Fatal Beauty Page 7

  He’s leaving. Trusting that she would be a good girl and do exactly what he said.

  “Fuck you, Anthony.” She murmurs. “And your fucking Christmas cards.”

  *

  Charlie is in her bedroom, shoving clothes back into her bags, when EJ leans into the room. “Ten minutes. We’re leaving in ten minutes. Hurry the fuck up.”

  Then she’s gone and Charlie blinks at the empty doorway, wondering vaguely if she had imagined her friend standing there, if she imagined the fury that was simmering in EJ’s eyes.

  A door slams, hard enough that she jumps and downstairs, Ziva curses.

  A grin spreads across her face, and she picks up the pace.

  She hadn’t imagined a damned thing.

  It takes exactly seven minutes for her to finish packing and then she’s in EJ’s rooms. Shit is strewn around the room, designer clothes, papers and makeup. EJ’s shaking, scrambling to gather everything, and Charlie hands her a Xanax without thinking. “Calm down and tell me what the hell you need me to do.”

  EJ swallows it and bounces on the tips of her toes. “I need you to pack. There are a couple things I need to get. Can you do that while I pack, and then we’ll get out of here.”

  Charlie nods, and EJ leans in, kissing her cheek lightning fast before she darts out of the bedroom.

  Nerves make her hands shake as she slips into Jacobs’ room. Not because she’s never been here, or even because she’s afraid of being caught. His men know where she is—they’ve just been trained to observe and report back.

  Jacobs would never tolerate one of them touching her.

  She finds his guns exactly where she knew they’d be—in his closet, behind the shoe boxes on the third shelf.

  “You never learned,” she murmurs, grabbing two Glocks and as much ammo as she can shove into the duffle she steals from his closet.

  He has an office downstairs—the library with it’s oversized desk where he would meet with associates while she lounged by the pool or sat on his lap, depending on the day and her mood.

  But she knows him. He forgets, too often. She knows him just as well as he knows her, and that’s better than anyone. She smiles to herself when slips behind the desk in his bedroom, rummaging in the drawers.

  Jacobs always kept a stash of cash on the property, and a few sets of fake IDs. Once upon a time, he’d made her a set, when she first started moving product for him. It’s how he got her out of the country to travel with him, before—

  She shuts that line of thought down, and grabs the IDs, the cash and his stack of business cards. Shoves it all into the duffle and grabs one last thing from the desk before she’s striding back to her room.

  Charlie has everything packed, and she’s pacing, eyeing the front of the house.

  “They won’t let us leave.” She says, worried. “It’s not like when we went to the Quarter.”

  EJ shrugs and tosses the duffle on top of her suitcase, gathering everything in one place.

  “They can’t stop us. He didn’t give them the orders to detain us.”

  “How do you know?”

  EJ smiles, and it is all angry bitch. “Because the bastard underestimates me. He would never expect me to do something he said not to.” She holds up the keys she snatched from Jacobs’ desk, and smirks. “And he’d never expect me to steal his motherfucking car.”

  Chapter 15

  The trick, it turns out, is not getting past Jacobs’ security team. They watch silently from the corners of the yard, but none of them will do anything to stop them.

  The trick is Ziva.

  “She’s going to see us,” Charlie hisses.

  “Well, of course she is,” EJ snaps. That’s the point. That she sees you.”

  It made sense, in her room. Ziva hated them. And she would call Jacobs. More than anything, they needed to make sure that didn’t happen. EJ was under no illusions about how angry Jacobs would be when he found out what she’d—they’d—done.

  “We need her phone,” EJ says again, and Charlie sighs. Plasters a fake smile on her face and says, too brightly, “I’m going to kill you for this shit, EJ.”

  And then she bounces into the kitchen, chattering about her sunglasses and wine. The table is untouched. Their lunch, the wine, the sunglasses—even the corkscrew—are still exactly where they had left them, and Ziva is at the sink, peeling potatoes. She looks at Charlie, pure loathing on her face while Charlie chatters and shoves her sunglasses up and into her hair, pushing it away from her face.

