phone number?”

He slipped his magnetic card key into the elevator wall-panel slot, then punched in the number ten. The elevator instantly shot into motion, zipping up its glass tube, emitting a soft beep as they ascended from floor to floor.

“How could you even ask that question? Of course, I was trying to find out about the kids . . . and I would have if you would've just shut the hell up!” He fell back onto the glass wall and gripped the metal wall bar so tightly it looked like he was trying to rip it out of the glass.

While he continued to grouse as they shot to the tenth floor, she fell silent—feeling her first pangs of guilt.

“Would it have killed you to just let me handle it? Huh?” he asked. “Would it have killed you?”

She didn't answer him. Instead, she stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest again, refusing to look at him and gazing at the view of the Las Vegas Strip outside the elevator compartment instead. Cynthia couldn't explain to Korey that the whole time he was charming Chatty Cathy, she was envisioning what Clarissa and Jared were doing in their hotel room, and it made her sick to her stomach. What if they were already married and the newlyweds were enjoying their wedding night? What if they were long past kissing? Long past fondling? Dear God, what if they were—like Korey had said—having sex on the regular?

They can't! They just can't,
she thought desperately. And she wasn't speaking from the perspective of an overprotective mother, concerned about her daughter's virtue. Nope. There was a lot more at stake here than Clarissa's virginity.

Cynthia couldn't tell Korey her real worry about the kids getting married. If she did, he would definitely lose it. Her worry was rooted in something that had lingered in the back of her mind for more than a decade. It had eaten at her like an insidious disease, lying in wait until it came bursting to the forefront when Keith first mentioned the name Jared Walker and Cynthia realized Jared was Korey's son.

Her worry started
years
ago, soon after she discovered she was pregnant with Clarissa. It came as surprise to both her and Bill. He had been married twice before, and none of his previous wives had gotten pregnant, even after fertility treatments. Bill was eventually diagnosed with a low sperm count and weak swimmers. But, wonder of wonders, he had managed to knock up Cynthia within a month and half of them sharing a bed together.

“It's a miracle!” the jubilant father-to-be had proclaimed when she told him the news.

Bill had taken the pregnancy as a definite sign that he and Cynthia were meant to be. But what Cynthia didn't tell him is that it was less likely a miracle—and more likely a case of her horrifically bad luck. She had slept with Korey the last time only days before she had slept with Bill. She hadn't had any pregnancy scares with Korey before, but there was a first time for everything. She just hoped that this wasn't the first time.

Korey, by then, had already hooked up with Vivian. It would be a waste of time to run back to him, Cynthia had thought. No, it was better to stick with what she had, to stay with Bill and hope for the best, that the baby was his child.

But after Clarissa was born and Cynthia marveled at her beautiful baby girl, her suspicions returned. She counted Clarissa's fingers and toes. She played with her black curls and her button nose. Everything seemed in order on her little girl, but as Cynthia gazed into her daughter's big brown eyes, something seemed . . . off.

Everyone remarked about how Clarissa was the spitting image of Cynthia, but few paid Bill a similar compliment. That's because Clarissa didn't look a damn thing like him! She didn't have his beady little eyes or his pale complexion. She didn't have his stubby fingers or his proud brow. As Clarissa grew older, you couldn't find two people who looked more different than Clarissa and her dad. Cynthia started to wonder if, over time, Bill started to notice it too since he became colder and colder to this daughter over the years. But Cynthia tried diligently to brush it off.

So she doesn't look like him,
Cynthia had convinced herself.
So what? Lots of children don't look like their fathers!

But the worry stayed there in the back closet of her mind, under the piles of day-to-day concerns like picking up the dry cleaning and getting her oil changed. The worry got wrinkled, dirty, and dusty, but it didn't disappear.

And now that Clarissa had met Jared and the two had fallen in love, all those old suspicions and worries became brand-spanking-new! Cynthia couldn't say for sure that Korey was Clarissa's father—not without a DNA test. But part of her knew, deep down, that he probably was. And if he was, what the hell did that mean for Clarissa and Jared? A brother and sister couldn't get married or have sex! What would Korey do if he found out about Cynthia's long-held suspicions regarding his paternity? He'd probably be furious! He'd never forgive her.

“Those are a lot of ‘what-ifs.' Don't lose it just quite yet,” a voice in her head urged soothingly. “You don't know any of this for sure. Korey might not be her father.”

But what if you're wrong,
Cynthia thought frantically in reply.
What if you're WRONG?

The elevator slid to a smooth stop and the metal doors opened, revealing a small lobby on the hotel's tenth floor. Korey strode out, then paused and turned when he saw Cynthia wasn't following him. He raised his brows expectantly.

“You coming?”

She looked around her. She had been so lost in thought she hadn't realized they'd arrived at his floor. She hesitated.

“But I thought . . . I thought we weren't staying in a room together,” she said.

Mild irritation crossed across his face. “We're not. Believe me. But I don't think you want to go back down there and try to book a room right now. Do you?”

He had a point.

“Look, I'm going to my room to drop off my things and then try to find a business center with a computer. I need to try to track down Jared's phone since now we have no chance in hell of finding their room from anyone who works at this hotel,” Korey muttered. “You can either come with me or keep riding up and down these elevators.”

He then turned away from her, glanced up at the fake marble plaques on the wall, and followed one of the arrows in search of his hotel room.

