Getting Some (23 page)

“That’s not what I care about. Don’t you think this Peter guy is behind the notes you got?” When I don’t answer, Reed continues. “I need to find him. Make sure this guy doesn’t even
think
of hurting you.”

“I don’t know anything about him.”

“What about this Rusty guy? You know where he was from, right? You didn’t just drop your pants for him without a little conversation first, did you?”

I glare at Reed. “Don’t you dare. You promised you wouldn’t get mad. And you have no friggin’ right to be mad. So just stop it.”

Reed spins around and marches to the window. He stares outside for several seconds. I can hear his angry breathing, even from my spot on the bed.

I get to my feet.

In a flash Reed whirls around and pins me with his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“To take a piss. That okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, and I disappear into the bathroom. A couple minutes later, I’m finished my business, and I almost head back into the bedroom. But when I see the phone on the wall, I pause.

For some reason, I haven’t been able to find my cell phone, but I can check my messages from a landline. I lift the receiver and punch in my home number. I’m not in the mood to rush back to Reed right now, knowing he’s still got to be seething.

I smile when I hear Annelise’s voice, but the smile quickly fades when I hear what she has to say.

“Sammy, where are you? I just got something really weird. And Claudia, too. A bouquet of flowers with a note saying that what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas, and that my dirty little secret is about to be exposed. Did you get anything like that?”

I quickly hang up, then call my sister. When she answers, I begin without preamble, “You got some weird message about Las Vegas?”

“Yeah. You, too?”

“Uh-huh.” My head starts to throb. “Look, maybe we should meet somewhere. Talk in person instead of on the phone.”

“I agree. Let me call Lishelle and Claudia, then call you back.”

“Wait, why don’t I call you back in ten minutes. I’m not at home, and I can’t find my cell.”

“All right.”

I end the call and get into the shower. I quickly wash my body, and when I’m finished, I call Annelise again.

“We’re gonna meet at eleven-thirty,” she tells me. “A place called Liaisons. You know where that is?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

When I exit the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body, Reed seems to be in a better mood. His eyes roam over me from head to toe, and then he smiles.

I head to the chair where I placed my clothes last night. Reed slips his arms around me from behind and loosens my towel. “Reed…”

He pulls the towel from my body. “Let’s fuck.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” He strokes my nipples while pressing his groin against my ass. He’s already hard. “Because I’ve got to go. My sister got a note about Las Vegas, and so did her friends. We’re going to meet to talk about it.”

A full minute passes before Reed speaks again, and in that time I put my clothes on.

“Do me a favor,” he finally says.

“All right.”

“Don’t go back to your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s some freak out there who wants to hurt you. I think you’re better off staying with me.”

I can’t argue with Reed’s logic. “I’m going to need to get some clothes. Other necessities.”

“Then I’ll go with you. Promise me you won’t go back to your apartment alone.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

The corners of Reed’s mouth lift in a warm smile. He strokes my face. “I love you, babe.”

I give Reed a peck on the lips, hoping that will suffice for my inability to utter those same three words back to him.

Annelise

W
hen I approach our table in Liaisons, Lishelle and Claudia are already there. They both look up at me expectantly.

“Where’s your sister?” Lishelle asks when I reach the table. Worry is etched on her face.

“On her way,” I answer. “She called to say she’d be about ten minutes late.”

I slide into the booth, sighing as I do.

Claudia drops an envelope onto the table, one that reads “The Venetian” in the top-left-hand corner. “I got this this morning. It was left outside my door.”

I dig a similar envelope out of my purse. “I got one, as well. Mine said, ‘Payback’s a bitch.’ What did yours say?”

“The same thing,” Claudia responds.

“Guess mine is waiting for me at the office?” Lishelle comments sourly.

“Payback for what?” Claudia asks, frustration lacing her tone. “I don’t get it.”

“If this is someone’s idea of a joke,” Lishelle begins, “this shit ain’t funny.”

“I’m starting to get scared,” Claudia admits. “Yesterday, it was those flowers. This morning, a note on my doorstep. Whoever is behind this is here, in Atlanta.” Claudia pounds a finger on the table to emphasize her words.

“I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know. Dom found the letter outside his door. He wondered how it got there, without any postage.”

“Shit.” Lishelle’s eyes widen. “Wait, what’d he say about the flowers?”

“He didn’t see them,” I say. “Once I realized they weren’t from him, I tossed them in a bin before he got home.” It was a knee-jerk reaction, but I had no clue how I’d explain the flowers to my boyfriend.”

“You probably should tell him what’s going on,” Claudia says.

“Not until
I
know what’s going on.”

