Beguiled (25 page)

She passed down the aisle, a bailiff guiding her by the arm. The photographers in attendance called her name. “Rylee, this way. . . .

Look over here, Rylee. . . . Give us a smile, Rylee. . . . Rylee, did you do it . . . ? How do you feel?”

She was pelted by words the way a bride is with rice, only she was heading to the seat of judgment, not to a happily ever after.

“Rylee.”

One voice among the many registered. She turned to her left, and there was Logan, half standing in a chair on the aisle, his hand extended. The bailiff moved between them, leading her toward the defense table. She couldn’t reach out to him except with her eyes.

When the cuffs were removed and she was seated, she turned in her chair to look at him. He smiled uncertainly, his balled fist telling her to stay strong. He mouthed words that she couldn’t make out but that comforted her anyway.

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Everyone stood. She faced the black-robed judge, the man who would decide her immediate fate.

Five minutes had barely passed when the surreal charges— grand larceny and criminal trespass—ended with a very concrete number indeed. Setting bail at fifty thousand dollars, the judge gaveled the hearing to a conclusion, setting off a chain reaction of flash photography in the gallery.

She remained still in the sea of reaction, stunned by the number.

Karl leaned close, his eyes holding none of the warmth she’d been accustomed to receiving from him. “A bail bondsman will require ten percent. Do you have five thousand dollars, Rylee?”

She stared so hard her eyes burned. She had it, but that money was for Nonie’s bills. Money she couldn’t afford to squander. She bit her cheeks to hold the tears at bay. She’d have to stay in jail until her trial. She had no other choice.

“I don’t,” she whispered.

The bailiffs moved to escort her out. She stood, trying to hold herself together long enough to exit the room. Just before she passed through the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. Logan stood in the front row, gripping the railing. Their eyes met.

Don’t worry,
he mouthed.

The bailiff nudged her across the threshold. The door slammed firmly behind her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Five grand. The figure took Logan aback. No way would Rylee have money like that at her fingertips. At his salary, given his spending habits, he didn’t, either.

But his father did. All he’d have to do was work up the nerve to ask.

He wove his way through the departing crowd, turning his phone on once he reached the courthouse steps.

After a half-dozen rings, his mom finally picked up. “Hi, sweetheart. I have some brisket marinating. You wanna come over for dinner?”

He glanced at his watch. “Dinner? Actually, brisket sounds really good, but I have plans tonight. Can I take a rain check?”

“Of course. You are still coming to church, though, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “Eighth row from the front. I’ll be there. But, hey, is Dad around?”

“He’s right here grabbing for the phone. Hang on.”

“Son? I was just watching the local news. They’re saying they caught the Robin Hood burglar and it’s a woman.”

“They’ve charged a woman, yes. But she didn’t do it.” He unlocked his car and slipped into the seat.

“How do you know?”

He took a deep breath. “I was with her.”

“The Robin Hood burglar!”

“Like I told you, she didn’t do it.”

He heard a door open and close. He pictured his dad moving to his outside sanctuary on the deck. The place he went when he didn’t want to be overheard.

“You’d better start from the beginning,” he said.

Driving out to his folks’ place on James Island, Logan told the whole story, from his scamper up the Confederate Memorial to the scene outside the Davidson house this morning and the court hearing. He didn’t gloss over the fact that he’d spent the night outside Rylee’s apartment, but he didn’t go into details, either. By the time he finished, he was on the island and only a few minutes from the house.

“You slept with this girl in your car?”

“You’re missing the big picture,” Logan said. “And anyway, we were just sleeping.”

“What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how that’s gonna look to people?”

“I know how it looks, but you believe me, don’t you?”

A pause. “Of course I do. But it’s not me you’re going to have to convince.” He could imagine his dad on the deck, peering through the glass doors into the kitchen, where his mom was busy preparing dinner. Always a mind reader, Dad added, “I don’t just mean your mother, either. Are you gonna go in front of a judge and say, ‘Your Honor, she was with me, but don’t worry—nothing happened’?”

