Exit Strategy (21 page)

“Who are they?” This is what he was talking about. He needs something concrete. The hide-and-seek bullshit is for the birds.

“Byron McCaskill, Bryce Paulson, and Sara Fielding.”

Tristan had given them permission to investigate everyone close to him and Keisha, including family. Byron McCaskill, Keisha’s ex who’s  awaiting trial, was added to the list as almost an afterthought. But given the video footage, he’s been busy.

Velasquez picks up the remote and points to the screen. “The date and timestamp of this video shows McCaskill in the vicinity of KSR the night Ms. Beale was almost accosted by the masked man in the SUV. He has a vehicle that fits the generic description. His court date is fast approaching, and he might have reason to want to frighten her. This may or may not be related to the letters you’ve been getting.”

“Put a tail on him,” Tristan says. “If he gets within a few blocks of either KSR location, I want to know it.”

“You got it.” Velasquez shuts off that video and queues up another one. “Bryce Paulson was in the area today when you got your second letter. In fact, he was in this building.” They watch as he enters, chats briefly with Mr. Dunleavy, and then proceeds to the common elevators. “Does he know anyone who lives here other than you?”

Tristan shakes his head. “He’s a social climber; he would’ve mentioned it if we had any acquaintances in common.”

“We’re going to question him. If we’re not convinced by his answers, we’ll put a tail on him, too—unless you have any familial objections.”

“There’s no love lost between us. I’m cordial to him only because his mother is married to my father, but after the number he pulled last night, I wouldn’t put anything past him. Put a tail on him either way.”

Velasquez pulls out copies of the visitor’s log from Lakeshore Meadows.  “In the last six months, Sara Fielding made copious visits to the facility where Ms. Gabriel was in residence. Did Ms. Fielding know Ms. Gabriel?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out in less than five minutes. Hold on.” He stalks out of his office and takes the stairs to the first level of his place and onto the waiting elevator.

Nurse Hathaway is carrying a tray toward Aimee’s bedroom. She’s startled when she sees Tristan’s demeanor.

“Give us a few minutes, Mrs. Hathaway. I won’t hold her dinner any longer than necessary.”

“Yes, Mr. White.”

Aimee has the television blaring but turns it down when she notices him, a smile ready on her face until she sees his expression.

“Do you know Sara Fielding?”

“Your sub from a few years back?”

“Yes.” He flexes his fists.

“Um, I met her a couple of times rather recently, as a matter of fact. Before that, I’d only seen her in pictures or on television with you. Same way I became acquainted with all your other submissives.”

Tristan paces the room. “And these recent meetings ... why didn’t you tell me about them?”

“Can you stand in one spot? I don’t want to get whiplash because the muscles in my neck are kind of important to me for other functions.”

He sighs and comes to stand near her oxygen tank.

“Aimee, it’s important, so can you please just tell me?”

“Okay. If you recall, you didn’t visit me regularly the past six months, and when you did, I was so happy to see you, I didn’t think about it.”

“What did she want?”

“She said she knew I’d been the submissive you cared about the most, so she wanted some pointers on how to win you back, because you’d been bewitched by some ghetto fabulous girl from the south side.”

“In her fucking dreams,” he says. “And Keisha may be from the south side, but she has a music degree from DePaul, and as a sub, she’s better than Sara will ever be. What did you tell her?”

“To go fuck herself?”

“Seriously, Aimee.”

“I told her you’d been there, done that, and you never kept T-shirts. Same difference.”

“Good girl,” he says and smiles. He needs to make sure Aimee isn’t somehow being used by Sara as a pawn in some sick game. “Are you sure she only visited you a couple of times?”

“Absolutely, but I’m not sure she was coming specifically to visit
me. The first time I saw her, Nurse Hathaway was wheeling me to the lounge. I sent Janet on her break so we could chat without breaking our NDAs. That was quick thinking, wasn’t it? When I asked what brought her to Lakeshore Meadows, she told me she was volunteering—you know, reading to some of the elderly residents and doing makeovers and such. Second time I saw her, she offered to do a makeover for me. I figured why not, I’m just lying around, letting my skin go. In the process of doing a routine facial, she put this mask on my face that made me break the fuck out. It was like latex. Too damn harsh for my delicate skin.”

“It was a ruse. Sara doesn’t have a charitable bone in her body. Did you ever see her again?”

“No. Why?”

“Because she made a lot of visits to Lakeshore in the past six months. More than sixteen.”

Aimee frowns. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No, you’ve definitely helped. Now we’ll just have to talk to her and see what she has to say for herself.”

~*~

Tristan reclaims his home office on Sunday night, but by then it’s so late he refrains from calling Keisha. She hasn’t called him, which is troubling, but the security teams guarding her have given him a blow-by-blow of her movement.

He sleeps fitfully the little time he spends in bed, and his mood gets progressively worse when he dreams about his mother, Aimee, and Keisha. What a trio to occupy his subconscious at the same time.

He usually reaches out to Nathan at times like this, especially when he’s between visits to his therapist. They have classic twin empathy, which serves them well most of the time, when the testosterone doesn’t have them jonesing for other ways to soothe their male egos. It’s a good thing Keisha isn’t here while he’s in his present frame of mind. Besides, they have that Mayor’s function on Thursday night, and he’s going to insist they begin their weekend early since the last one was so rudely interrupted.

It’s been a while since he’s been to Nathan’s sprawling estate in Michael Jordan’s former neighborhood. Players who have the enviable highest pay brackets populate the infamous Highland Park community along with CEOs,
nouveaux riches
, old-money philanthropists, socialites, and local celebrities.