The waitress arrives, and we each order cosmopolitans. Sure, it’s the lunch hour, but we need them. We spend the next few minutes sipping on our drinks and not saying much. My friends are worried—I can see it in their eyes. Heck, I’m worried too.

“Thank God,” Claudia mutters, and I swivel around in my seat.

Samera, wearing jeans, a supertight white T-shirt, and those clear pumps strippers are so fond of, strolls toward our table. My body shudders with relief. Then I hop out of the booth and give my sister a long, warm hug.

We don’t say anything as we settle in the booth, side by side. Lishelle looks at Samera pointedly and asks, “Do you have any idea what this shit is about?”

Samera gazes at each of us in turn. “I think so, yeah.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Claudia says.

“Something happened when we were in Las Vegas,” Samera goes on. “Friday night.”

“What?” Lishelle demands.

“Lishelle, give her a second okay?” I say. “If it’s what I think it is, then this isn’t easy for her.”

Lishelle doesn’t look pleased while she shrugs, but at least she bites her tongue.

“The night before I left,” Samera begins, “I was with a guy in Vegas. I saw him the first day we got there, and kept running into him. Ultimately we got together.”

“Wait a minute,” Claudia interjects. “Is this the guy who killed himself?”

Samera nods.

“Let her finish the story,” Lishelle says. “Because I’d love to know what this has to do with any of us.”

I scowl at Lishelle, but she doesn’t notice.

“We hit it off,” Samera continues. “It’s not like I thought we’d end up happily ever after or anything, but he was cool, you know? A guy to spend the night with who’d make me forget all the shit going on in my life. In the beginning he seemed so fun, so decent. We took things upstairs to his room. And in the middle of fucking our brains out—”

Samera stops abruptly, her gaze flying to her left. I glance that way as well, and there’s the waitress. She grins sheepishly, then mutters, “I’ll give you a few more minutes.”

The waitress gone, Samera picks up her story where she left off. “We were in the middle of things. And the next thing I know, some guy comes in the room. The same guy I’d seen Rusty with a few times. A guy named Peter. His friend.”

Samera stops, bristles.

“Don’t stop now,” Lishelle tells her.

“His friend wanted to join the action. I thought Rusty would be appalled. But he
wanted
him in on the action. I told them to fuck off, but they got nasty, calling me a whore, saying they knew I had a price. After that, Peter got a bit rough with me and so did Rusty. I think those two motherfuckers wanted to rape me. I fought my way out of there, and they eventually let me go.”

“Oh my God,” Claudia says.

“And after that,” I say, “this Rusty guy plunged out of his hotel window.”

“And I think that’s what this is all about,” Samera says.

“But why?” Lishelle asks. “Rusty killed himself.”

“I have to assume Peter’s pissed about that,” Samera answers. “Pissed enough to send all of us threatening notes.”

For a moment none of us says a word. We take in what Samera has told us. Samera glances away, and I get the distinct impression that she’s trying to keep herself together. Which is hard for me to see, because I’m used to her being so strong.

I reach for Samera’s hand and give it a squeeze. And I can’t help it—my eyes mist.

“And you
never
went back to the room?” Lishelle asks. “Not even to tell them off?”

Samera shakes her head. “You think I wanted to see them again? I went downstairs, ran into Reed, and then went to the Bellagio with him.”

“Odd,” Claudia says. “That he would commit suicide after that. But even more odd is why Peter would blame you for his death?”

“I think,” Samera says, then pauses. “I think he must blame me. My feeling is that maybe Rusty felt guilty about what he’d done after I left. Maybe he even thought I’d go to the police. Before we went upstairs, he told me how much he’d been in love with his wife. She died of cancer only six months ago. Maybe everything got to him and he couldn’t live with himself.” Samera shrugs. “That’s my best guess.”

“We should go to the police,” Claudia says.

“I don’t want to do that,” Samera admits.

“Why not?” Lishelle asks.

“Because what if they start thinking that Rusty didn’t kill himself. Remember, Annie—you told me the cops were looking for the blonde Rusty had been in the bar with. That blonde was
me
. What if they think I had something to do with his death?”

“Why would they think that?” Lishelle asks doubtfully. “You said yourself that you met up with Reed right after that. That you spent the night with him. He’s your alibi.”

“How convincing of an alibi do you think he’d be?” Samera asks me. “He’s in love with me. The cops will know he’d say anything to protect me.”

“But you don’t need protecting,” Claudia points out. “You didn’t kill him.”

“I know that. But why does his friend think I did? Why’s he going to these elaborate lengths to scare the shit out of me? He told the police that he didn’t believe Rusty killed himself. And who most likely killed him if he didn’t commit suicide? Me.” Samera points to herself. “I had reason to want to kill the piece of shit. He crossed the line with me. It won’t be too hard for the police to come to the same conclusion and issue a warrant for my arrest.”

