Fatal Beauty (3 page)

Chapter 4

The city is awash in whispers. Police arrived at Charlie's
expensive, too clean mansion, taking pictures and asking questions. She makes a
few appearances, at her father's firm and in her own office, and once at the
club with EJ.

She avoids her friends and the reporters who scream their
questions, as if oblivious to the fact that she's a shattered wreck.

Tre is missing. That is the story that everyone is repeating. That
the brilliant bachelor who won Charleston's reigning queen B has vanished. The
smiles and sympathetic platitudes come pouring in, and so many people call she
eventually silences her phone and turns off her computer. When Jacobs swept
into her living room, he brought with him two burner phones and instructed them
to call him using that phone only.

It’s the only thing she’ll answer, and only because EJ is the
other end of the line.
She can’t quite fathom that Ella Jane Munro has become her lifeline.

The door swings open as she finishes folding her clothes, tucking
them into her Michael Kors luggage that Tre had given her for their honeymoon.
Her stomach pitches unpleasantly, and she puts a hand on the handle of the
leather duffle bag, steadying herself before she turns, a practiced smile on
her face.

Her father stands in the doorway, a scowl furrowing his brow, her
older brother at his side.

Fuck.
They weren’t supposed to
be home for another hour. She licks her lip and glances at her watch.

“Where do you think you’re going, Charlotte?”

Travis Brooks is the best defense attorney in the state. She’d grown
up taught by him and surrounded by the bastards he kept from rotting in jail.
He was reviled—when she was twelve and her Mama got sick, the task of going
through the mail to remove death threats fell on her little shoulders—and so
did the pleasant task of hiding it from her father and her brother.

It was the first time she had to lie to the man who lied for a
living, and she loved it.

“I’m going home, Daddy.”

His gaze hardens, and she tightens her grip on the bag. This
wasn’t her father, the one who spoiled and indulged her. This was the
pitbull
who cowed judges and secured freedom for his
clients even when they had blood on their hands. She forces her shiver down and
lifts her chin.

“I don’t need to stay here. The police cleared the house. There was
no evidence of violence. I want to be there if—
when—
Tre comes home.”

“I’ll go with her, Dad,” Hayes says. “She won’t be alone.”

Charlie gives her brother a scornful glare but he ignores her as
Travis twists to look at his son. His gaze sweeps back to Charlie and she lets
her expression melt into the pouting, hopeful smile she perfected in high
school, and he sighs. “Fine. But I want you with her all night.”

He turns to Charlie and his eagle-eye sharp glare melts into
concern. He hugs her briefly. “We’ll do coffee on Friday, ok, Pumpkin?”

She wrinkles her nose at the endearment, but nods against his
chest.

Continue living like
nothing has changed.

Jacobs had promised to fix everything. Tre would vanish and
nothing would blowback on her or EJ.

How fucking stupid had she been, to call EJ?

The phone in her back pocket buzzes to life and she steps away
from Travis. “I’m going to go to the ladies room, before we go,” she says and
Hayes steps forward to gather her bags.

In the bathroom, with the phone silenced and the door locked, she
glances at the waiting message.

EJ:
Eleven. He said dress warm. Did you get to the house yet?

Her fingers shake a little
as she types back quickly, and then tucks the phone away. Washes her hands and slip
out of the restroom.

Hayes and her father have
retreated. She gives the bedroom—twilight blue and cream lace with black
accents—a quick look. Then she goes downstairs and joins her brother in his
BMW.

It takes less than she
anticipated to drug Hayes. He was attentive and smothering for the first hour,
but ignored her while she crawled into a big bath. When she emerged, he was on
the phone with someone—probably the pretty paralegal she saw him fucking in the
conference room last week.

It was too easy to slip a
sleeping pill into his wine, and wait for him to come to her, looking a little
too flushed and distracted while he swallowed the wine and ate the penne with a
garlic sauce, sautéed peppers and blackened chicken.

And from there, she simply
had to wait.

While he lay snoring on the
couch, she painted her toenails and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

EJ is right on time, and
her eyes are wide and searching as she stands on the porch. “Ready?”

Charlie glances at Hayes,
asleep on the couch, the wine forgotten. Her bags, still sitting in the foyer.
She grabs one, and drops the note with her cellphone on the side table. EJ
motions and a slender black man appears from the darkness. Charlie tenses at
the sight of him, and EJ makes a quieting noise in her throat. “Jacobs sent
him. He works at the Ivy.”

Charlie is skittish but she
doesn’t stop him as he grabs the two suitcases, and puts them in the waiting
car. She glances once at EJ. “This is smart? Trusting him?”

EJ shrugs. “We don’t have a
choice, sugar.”

They had one. The best
defense attorney in the state.

But no way in hell would
she ever allow her father to know she had been a victim. That killing Tre had
been desperate self-defense.

And with that—she grits her
teeth and quietly pulls the door closed.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter 5

The house he tucks them
away in is a gorgeous gothic thing. Curling black metal and dark lacquered
wood, and the feel of something very old.