“At the time, I wasn’t expecting to be her alibi.”

“No,” Dad said. “It’s funny how private things have a way of not staying private.”

Logan pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition. He cut around the side of the house, letting himself through the gate. He found his dad sitting in one of the teak outdoor chairs, the portable phone still in his hand.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Settling in, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Here’s the thing, Dad. About this girl. She’s . . . special. Forget about the burglaries, the police, the story, whatever. There’s something about her. . . .”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just that . . .” He struggled for the right words. “I like her, Dad. Only it’s a lot more than liking. She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s more than that. There’s a depth to her. The way she cares about people—”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you think she might be the one?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. But yeah, I think there’s a chance she is.”

“Even if she’s mixed up in this Robin Hood case? Because you don’t know with one hundred percent certainty that she didn’t do it. If what you said is true, she could have left you in the car and had plenty of time to break into that house.”

He shook his head. “I
do
know. I just can’t prove it.”

It was a lot for Dad to take on board all at once. He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. “Do you think . . . Son, is there any way this girl could be manipulating you? Using you to hide her involvement, I mean? The way she made a point of bringing you to the house last night, maybe she wanted you to be her alibi.”

“If you knew her, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“The thing is . . .” Rubbing his hands on his jeans, Logan took a deep breath. “I need some money, Dad.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Money?”

“Yeah. About five thousand dollars.”

“That’s a mighty big chunk a change.” Dad templed his fingers over his belly, fixing Logan with a skeptical gaze. “Can I ask what it’s for?”

“Bail.”

The splash of the water feature over Logan’s shoulder underscored the awkward silence between the father and son.

“Why you?” Dad asked finally. “I know you like her, but paying her bail? In my day we never did that kind of thing after only one date.” He frowned. “Seriously, why isn’t her family bailing her out?”

“She’s an orphan. Her only relation is her grandmother, who’s not all there mentally. She lives at Bishop Gadsden. Neither of them have money.”

“That’s a pretty pricey place.”

He looked down at his shoes. “That’s where all her money goes, I think. She lives out on Fleming Street, Dad.”

His father studied him. “And your editor? How’s she gonna feel about you getting involved in the story like this? I thought there were rules about that sort of thing.”

Standing, Logan walked to the edge of the deck. “Please, Dad.

I’ll pay you back.”

After a long moment, his dad stood. “Let me get online and move some money around, then I’ll write you a check.”

Logan slid his eyes shut. “Thank you.” .

Logan parked on Chalmers Street, then rounded the corner on foot, heading for the People’s Building, the city’s original skyscraper dating from the early 1900s. The first building in town with an elevator. All office space and high-priced condos now.

He’d browsed in the ground floor of Martin Gallery before but never ascended higher to the mezzanine level, where the offices of Sebastian, Lynch, & Orton llp were located.

In the lobby, he looked at the check again. Since he couldn’t be sure of finding a bank open, he’d asked his dad to make it out directly to the firm. He took the stairs, hoping Karl would be there.

Behind a pair of thick oak doors, he found himself facing a sleek, horseshoe-shaped reception desk, a grouping of tufted leather settees in the corner and an office devoid of life. He glanced at his watch. Six o’clock.

He made his way across the marble-floored lobby and into the bowels of the office. Halfway down the hall, a door stood open, the name karl sebastian on the plate. Peering inside, Logan was pleased to observe a tiny slice of office, hardly bigger than his own cubicle.

Tapping on the door, he pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside. Nobody home.

“Sir?”

Logan whipped around.

A lanky guy in bike shorts and a canvas messenger bag handed him a brown padded mailer. “This is for you.”

Logan took the package without thinking. “Thanks.”

He turned it over. No addressee. No return label. No markings whatsoever. Before he could ask who the mailer was from, the courier was gone.