  And so she doesn’t see EJ slip in the side kitchen door, through the tiny, airless hall that the wait staff uses when Jacobs entertains. She doesn’t see EJ at all, until it’s too late, and the gun is swinging down, butt first, and slams into her temple.

  Ziva shrieks, and Charlie curses, jerking forward as the housekeeper thrashes around, attempting to stay on her feet. She grabs the woman’s head and brings it down, quick and hard against the counter.

  Ziva drops like a sack of rocks, and they stare at her for a moment. Hot guilt turns her stomach, and just for a second, EJ is afraid she’s going to be sick. But then she swallows, and sees that Ziva is breathing, slow and heavy, a bruise already blooming on her cheek, and some of the tension eases out of her.

  “Get the phone, EJ,” Charlie says quietly.

  It’s one of his burners. There’s a house line, of course, but his line, the way they all used to contact Jacobs when he left the property or the city, was this. She reaches down, snatching it from where Ziva has it wedged in the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Good,” Charlie says softly. “Now, let’s go.”

  It’s easy, after that. They grab their bags from the hallway, and toss them into the trunk of the Nova. EJ slides behind the wheel as Charlie slumps in the passenger seat. They can both feel the attention of the security behind them, but neither acknowledge it. Neither of them even speak as EJ turns the engine over and backs out.

  And then they’re gone, dust rising behind the car to obscure the mansion. They drive in silence for a long time, adrenaline making Charlie jittery while EJ taps her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

  “Where are we going?” Charlie asks, after maybe thirty minutes.

  “We need to find somewhere safe we can lay low for a while.” EJ says. “Maybe stash the car for a few days. It’s stupid obvious.”

  “Then why did we take it?”

  A savage smile turns EJ’s lips, and she glances at Charlie. “Because it’s mine. Even if he were the type to go to the cops, he couldn’t report the thing stolen because it’s been in my name for the past decade.”

  Charlie whistles. “You weren’t joking about your history with him being complicated, were you?”

  EJ shrugs, and Charlie reaches for her bag. Her computer is sitting inside. “I have a friend who lives near here. We can go there.”

  “Who is it?”

  A tiny smirk tilts her lips, “Paxton Blaincot.”

  EJ gives her a quick searching look, but Charlie is scanning her computer, and she makes a soft noise of success. “Pax was a guy I went to school. He had a pretty epic thing for me. We stayed in touch after graduation.”

  “Bet Tre loved that?”

  Charlie makes a low noncommittal noise in her throat and EJ smirks. Exactly what she thought. “The point,” Charlie says, sharply, “is that he’s a friend and he’s local, and he would never turn me away.”

  “Are you really that good in bed?” EJ asks dryly and Charlie laughs, a low sexy noise.

  “Wouldn’t you love to know,” she says, dialing the number and grinning.

  It goes to voicemail and she leaves a quick message for him, glancing at the clock when she hangs up. “Head towards Baton Rouge,” she says, sinking deeper into the seat of the car and tilting her head back. She lets her eyes close, and the adrenaline that’s been keeping her moving, keeping her from running home to beg her father to fix all of it, finally begins to ebb.

  “What if he doe
sn’t want to help, or if he doesn’t call you back?” EJ says.

  “Well. A desperate girl would show up at his office in the morning,” Charlie says, thinking about the many times she’s been followed to work. She shudders, “But I’ve never been that desperate and I’m still not.”

  “We’ll figure it out when we get there, if we need to,” EJ says and hits the blinker, turning the car to the west and out of the city.

  And when the phone rings, twenty minutes later, neither of them mentions how relieved they are. Charlie talks to him, pouring on the sweet innocence and southern charm so thick EJ wants to gag a little. She waits quietly, driving in silence while Charlie does what she’s so damn good at, and Charlie scribbles an address that she passes to EJ before she manages to say her goodbyes and hang up.

  “He’s getting the guest room ready and opening the wine,” she says simply, tossing the phone into the backseat. EJ smirks and they drive into the deepening dusk.