EJ lifts an eyebrow behind
her aviators, but her expression doesn’t change. The opulent beauty of the
southern mansion might impress her if she weren’t exhausted and more than a
little drunk. Charlie is languid at her side and not for the first time, she
wonders if that third bottle of wine on the private jet had been a good idea.

There is a single
housekeeper, a young, model-pretty young woman with dark skin and darker eyes,
and a disapproving set to her lips.

Charlie gives the girl a
half glance, “We’ll want coffee and then I don’t want to be disturbed until
two.”

The girl bristles, but
Charlie doesn’t even see it. She’s already halfway to the stairs, a wide
curving Gone With the Wind thing that girls like Charlie—and Ella—were born to
descend, preferably in a white dress with an eligible heir on her arm.

Ella makes a face and
Charlie starts up the stairs. “Are you coming?”
 

EJ gives the housekeeper a
chilly smile and stalks to the staircase to follow Charlie up.

The confidence had
reappeared as soon as they hit the airfield. Like everything that had happened
in the past week vanished.

Maybe Jacobs had been
right, to order them out of the city. Part of her wanted to be furious with
him. Another—the larger—part was only too happy to escape the pressures of
Charleston, if only for a time.

“Why do you think he chose
here?” Charlie says, and EJ shrugs. Follows her into a bedroom done in wicker
furniture, black and pale blue. An irritated spark wonders who the hell Jacobs
has doing his interior design, before she remembers that it doesn’t matter.

He’s a tool. A knife that
will cut her just as quickly as she uses it against someone else.

“Jacobs came from New
Orleans, originally. It’s not that surprising, that he still has his hands in
things.”

Charlie makes a soft noise
of assent in the back of her throat, and drops to the bed to pull off her
boots. Her skinny jeans hit the floor next and then the oversized sweater that
hangs off one shoulder, until she’s standing in front of EJ in a black, lace
trimmed
cami
and matching panties and skin that still
shows Tre’s bruises.

Anger flares, hot and
familiar, in her belly and she takes a step back. Charlie’s eyes shutter, and
drop. Her hands clench at her side. “Sorry. Um—“

“Why did you call me?” EJ
blurts out the question before she can really think about it, before she can
hide behind the icy façade she’s so good at. Her gaze snags on Charlie’s, on
the surprise that washes over her like a wave, before her features smooth out
into a familiar barely there hook of her lips.

“Never mind,” EJ says,
before Charlie can respond. She backs up, “I’m going to bed.”

She leaves quickly, and can
feel Charlie’s eyes follow her down the hall, until she ducks into one of the
empty bedrooms. It’s dark, with polished cherry wood and scarlet bedding. It’s
gorgeous and opulent, and as she strips down and crawls into the middle of the
spacious bed, she tries not to feel lonely.

*

For a moment, when the
sunlight hits her eyes, Charlie forgets.

For just a moment, she goes
still and tense, waiting for the footfall that tells her where he is, or the soft
rumble of his snore and the heat of his body.

Once, early in their
relationship, before it became the thing that it was at the end, she welcomed
that heat. It was comforting and familiar.
           

By the end of things—she
shivers, and pushes the thought down. She doesn’t want to think about him, and
how awful things became with Tre. She shifts, rolling to sit up and pushing her
hair out of her eyes as she does. It’s early. EJ will still be in bed—they
didn’t stumble in until so late, it’ll be a wonder if she sees her at all
before five.

But her nerves are
rattling, the fear a familiar jangle, and she stands, padding silently to where
her purse is sitting. Half a joint and four Xanax are in her Tiffany makeup
compact, and she takes one of the Xanax with a grimace. For a moment, she
considers hitting the joint, but she doesn’t.

The hallway is quiet and
empty. The big picture windows at the end of the hall overlooks the wide lawn.
Live oaks and magnolias dripping kudzu and Spanish moss crowd the edges of the
estate, and she can’t see anything past the curving drive. A man is standing
there, smoking as he watches the curve. She shivers and twitches the curtain.

He turns, and she’s aware
of what she’s wearing.

Of how isolated they are.
And how Jacobs is dangerous—his men are dangerous.

A shiver threatens and she
shoves it down furiously.

“Enough,” she mutters. “No
more of this weak bitch shit.”

She takes a deep breath and
shifts, a smile curling her lips as the guard smokes and watches her.

And then she stalks away
from the window.

And tells herself there is
no weakness in crawling into bed next to a still-sleeping EJ.

Chapter 6

“How long does he expect us
to wait?”

It’s been three days since
they arrived in New Orleans and Ella can feel the anxious nerves coming off
Charlie. She sips the lemonade the housekeeper provided with their lunch, and
watches her friend over the rim of her glass. As anxious as Charlie is, it
doesn’t match how annoyed EJ is.

It’s just like Jacobs to
agree to help, hurry them out of the city, and then make them wait.

“Bastard does things on his
schedule,” she say evenly, shrugging.

Charlie grins, a slow thing
EJ has seen her use on every boy she’s ever seduced. Every boy she’s never
fucked. It’s the slow smirk of a girl used to seeing the world bend to her
whim.

