The Set Up (13 page)

Nor would he care.

No one cares.

SHIFTING GEARS

Jasper

THE THING ABOUT
looking death in the face is that it snaps everything else into perspective.

Like how precious life is and how short it can be. I’m no Plato or Socrates, but I’m sure there is a life lesson to be shared. Suddenly things that seemed important before aren’t. Grudges held don’t seem worth holding. Forgiveness seems like something that should be given more freely.

Something bad happened to Eve. Really bad. How exactly she was killed, no one knows yet. The police are keeping the details to themselves.

Something happened to me too.

Somewhere deep within.

I can’t describe it.

I knew her.

I’d been with her.

Intimately.

And then someone not only brutally murdered her, but also buried her body right where the groundbreaking ceremony was scheduled to take place.

It’s a complete mindfuck.

Was the act premeditated?

Done with deliberation?

Max’s single word from three years ago comes to mind—
sabotage
.

Paranoia creeps in.

Does someone not want me to succeed?

If so, who?

Then again, in the broader scope of it all a woman is dead. I touched her lifeless body, and because of this my world seems to have shifted a little. Trying to figure out what will stop it from tilting is why I am sitting in the hotel bar.

Alone.

Contemplating my anger.

Hoping I’ve let it go.

Beginning to understand it’s not forgiveness I’m looking to give because honestly, Charlie didn’t do anything wrong.

Sins of the father shouldn’t be carried on.

And how petty is it to think they should? I mean, a woman is dead.

Dead.

And I touched her lifeless corpse.

Needing to shut out the feel of her bones, the smell of her body, the color of her pale flesh, the dirt that covered her, I squeeze my eyes shut and then press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets as if it might help me forget.

Nothing will help me forget.

I look around. People are talking. Drinking. Laughing. Having a good time. I feel a little sick about it. Feel remorse for Eve. I didn’t even know her, but she’ll never be able to do any of those things again.

Plucking the cherry from my old-fashioned, I pop it into my mouth and then push the drink aside without even taking a sip. A glance at my watch tells me it shouldn’t be much longer.

Best to keep my wits.

Too much is going on in my life for me not to.

With the toss of a twenty on the bar, I head toward the lobby. A quick stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the huge atrium of the Marriott alerts me that the rain has picked up. The drizzle in the night sky makes it hard to see out the wall of glass, but the twin smokestacks across the river are hard to miss.

They belong to HH Automotive Parts Plant. Steady expansion has put Hank on Detroit’s map. Being the only remaining independent replacement and modification parts plant in Detroit has earned him his fortune. His company manufactures every single engine part that is on the recall list or requires a modification for all of the remaining local automotive plants.

Ever since the Laneworth explosion, which caused the plant to burn to the ground, no one has been able to stay afloat long in that particular field. It’s tough and you have to move quickly. Something factories aren’t always able to do. Drew has been discussing with Hank HH’s ability to deliver modifications for the Storm’s super-speed accelerator module that I’m in the process of patenting, but as it stands right now the plant is not technologically equipped to handle it. It’s just another item on the list that has to be sourced outside the Detroit area.

Striding toward the front of the lobby, I stop just inside the sliding door. I lean my shoulders against the wall and prop my foot up. I might be here awhile. Chewing on the swizzle stick from my drink, I watch as people come and go.

Yellow cabs pull in, unload, and just as quickly pull out into the traffic. Each time I suck in a breath and wait, until finally a cab parks at the curb and she gets out. The covered walkway shields her from the rain, but she’s wet nonetheless.

My chest tightens when she walks past me with her head down, and that hurricane in my heart whenever she’s near seems to gain momentum. Needing to take a breath, I don’t budge from my spot. Instead, I stay motionless and watch the way she moves. Those graceful, long, and effortless strides do something to my insides.

As she crosses the lobby, I take another deep breath, and this time I know for certain that I no longer feel anger toward her. I was pretty certain I let that go when death stared me in the face. Now I know for sure.

And I should leave.

I told Will I would leave as soon as I made peace with myself.

Yet I can’t, because not only am I concerned about her, but to be honest there are things I need to know.

Okay, new plan.

First, approach her.

Second, apologize for blaming her for something she had no part of.

Third, ask her what you need to know.

Then leave.

Sounds good but heartless, because she’s crying. I hate that she’s crying. It leaves me unnerved. Out of sorts. It makes me want to take her pain away.

Still, I really should stick to the plan.

I’m too late.

She’s stopped to stand in the line for the front desk. She wipes her tears from her cheeks before she looks forward. The person in front of her walks away. She’s waved to the desk. When she approaches the clerk, she starts talking immediately, but the conversation doesn’t seem to be going well. She pulls a credit card from her wallet, hands it over. The clerk runs it, frowns, shakes her head, and then gives it back.

With signs of distress on her face, she tells the clerk something. The clerk replies. Makes a call. She waits. Her hair is loose. The smooth ponytail she wore earlier is gone and has been replaced with those mounds of curls that move with every shake of her head. Those same curls that I have the oddest urge to run my fingers through and get lost in. She talks some more to the clerk, but nothing seems to be resolved and she walks away.