  *

  Night has fallen over Baton Rouge when the pull up to the HillCrest Luxury Homes. EJ eyes it silently as Charlie chats up the guy in the security booth. She’s back quickly with a tag for the Nova. “Park on the third level. That’s guest parking.”

  EJ nods, and pulls into the parking garage. When they’ve parked and she turns off the car, she lets out the breath it feels like she’s been holding since they left Jacobs’ mansion in the bayou. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asks suddenly.

  “We can still go back. Jacobs would forgive me, if I brought the Nova home right now.”

  Charlie stares at her for a long moment, and then pushes open the door. “We’re going inside. I’m going to play nice with Pax. And when he goes to bed and we’re alone, you’re going to tell me who the fuck Jacobs is and why you own this car—all of it. Got it?”

  She meets EJ’s gaze, hers unflinching and EJ finally nods. “Got it.”

  “Good. Get your shit and let’s go.”

  Turning up on the doorstep of your college fuck buddy, she thinks, as they stand in front of his door surrounded by two suitcases, a black duffle bag and her Coach purse, is probably one of the more ridiculous things she’s done in her life.

  Where was this when she sat down and thought out her five year plan? Who the hell plans for being on the run from a drug lord who helped you dispose of a troublesome fiancé?

  She giggles, a completely inappropriate noise in this situation and EJ gives her a surprised stare. She shrugs, shakes her head.

  “Charlotte,” a male voice murmurs, and they both turn. A smile, coy and warm, is already turning her lips.

  “Hello, Paxton.”

  Chapter 16

  Paxton Blaincot is almost stupidly attractive. Blond hair so pale it’s almost white hangs around his ears and brushes his shoulders with tiny soft curls. Big blue eyes stare at them—at Charlie—like he’s terrified she’ll vanish. He’s tall, built, and moves with the awkward clumsiness of a kid who was never completely comfortable in his body.

  Charlie filled her in on the drive—he’s the son of a local doctor with no stomach for blood, and went into finance because he’s brilliant. Four years out of Vandy he’s working for the second largest finance company in the country, running the Baton Rouge branch and overseeing a few partners and meeting clients.

  As she sits next to Charlie on his leather couch, and looks around at the expensive, tastefully decorated loft, she had to wonder why he was only a fuck buddy.

  “Because I was with Tre. And he’s sweet—but too…Pax for more.”

  “Right,” EJ says, rolling her eyes. “Because that makes all the sense in the world.

  Charlie makes a face, and then they both smile as Pax comes back into the room with a bottle of wine and three glasses. He sits down across from them and gives Charlie a concerned frown. “How are you, Char? I heard the news about Tre. I am so sorry.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that—and thank you for letting us crash here. Things have been—crazy, since he vanished.”

  “Was there any indication, before he left, that this might happened?”

  She shrugs, and forces a smile. “He was having an affair with a paralegal. I know she was pretty serious about him. He might have run just to get away from her. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, though.”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and numbly takes the glass EJ extends toward him.

  The wine is dry and bitter, a rich red. She sips it while the silence spins between them, Pax staring at Charlie with the kind of deep longing that makes EJ jealous, irrationally.

  Not that he looks at Charlie, instead of herself. But that he’s looking at Charlie, with proprietary desperation.

  She clears her throat and swallows the last of her wine, and stands.

  “I’m going to shower and pass out. Let you two catch up. Do you mind terribly?”

  Relief brightens Pax’s face, and Charlie manages, barely, to cover her scowl. Pax nods amiably. “Of course. I’m so glad you’re here. And that she has you.” He stands and crushes her in a fierce hug that knocks the breath from her and the thought from her head. When he releases her, Charlie is fighting a laugh, and she stands.

  EJ wants to say something, anything, that puts this idiotic little trust fund baby in his place, remind him that Charlie is hers, that of course she’s been at her side. But instead she forces a smile, and turns.

  Charlie hugs her suddenly, and murmurs in her ear, “Problem, darling?”