The elevator doors slowly began to close. Cynthia grimaced as she shoved the doors back open, causing a loud buzzing sound to fill the compartment. She then ran onto the landing and followed Korey down the hall. She reached him just as he inserted his key card into the door of his room.

“You don't need to find a computer!” she shouted after him, making him pause. “We can . . . we can use my phone. I can get the tracking Web site on it.”

He turned the door handle and shoved it open. He then stepped inside, beckoning her to follow him. “Then let's drop off our stuff and get started.”

 

“Are you sure this is right?” Cynthia asked as they waited for the doorman to hail them a cab.

“That's the address the Web site gave us,” Korey replied. “I don't see why it wouldn't be right.”

When a white taxi pulled up to the curb, Korey opened the door for her, letting her climb in first. He jumped in after her and gave the address to the driver.

Cynthia grimaced as the car lurched forward on squeaking tires. She gazed down at her phone screen, looking at the little red pin on the digital map. Their destination was somewhere on South Las Vegas Boulevard, but they had no idea what the place was since the map wasn't accurate to that level of detail.

“What if this damn thing is sending us on a wild goose chase?” she mumbled, tossing her phone back into her purse.

“It's legit. Say what you want about Viv, but she knows how to keep tabs on her son. She wouldn't invest her husband's hard-earned money in software that was crap. Believe me.”

Cynthia pursed her lips, deciding to keep quiet on that one. If all of this was based on her confidence in Vivian, then Cynthia knew they were definitely screwed. She glared at the bumper-to-bumper traffic outside the cab window. Even if the spyware was right and Clarissa and Jared were at that address, she wondered if she and Korey could make it there before the kids left.

“Hey! How long before we get there?” she shouted to the cabby.

“In this traffic?” The older white man with salt-and-pepper beard stubble tilted his head and shrugged. “Maybe twenty . . . twenty-five minutes.”

Twenty-five minutes?
She slumped back into her seat and closed her eyes. This was going to take for-damn-ever!

The older man laughed a grainy smoker's laugh, then coughed. “Hey, at least you've got time to hop out and grab yourself some flowers if you need 'em.”

Korey frowned. “Why would she need flowers?”

“For your wedding.” The cabdriver gazed at their reflection. Cynthia could see his watery gray eyes in the rearview mirror. “That's where you're headed, right? To get hitched?”

“Why do you think we're getting married?” Korey asked.

“Because that's the address you gave me . . . you know, to the wedding chapel.”

Cynthia's blood ran cold. She gulped for air. “Wait!
What?
We're headed to
a wedding chapel?
” she squeaked, her throat tightening.

“Yeah,” the driver said. “It's one of the most famous chapels around here! You guys didn't know that?”

Cynthia instantly scooted forward. She slapped her hands flat against the bulletproof glass and almost climbed through the small opening between the back and front seat. “I don't care what you have to do,” she said in a low, menacing voice, “but you get us to that wedding chapel in ten minutes or less! Do you hear me?”

“I can't get you there in ten minutes!” The driver's bushy eyebrows bunched together as he pointed a gnarled finger at the windshield. “You blind, lady? You can't see all those cars?” He slowly shook his head. “Crazy damn tourists,” he muttered, digging the same gnarled finger into his hairy ear. “Act like you're supposed to work a friggin' miracle.”

Cynthia's face contorted with rage. She was just about to spew a few choice four-letter words at the curmudgeon driving their cab when Korey clapped a hand on her shoulder. She turned and found him shaking his head at her.

“What?” she snapped.

“Remember . . . think honey, not vinegar,” he whispered. “Just try it for once.”

Oh, to hell with that!
She reserved her honey for rich men who drove sports cars and kept summer homes. The rest of the world would just have to accept what she gave it.

“But Korey's right,” the logical voice in her head urged. “You want to find the kids. Just be nice for once.”

Cynthia slowly released air through her clenched teeth and flared nostrils. When she turned back around to face the cabdriver, she had a smile so sweet it gave her a toothache.

“Sir,” she began calmly, “we would greatly,
greatly
appreciate it if you can do everything humanly possible to get us to that wedding chapel in the next ten minutes—please,” she added as an afterthought. “You see, it's very important that we get there, and we don't have a lot of time.”

“What do you want me to do? Sprinkle fairy dust on the car so I can
float
above traffic? I told you how long it'll take, and nothing is—”

“I'll give you an extra hundred if you get us there in less than ten, all right?” Korey said from behind her, catching her by surprise.

“A hundred?”
The cabdriver paused and squinted into the rearview mirror again. “Let me see it first.”

“No, he's not letting you see it!” Cynthia slapped an open palm against the glass, making the driver jump in alarm. “You better just—”

“Here! Here's the hundred!” Korey said after opening his wallet. He held the Benjamin in plain view of the rearview mirror. He glanced at his watch. “I've got three minutes past eleven. If you want this hundred, you find a way to get us through this traffic so that we're pulling up in front of that chapel at eleven thirteen. No later! You got me?”

“All right, but you're ponying up more cash if I get a ticket, buddy.” He then put on his turn signal and suddenly veered to the left, almost taking out a group of drunken pedestrians who were stumbling their way through a crosswalk. The driver punched down on the gas pedal and threw Korey and Cynthia back against their seats. She gripped the door handle so hard that her fingernails dug into the door's grubby upholstery. She tried more than once to put on her seat belt, but it was broken. She had a hard time steadying herself as the driver made a series of wild turns. More than once she landed face-first in Korey's lap.