He uses the access code to the community gate. Then Terrence Watkins, Nathan’s personal security guard since he was drafted by the USABA, buzzes him in.

Tristan nods as Moses pulls in and stops at the guardhouse. “Watkins.”

Terrence nods back. “Mr. White.”

“No suspicious activity in the community or near the property?”

“None, sir.”

“Velasquez send you the pictures of the persons of interest?”

If Watkins is irritated by Tristan’s obsessive need for control, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, sir. I briefed every shift, and I’ve posted their glamour shots on the board in here so all the staff can see them as they rotate through.”

“Good. Thanks, man.”

Next, Tristan is greeted by Mrs. Cox, Nathan’s version of Mrs. Naven, who is as portly as Mrs. Naven is narrow.

“Mr. White,” she says warmly. “Mr. Watkins buzzed us, so he’s expecting you. Excuse me if I don’t escort you in. I’m making lunch. You remember the way, right?”

“Of course. Thanks, Mrs. Cox.”

Nathan is in his theater, watching game video on multiple televisions. Tristan has never gotten used to this ritual his brother practices whenever he finds himself at home on a weekend with downtime.

“You’re going to give yourself a goddamnned seizure,” Tristan says.

“Not on your life. I’ve got this shit down to a science.” He pauses each video.

Tristan takes a seat next to him with one chair between them.

“You know, because our submissives are roommates and close friends, we’re bound to lose them from time to time when one or the other has something going on, but I don’t like losing mine over bullshit. Is there anything to what the tabloids are insinuating about you and Lavender?”

“Well, get straight to the point, why don’t ya, big brother?”

“C’mon, Nathan. You don’t need to be pissing either of these women off.”

“There’s no fucking truth to it whatsoever. What kind of fool do you take me for? I wouldn’t hurt Jada like that.”  Nathan’s eyes turn red and glass up. “I love her, Tristan.”

Though uncomfortable with his brother’s show of emotion, he presses on. “When did you decide this?’

“Just shortly after Keisha’s mom’s surgery. Jada is amazing. We have so much in common. She knows me better than I know myself. I was just hanging out with Lavender because we’d decided we’d remain friends. It was just a bunch of us guys from the team hanging out at this club that she and her friends frequent.

“I was pissed with Jada because she wouldn’t take off and travel with me to L.A., so I acted out. I really only wanted to make sure I was seen with Lavender just once, to make Jada jealous, you know? Then the paps got wind of us being there, and I lost control of what was going on.”

“You of all people should’ve perfected the art of keeping your personal business personal.”

“It’s harder to do in L.A. Paparazzi are all over the damn place.”

“True, but you’ve got to keep your head down in Scandal-landia. Ms. Jameson doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to share or buy too many incidents of plausible deniability.”

“She isn’t.”

“Hence the spat on Friday night?”

“Yeah. We made a pact to always be painfully honest with each other. The only reason I waited as long as I did to talk to her about the photos was because of the state you were in over Keisha.”

“I was not in any state over Keisha. Fuck, when are you going to stop trying to make me into you?”

“Ever hear of swimming in the sea of denial?”

“Whatever, man. One of the reasons I came over here is to bring you up to speed on the investigation. The staff is on a need-to-know basis. All they’re aware of is that we’re looking at three possible perpetrators, but they don’t know what their connections are to me. Well, Velasquez knows, but I trust him implicitly.”

Nathan listens while Tristan tells him everything his security team discovered thus far. Mrs. Cox brings them lunch, and they eat together as the conversation shifts to Tristan’s personal life.

“What’s it like having Aimee in such close proximity?”

Tristan runs a hand through his hair. “It’s been kind of nice to be able to talk to her any time, but it’s also excruciating.” He closes his eyes briefly. “Every time I see her hooked up to all the machines, her arms and legs lying useless on that hospital bed, I get sick to my stomach.”

“She jumped out of the fucking car, Tristan. Why do you not get that you’re not responsible for her actions?

“I drove her to it because I wouldn’t consider giving her what she craved. My fucking affection. Even if I wasn’t in love with her, I could’ve given her that.”

“She’s forgiven you for whatever part you played in that fiasco. Why can’t you forgive yourself?”

“Because she’s lying in that goddamned hospital bed and she’s never going to get up, while I’m moving on with my life, contracting with submissives and doing the same shit I did to her, over and over again.”

~*~

The week flies by with security still shadowing him and everyone he cares enough about to protect. Before Tristan knows it, it’s Thursday afternoon, and he calls Keisha because she hasn’t picked up the phone to call him once since Saturday. If things between them were truly back to normal, she would’ve called him at least a couple of times during the week, and he’d reciprocate. She’s the first since Aimee to have the cajones to call and chat him up. He was resistant in the beginning, but she kept doing it. Now he’s surprised by how much he looks forward to touching base with her during the week.

She picks up her phone, laughing, and for some inexplicable reason it pisses him off, which may have something to do with the fact that he hears her say Carmelo’s name.

“Carmelo, you are too damn funny.” Then she says, “Hey, Tristan.” She even sounds out of breath, and the idea of that being caused by another guy doesn’t sit very well with him.

He doesn’t return the greeting. “I trust you haven’t forgotten you’re my plus-one tonight at the mayor’s fundraiser?”

She doesn’t say anything for several interminable moments. He hears her loud footsteps before a door closes.

“ ‘Hello, Keisha’ might’ve been a more appropriate greeting.”