Caught in the Frame (13 page)

It was a good plan—one people would enjoy—but one that required her to get creative. Luckily, EV’s cell was burning up with a slew of text messages detailing all of the goings-on back home, and though the residents of Ponderosa Pines fancied themselves above most of the high-tech nonsense, they were all just as hooked on social media as the rest of the country.

Although Chloe typically followed up on leads gleaned from sites like Facebook and Instagram in person, she figured one column of recycled information wouldn’t hurt anyone. Everyone else was occupied with their own tasks at the moment, and since Nate still didn’t know about her secret job title, it was as good a time as any to get it out of the way—one less thing she’d have to worry about.

After scouring the web for useful information, Chloe combined her findings with the texts EV had deemed useful to pen a short but informative column.

Hey Piniacs, are you ready to dish? Looks like we’re rudderless without our fearless leader. Miss Grapevine herself is off living it up in style at an Irish castle. Hope she and her sidekick are having a great time. We’re all on the edge of our seats wondering about Lila LaRue’s new fiancé. Hope they’re taking lots of pics for us homebodies!

Meanwhile, back on the ranch,
Lottalia
are making folks uncomfortable everywhere they go—can’t sisters just get along? It’s old news that Lofty Lottie has always lorded over little ‘sis; guess she’s having trouble now that Teeny Tallie’s grown a monster-sized pair. Maybe what’s private should remain behind closed doors, huh ladies?

Chloe pushed aside the modicum of guilt she felt at calling out two people she actually considered friends, especially one who was doing her a big favor at that very moment. Still, their antics were getting out of control, and she was just carrying on the decades-old tradition of unrelenting snark Wesley expected of her. Besides, maybe a little public humiliation would encourage Lottie to back off her newly-widowed sister.

By the time the task was complete, Chloe felt a weight lift from her shoulders; partially because she could now focus on what was in front of her, but mostly because she had made the decision to come clean with Nate, and let him know that she was the author of ‘Babble & Spin’. She only hoped he wasn’t too mad at her for keeping the secret in the first place.

Just about to power down her laptop, an errant thought struck Chloe. She checked her watch; Lila and Javier were occupied with couples-only wedding tasks, so she had at least an extra half hour to herself, and decided to put it to good use.

What’s your end game, Hannah Frank?

She opened several browser tabs and searched a few keywords related to Hannah Frank, HF Designs, and the scandal that had ejected her from Hollywood’s inner circle.

If there was one area in which the woman excelled, it was public relations; the entire first two pages of every phrase Chloe searched turned up links to Hannah’s wedding planning website, her Twitter and Facebook accounts, and several newer reports touting her many achievements. Since most people didn’t bother to click any further, prospective clients were likely to miss the scathing articles and reviews that followed. Chloe wasn’t most people; gossip was her bread and butter, so she scoured Hannah’s Facebook page and found even more evidence of a cover-up.

Her company, HF Designs, had undergone an overhaul; it used to be called Hannah Frank, Inc. Still based out of Los Angeles, the new site merely hinted at celebrity clients, focusing mainly on showcasing Hannah’s exceptional event planning skills. She was obviously focused on rebuilding; Lila LaRue didn’t qualify as a celebrity in most circles, but her vast resources would enable Hannah to display recent work on a Hollywood-worthy wedding. If only she could edge her way into the planning process.

The question was, why was she ousted in the first place? Sure, celebrities could be fickle, but a scandal of the caliber Lila described had to be based on more than just a minor infraction. With a little more time for research, Chloe was sure she could turn up something juicy—time being the one thing she lacked right now. Switching tactics, Chloe tapped out a hurried email request to Wesley, her editor back in Ponderosa Pines, whose research skills rivaled her own. In a series of short sentences, she told him what she needed, gave him the links to the sites she’d already searched and asked him to do the legwork.

Lila had a lot going on at the moment; this was something Chloe could do on her own. Well, with a little help from her friends, anyway.

* * *

“How much do you love me?” Chloe asked with unusual sweetness.

EV grimaced and quirked her right eyebrow. “Enough. What do you want?” She sipped a cup of Irish tea, her hair blowing in the cool breeze wafting against the suite’s west-facing balcony as a dazzling sun set over the horizon. In the distance, a brilliant blue lake kissed the shining rays, coloring the sky in pink and purple stripes. EV tore her eyes away from the scene reluctantly, and shot an inquiring look at her friend. Chloe was distracted, barely noticing the picturesque view that lay before her.

“A small favor. Could you get Lila away from the suite for a few hours around dinner time—distract her so I can have some alone time with Nate.”

“Seriously? You guys are like bunny rabbits.” She rolled her eyes, but behind her rueful facade she was genuinely happy. EV had never seen Chloe this ecstatic about a man; it was a good look for her. But, for crying out loud, how much alone time did those two need?

Chloe swatted her arm playfully. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I need to talk to him is all. It’s time I told him my secret. He should at least know what I do for a living—if you can call it that—if we’re going to pursue a real relationship. And I trust him. I just hope he understands why I didn’t say anything before.” Whether she was required to or not, lying was lying, and she knew Nate valued honesty above all other virtues.

“I’m guessing he’ll get it. I’d be more concerned that he’s pissed about you referring to him as
Inspector Hottie
all the time.”

“Yeah, on second thought, maybe I’ll just keep my lips zipped.” Chloe had heard Nate complain about the term of endearment several times, and was mildly ashamed at the fact that she had continued to do so mostly just to irritate him. She figured he deserved it, after letting her believe he was dating a woman who turned out to be a co-worker and friend. Jealousy did not become her, and Chloe’s angry response had set them back even further before Dalton had clued her in on the truth.