  EJ goes still, and it makes sense, suddenly. She’s jealous and it’s irrational, and she can’t seem to squash the emotion. She scowls and gives an indignant sniff and Charlie laughs, low in her ear before releasing her. “Don’t sulk, EJ.”

  EJ scoffs and stalks out of the living room, and even as she goes, that dammed knowing laugh chases her.

  She’s never been jealous in her life, and she doesn’t like it.

  She sure as fuck doesn’t like being jealous of Paxton Blaincot.

  *

  “She’s….nice.”

  The assessment is made tentatively, and with caution, and it pulls a laugh from Charlie as she relaxes into her seat. Pax is watching her because of course Pax is watching her. Puppy dog, hopeful, and so damned gorgeous it’s almost enough to make her not care that he has the temperament of a newborn kitten.

  “EJ? Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d pick. She’s a crazy bitch. But,” she shrugs, and flashes him a wicked smile, “She’s my kind of crazy.”

  A concerned look crosses Pax’s face, and Charlie sighs. Leans forward and pours another glass of wine. “Don’t do that thing.”

  “What thing?” he asks, confused.

  “That thing you do where you worry needlessly. I’m not here because I need you to worry about me.”

  “Why are you here?” He asks softly.

  Charlie rolls the wine glass between her palms, staring at it and the swirling red. “Because I have nowhere else to go, and because I need your help.”

  His eyes widen and she licks her lips. Leans forward, watching Pax’s eyes dip down, hungrily, for a split second before they come back up.

  “He shouldn’t have left you like that, Char. It wasn’t right.”

  “It is what happened, though. I’ll be fine. I just—I need some help.”

  “Anything.”

  She hesitates, just long enough that Pax breathes a curse, and moves to sit next to her. He takes the wine from her and places it on the table and pulls her up by her hands. “Charlie. Anything. Tell me what you need and it’s done.”

  “It might not be legal,” she says, slightly apologetic.

  Pax makes a dismissive noise in his throat, and she gives him a slow smile.

  “Money. I need my money invested.”

  He grins, “I am very good at that, sweetheart. How much? Do you have account numbers?”

  She stands and walks to the door, grabbing the rolling suitcase. She rolls it to him, and touches it with two fingers. “I
don’t have account numbers. But I do have seven hundred and fifty thousand. In cash.”

  *

  The beautiful thing—the only real asset he has, actually—about Pax, is that he doesn’t demand answers. Even as she explains that she has three quarters of a million dollars in big bills sitting in his living room, he doesn’t demand to know where it came from. When she tells him that she wants it invested in a diverse portfolio with minimum risks and plenty of reward, he doesn’t ask why. When she names a Swiss bank—the same one her mother used for her personal accounts that Travis knew nothing about, the accounts she inherited—his eyes go a bit wild and worried, but he pushes through, scribbles the info down and nods.

  When she says she needs it done in forty eight hours, he kisses her cheek, and goes to his office.

  EJ had doubts, and she had been worried, briefly. But coming to Pax was not only one of their few options—it was the best.

  Because eventually, Jacobs would talk to the cops. Or he would come after them—she could see that in EJ’s eyes every time she looked at her friend.

  Charlie finishes her wine, and stands, grabbing her second suitcase—the one with clothes instead of cash—and goes down the hall to Pax’s guest room.

  The room is, like the rest of the apartment, sleek and modern and lovely. A big bed black with silver accents, a dresser made of clear glass and shiny black handles. A black fan turns lazily, and throws flickering shadows. A wide floor length window yawns to the right, and she hits the light, stripping out of her jeans and bra in the darkness before crawling into bed. EJ shifts as she settles on her side, and Charlie blinks in the darkness at her.

  “Will he help?” she asks, and Charlie hears the worry that no one else would.

  “Yes.” Charlie says simply, and a tiny sigh, heavy with relief, slides through the other girl.

  “You promised me a story,” Charlie says, and EJ nods. Her eyes are shadowed in the darkness of the room. From below, the city lights stream in, weak and unfocused.

  Here, everything else is stripped away, and there is only the brutal honesty.