Logan glanced at Sebastian’s desk, willed himself to deposit the package there, but his curiosity got the better of him. He worked his finger under the padded envelope’s flap and tore it open. An old, dried-leather dog collar tumbled out. He picked it up off the carpet. It was well worn, studded with dainty turquoise rivets. The name on the tag read
Butterscotch.

I don’t get it.
He looked inside for some accompanying explanation. A slip of paper rested at the bottom of the envelope. He slid it free. In block letters, the sheet held just two words.

you’re mine.

His heart rate picked up. What was this? The sharp, heavy writing dug into the paper, as if the author had been angry enough to go over the words many times.

Was this some kind of threat? All he could think was that Butterscotch belonged to one of Rylee’s clients—only the collar seemed so old.

“Where did you get that?”

Logan spun around to find Karl at the threshold of the opposite office, his posture rigid, a sheaf of papers under his arm.

Logan shrugged. “Some guy just handed it to me.”

The lawyer snatched the collar, then took the note, too. “Well, it’s mine.”

Everything about Karl—the fit of his suit, his antiqued leather shoes, his too-perfect tan, and especially the fact that Rylee catered to him—irritated Logan. His rudeness was icing on the cake.

Logan smiled. “He said it was for me.”

“Obviously a mistake. What are you doing here? This is a private workplace.”

Logan didn’t appreciate his tone, but he hadn’t come here to fight. He might not like the guy, but for Rylee’s sake he had to work with him. Fishing in his shirt pocket, Logan withdrew the folded check. “I was bringing you Rylee’s bail.”

Karl smiled thinly. “I’ve already posted it. And even if I hadn’t, you’re the last person I’d let her accept money from. Now get out of this office before I call the police.”

Throwing a punch would do no good and plenty of harm. Logan was still tempted. The arrogant, entitled idiot thought he could say and do whatever he liked, and it was about time someone disabused him of the notion.

It couldn’t be Logan, though, not now. The important thing was getting Rylee out of jail, and it hardly mattered how that happened. If anything, he should feel relieved, since his dad had written the check grudgingly, sure he was getting his son in deeper when he ought to be getting him out.

“I’ll see myself out,” Logan said.

“Do that.”

“Tell Butterscotch I said hello.”

He didn’t turn to see the expression on the lawyer’s face.

You’re mine. You are mine. You belong to me. I own you.

Logan turned the words over in his mind, and no matter how they ended up, the menace remained. Someone was threatening Karl Sebastian. Maybe even blackmailing him. Only he couldn’t work out why, or what a desiccated dog collar had to do with anything. Maybe Rylee would recognize the name.

He sat at his desk, staring at the legal pad in front of him, where he’d scored the two words into the paper in his best approximation of what he’d seen.

Something buzzed under his desk where he kept Rylee’s messenger bag. Lifting the flap, he found her phone, the screen lit to display a new text message. There were three total, all from Liz, who’d also called twice.

He shook his head. After being arrested and plastered on all the news stations, the only person trying to call and check on Rylee was her next-door neighbor. Even her grandmother hadn’t bothered. Of course, the elderly woman probably didn’t even know what was going on.

Maybe he should let her know. Would Rylee want that? He thumbed through her contact list, looking for the nursing home’s number. Most of the stored names belonged to pets, not clients. To call the Davidsons, Rylee would punch Toro’s name. He smiled.

There was an exception, though. Grant Sebastian. His finger paused when he saw the name.

Why not?

He hit the send button.

Grant answered after the first ring, his voice paternal. “Rylee.

You’ve been released, then? Are you all right?”

Logan cleared his throat. “Actually, this is Logan Woods. I’m a friend of Rylee’s.”

A pause. “Yes. I know who you are, Mr. Woods.”

“I was wondering, sir, when you were going to be back in Charleston. Rylee’s in hot water, and she could use your help.”

“My plane has just touched down in Charleston,” Sebastian said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “We haven’t even made it to the gate yet.”

Logan straightened. “You’re back? So I take it you’ll be assuming her case?”