“Well, maybe butter him up a little bit first, then. I’ll take care of your mother.” After Lila’s reaction to the warning about her
fiancé
, EV wasn’t keen on the idea of spending the evening with the two of them alone. “You’ll owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Add it to my bill.” Chloe waved a dismissive hand.

Chapter 14

Was it really hacking into the system if he was the one who designed it? Gray area, but when family is on the line, you do whatever it takes. Javier’s fingers flew over his laptop keyboard while he tamped down the twinges his conscience kept throwing at him. Baylee’s last text before silencing her phone said she was in place, so he keyed in the sequence to unlock Remy Vincent’s room remotely, and started the countdown on his watch.

They’d given themselves a five minute window. Javier pictured Baylee slipping through the door, flipping on the light, rifling through Vincent’s things to find something—anything—that would prove he was the identity thief responsible for framing Tomas and destroying his life.

Four and a half minutes left.

He marked the time, starting the countdown to the next stage of the plan. Baylee had one minute to orient herself, then be ready for the room safe to unlock in four, three, two—Javier tapped the enter key. Now she would be pulling open the door, rifling through the contents, and clicking photos of anything she found. He waited the allotted two minutes before reengaging the lock. Two minutes more for her to check the rest of the room and get out.

Time crawled past while he waited, finger poised to execute the command that would lock the door behind her—all the while knowing that for Baylee, the same five minutes must be whizzing past.

When the digital timer clicked to zero, Javier pushed the enter key with an unsteady finger. Baylee had agreed to a second foray if this one turned up nothing, but Javier wasn’t sure he could do it again. If this much adrenaline was surging through his veins, how much more would be turning Baylee into a jittery mess?

Javier spent another five minutes erasing all evidence that Vincent’s lock had been activated from the system. Baylee should have checked back in by now. Cold dread settled into his belly when he pinged her cell and got no response.

Now what? Should he stay here and prepare to clear the history if she had needed to trigger the lock again, or should he go look for her?

It was already too late, but Javier had no way of knowing that.

* * *

Baylee checked the hallway in both directions, watched the red light on the video camera flicker and go out. To her right, the soft click of the door lock deactivating sounded louder to her ears than it should have. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure the coast was still clear, she slid inside. All the rooms in this section were laid out the same, only the fabric and paint choices differentiated one from another.

Bathroom to the right, closet to the left. Beyond that, a small seating area took up the left side of the room, with a compact executive workspace in the far corner. A king-sized bed flanked by a pair of nightstands rested along the right hand wall. The nightstand closest to the door contained a small safe. That was the most likely place to find what she was after, but to be thorough, she quickly checked the closet and desk area for a laptop or briefcase that might hold additional evidence.

Finding neither, she turned to the safe, counted down the seconds until the lock clicked open.

Javier had been right, this Remy Vincent character really had been behind everything that had happened to turn her husband’s life—and hers, by extension—into a smoking ruin. She spread the documents on the floor, snapped several photos of them, then packed it all back into the safe, being careful to conceal any evidence of the search.

With thirty seconds to go, Baylee flipped the door that concealed the safe closed, and double-checked that nothing appeared out of place. Satisfied, she exited the room.

Adrenaline rushed through her—narrowing her focus to a small point while everything else blurred, quickening the breath in her body—that was the only excuse she had for not noticing Remy standing there. When he called out, “Hey, what are you doing?” She let the juice flow through her and took off at a sprint.

Remy gave chase; legs longer than hers eating up the distance. Baylee knew she was sunk. Fumbling while she ran, the pulled the SIM card from the camera; her only thought now was to hide the evidence somewhere she could retrieve it later. He was older, out of shape, so she used the last burst of adrenaline to put on some speed and turned the corner with extra space between them. If she could get back to the more populated area of the castle, maybe someone would help her.

She made it out of the south wing, feet flying down the short staircase that would get her back onto the level of her own room. Turning into the west wing of the castle, she wondered
where was everyone?
Behind her, his feet pounded toward the stairs; getting louder as he began to close the gap.

Scanning the area with frantic eyes, she saw only one possible place to hide the SIM card. She lost a few precious seconds, but when it was done, she knew he would never find it.

The hallway ended in a T. Baylee searched her mind for which direction to take, and that was her fatal mistake. She dodged right, and when the hallway turned left again, found herself racing toward a dead end. There was no way she was going to escape now. She turned to face her fate.

Behind her, Remy panted out the evidence of his lack of physical fitness. Baylee estimated that if she could get past him, she could make it back to the intersection of the T and double her lead.

“What were you doing in my room?” Sweat beaded on his brow from the same exertion that reddened his face and shortened his breath.

Baylee gauged the distance with her eyes, without realizing she had telegraphed her plan. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she launched into a sprint which ended abruptly when he sidestepped to clothesline her. Carpeted, though they were, the heavy stone floors underneath were unyielding, so when Baylee landed, the blow to her head stunned her into complacency. She felt him lift her with more strength than she would have given him credit for, and the world tilted, then grayed to black.

* * *

The next clear thought Baylee had was that someone must be driving nails into her skull. She wished they would stop. Temple throbbing, she tried to lift her hand, to press fingers against the pulsing pain, but something was weighing it down. Her eyes fluttered partially open, then closed tightly again. She cataloged the places where she ached. Her head, her neck, her shoulders. Full awareness returned slowly, bringing with it the memory of a desperate flight ending in pain and darkness.

Remy.