Everything about her is delicate. The slope of her neck, her slender arms, the slight curve of her hips, her long legs. Even when she falls into the armchair in obvious defeat, she does so with grace.

The white sheer blouse she’s wearing does nothing to cover up the chill she must be feeling. Her nipples protrude through the thin fabric and I hate myself for noticing. Still, my eyes don’t stop there. Instead they shift upward. As they sweep the creamy expanse of her chest and neck, fire explodes beneath the surface of my skin at the thought of touching her—skimming my lips across that softness and feeling it beneath the harshness of my fingertips.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Feeling like a perv for thinking this way about my childhood friend, I shake my dirty thoughts away. Since watching her seems to be fucking with my head, it’s time to go forward and execute the plan.

On a sigh full of doubt, I remove the swizzle stick from my mouth and push away from the wall to head toward Charlotte. I’m not even halfway when she lifts her gaze and our eyes meet. As absurd as it sounds, I feel electrified, like a current of energy is sparking between her and me. The feeling takes hold of me and draws me nearer.

Step by step my brain is telling me to turn around and meet up with the guys, who are probably drinking away the events of today right now, but my body is acting on its own volition. Moving without thought or consequence.

The closer I get, the more clearly I can see her. She has to be the hottest thing both north and south of the Detroit River.

I hate that I’m even thinking that.

She was my best friend, for fuck’s sake.

When I stop in front of her, that gorgeous face twists and her hands start shaking.

Is she afraid of me?

Fuck, I hope not.

“Jasper,” she breathes softly.

Immediately my
get to the point
and get out of Dodge
plan goes right out the window. She seems to be in a fragile state and the last thing I want to do is compound that.

Still, the tension is already thick and I have no idea how to ease it. Without overthinking this fucked-up situation, I plop down in the chair across from her. When my eyes land on all those dirty-blond curls and eyes the color of the summer sky, I have to take a deep breath and wait for the fog in my brain to clear.

She squeezes her eyes closed but quickly opens them, and then stares at me as if waiting for the sky to fall.

I hate that she feels that way.

Finally, I force myself to stick with my plan. “Charlotte, we need to talk.”

Very slowly she nods in agreement, but the fact that her entire body is shaking causes that storm in my heart to spread to my lungs and gut.

I can’t stand this feeling.

It’s eating me up.

I just want it gone.

And so I deviate from my plan.

“You’re trembling. Are you cold?” I ask without thinking. My need to take care of the little girl who used to be my best friend is taking hold of me, and digging in, faster than I am able to repel the urge.

She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m fine. I just need to warm up a bit.”

Again I don’t think before speaking. “Why don’t you go to your room and change and then let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

What the fuck? Why would I ask her that? Coffee is not part of the plan.

Her laugh is unexpected, as are the sobs that follow.

No longer worried about sticking to my fucking plan, I lurch forward. “What is it?”

She shakes it off. “Nothing. It’s just that I can’t go to my room until the police have finished their search, and I can’t get another room while I wait for mine to be searched because—” She waves it off. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

Concern suffuses me. “Why can’t you get another room?”

Taking a few moments to compose herself, she wipes under her eyes and then sits up straighter. “It doesn’t matter. What did you want to talk about?”

There’s no way I can let this go. “Tell me, Charlotte. Why can’t you get another room?”

Her lips tilt upward. “It’s silly really. Cole fired me today and withdrew his hold on the room. For some reason my bank won’t allow me to charge another one. I’ll take care of it on Monday. And besides, I didn’t really have to spend the night here anyway. I just want to get my things before I leave.”

Anger surges through me. “That asshole fired you?”

She nods, and that fake glimmer of a smile disappears. It’s immediately replaced with the weight of the world. “It’s to be expected.”

Any hope I had of calming down goes out the window. “What’s expected about it?”

That fake smile is back. “I should have told him who I was. It’s my own fault.”

I’m thumbing the swizzle stick in my hand so hard I’d be surprised if my fingers don’t bleed. “He fired you because of who your father is?”

She nods.

Although I should be calmer—I mean come on, just hours ago I felt resentment toward her too—I can’t find my cool. “He really is a fucking asshole.”

This time when she smiles, it’s real.

With my eyes all over her in a way they shouldn’t be, I can’t help but notice that her entire body is trembling. Whether she’s cold or it’s nerves, I don’t know or care.

Enough is enough.

I look around, stand up, and then look at her. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes grow wide with curiosity and she twirls one of those curls around her finger the way she used to do when she was little. Back then I thought it was adorable. Fuck me if I don’t still think it is.

Again, I attempt to shrug these thoughts away.

It’s not working, so I focus on my task instead.

My strides are long.

My mission simple.

Without hesitation, I walk right up to the girl behind the counter in the gift shop. “I need a sweater or a blanket. Do you have either?”