Now Samera starts to sob, and I stretch my arm across her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“How can it be okay? This asshole knows where I live. Maybe he’s watching my every move. Following me where I go.”

I notice Lishelle’s eyes flitting around the restaurant. “We need to go to the cops.”

“Did you hear a word I said?” Samera asks her pointedly.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one in danger here,” Lishelle shoots back. “We all got letters.”

“Fine. I guess that’s fair. I go to jail, but at least everyone will be safe.”

“That’s an illogical conclusion,” Lishelle replies.

“Lishelle,” I begin as an idea hits me. “Can’t you get someone at the station to investigate this? Hell, you can call the Vegas police yourself, ask if they consider the death a suicide or homicide. Then we can go from there.”

“Yes,” Claudia agrees. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t call the police, but Sam’s right to be concerned. If she’s identified as the last person to be with Rusty—and one who had a reason to be angry with him—she could be in serious trouble.”

“I think that’s a stretch,” Lishelle says dryly.

“Easy for you to say, since it’s not your ass on the line.” The words pour out of me, all on their own. I’m doing something I haven’t done since childhood—defending my sister.

Lishelle meets my gaze dead-on, and I see a challenge in her eyes. Then she looks away, and I know I’ve won this battle.

“All right,” she says. “I’ll get Ruben at the station to look into this. He’s the one who tracked Glenn down in Arizona.”

“Thank you,” Samera says, and a small smile forms on her face.

Lishelle nods. “You’re welcome. You’ll have to tell me everything you know about Rusty. His full name, where he lives—if you know.”

“Rusty Nickell. I saw that on the news. He was from Chicago. All I know is that his friend’s name is Peter.”

“It’s a start,” Lishelle says. “First, I’ll head to my office and do some preliminary digging myself. Find any news articles relevant to Rusty’s death. Then I’ll go from there.”

“You think that this Ruben guy can find out Peter’s last name?” Samera asks. “Maybe from the hotel or the police, and even tell you where he lives?”

“Ahhh.” Claudia nods, understanding.

“Great idea.” My heart fills with hope. “Because if he can find out who this guy is, where he lives—then we can contact him. Tell him we’re gonna go to the cops if he doesn’t smarten up.”

“Yes,” Samera says.

We all look at Lishelle, waiting for her response.

“I’m sure it’s completely unethical,” she begins slowly, “but it’s not like I didn’t cross ethical lines when tracking down Glenn. And this situation is a whole lot more serious.”

“That’s for sure,” Claudia says.

“So, yeah,” Lishelle continues. “Let’s find out who this son of a bitch is and make him sorry for ever messing with us.”

An hour later I’m at Kroger’s with a cartful of groceries when my cell phone rings. The display reads “Unknown Number,” and I assume it must be Lishelle.

I press the talk button. “Hello?”

“Annie, it’s Lishelle.”

“Did you find something already?” I ask.

“Yeah. And your sister isn’t going to like it.” Lishelle pauses. “It looks like Rusty didn’t kill himself.”

I gasp.

“Yeah, I know. The autopsy showed that he died before the fall. His throat had been slit.”

“No!”

“Yes. And, it gets worse. They found a woman’s shoe in the room. A clear, high-heeled shoe.”

Lishelle is silent, and her words settle over me. “Oh my God.”

“And…the concierge remembers seeing a busty blonde walking through the lobby barefoot. She was rude to him when he told her she needed shoes, which is why he remembers her. The police are apparently looking for anyone who can come forward to supply this woman’s identity.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah. So now we know why Rusty’s friend is hell-bent on getting to Samera. He probably sent you, me and Claudia those notes just to steer Samera off his trail.”

“Why doesn’t he just go to the police then?” I ask. “If he thinks my sister killed his friend, and he knows where she lives, why doesn’t the shithead just go to the police?”

“Because he wants to take matters into his own hands?”

Lishelle’s suggestion makes me shiver. “So this is real. Peter is out to hurt my sister. Or worse.”

“Seems so. Look, you better call Samera. Tell her not to go to her house under any circumstances. I’ll get Ruben to track down this Peter person and find out his full name, and then we can cross-reference that name with hotel reservations in the city. It might take a while, but it can be done.”

“Thanks,” I say softly, emotion filling my throat.

“Listen, sweetie,” Lishelle says. “I wish I could say something to make this all go away.”

“But you can’t. I know. Just try to find this guy, okay?”

“You bet.”

I stuff my phone back into the purse and look around. Could Peter be in this grocery store right now, watching my every move?

I release my grocery cart and hustle toward the store’s exit, not about to take any chances.