It’s as familiar as
breathing, and pulls a smile from EJ.

“Since when do we wait for
a man to tell us when and where to be,” Charlie murmurs. EJ’s eyebrows hitch, and
Charlie uncoils from the chair she lounges in. Arches her back in a languid
stretch. Her gaze glitters with trouble when she comes off her toes and grins
at EJ. And says the two words that have always guaranteed trouble of the very
best kind.

“I’m bored.”

*

They are being watched.
It’s something that registers in the forefront of her mind as they walk through
the Quarter. It straightens her spine and lights a warm heat in her
belly—attention, of any sort, has always been the best kind of aphrodisiac. She
smoothes
the blue silk top over her belly, and
glances at EJ.

It had been surprisingly
easy to talk EJ into leaving Jacobs’ mansion. She’s dressed casually—a pair of
black shorts with scarlet piping in geometric designs that she paired with a
sheer top of the same color. It’s sleeveless with a Peter Pan collar and flirty
bow.

Not that anything about
her, with her straight black hair hanging in a perfect fall around her face,
her lips a slash of scarlet, said flirt.

Next to EJ, Charlie felt
almost approachable. She wore a blue silk top and a black maxi skirt with a
slit up the side almost to her hip and that tantalizing wash of leg every time
she took a step had eyes up and down the street crawling over her as she
walked.

They were being watched,
and both of them reveled in it.

“Where we headed?” Charlie
asks as they sweep past another jazz bar. She throws EJ a quick searching look.

“Jacobs brought me down
here a few months ago—before we started working together,” she adds, before
Charlie can give her a furious stare.

There’s a beat of silence,
and then, “What exactly is your relationship with him, EJ?”

EJ’s lips tighten, and she
takes another two steps before she says, evenly. “Complicated.”

Charlie makes a low scoff
in her throat, but EJ ignores it.

“Come on,” she says,
suddenly, and strides into the street. Charlie follows, a little annoyed that
she’s trailing the other woman like a lost puppy—when the fuck did that
happen?—and catches her before EJ steps into a small bar.

It's off Bourbon Street, a
small quiet little restaurant with a long, polished bar. A tattooed young man
with sharp eyes and a quick smile is standing behind the bar, and he slows to
stare at the girls as they pause, examining it. Charlie peers around curiously,
waiting for EJ to make a move.

When she doesn't, Charlie
makes a huff and scoots past her friend to sidle up to the bar. The bartender
isn't even trying for subtle as he checks her out, his gaze snagging on her
long legs for a moment before he grins into her eyes. "What can I get for
you, ladies?"

"Whiskey sour,”
Charlie says easily, and glances over her shoulder at EJ. "And a vodka
tonic for her."

He slides into motion,
making the drinks with quick, easy movements, completely at home behind the
bar. EJ finally comes to sit next to her, and Charlie nudges her friend with
the toe of her gladiator sandal. "Why here?"

"We came here,"
EJ says, distant.

The words catch the
bartender's attention. "You've been here?" He grins, a friendly flash
of teeth behind a closely trimmed beard. "Welcome back. Where you ladies
from?"

"Charleston,"
Charlie says, and EJ's hand lands on her leg, fingers digging into her thigh
viciously. She swallows her yelp of pain, and keeps her expression smooth,
turning to glance at EJ.

Whatever the other girl
sees in Charlie's eyes, her hand drops away, and her expression wilts. She
takes the vodka tonic with a hand that shakes, just a little, and sips it
almost desperately.

"Far from home.
Y'all
here for a bachelorette party?"

Charlie laughs, before she
can stop herself, and then looks away. "What makes you say that?" EJ
asks.

Confusion ripples across
his face, and he points at Charlie's hand, wrapped around her glass, at the
ring still on her finger. "She's engaged."

She hadn't realized she was
still wearing it. And now, in a city she shouldn't be in, a dead body waiting
to be disposed of, his ring feels like a shackle instead of a promise.

But hasn't that been true
for a long time?

The bartender is still
staring at them, waiting for some response. "We're actually looking for a
friend," EJ says smoothly, propping her elbows on the bar and leaning
forward, into his space. A tiny smirk plays on her lips. "Maybe you can
help us."

Caution flickers in his
eyes, quickly doused by the smile he gives them. "I can try. Who you
lookin
' for,
darlin
?"

"Anthony Jacobs,"
she purrs.

His gaze darts away, to the
side for just a moment, and Charlie follows it. It’s still early for the place
to be busy--there is one other person in the bar, a blond with hair flopping in
his eyes, nursing a beer as he stares at his phone. Ignoring them completely.

Too completely. A tiny
frown forms and she almost says something.

“Haven’t seen Jacobs in a
while. He doesn’t get in much since he moved to Atlanta.”

That drags her attention
back, and she stares at the bartender. He isn’t pretending that he doesn’t know
Jacobs. But he isn’t being helpful either.

EJ murmurs something and he
wanders to the other end of the bar, leaving the girls with their drinks. “Do
you think it’s true?”

“No. But doesn’t really
matter, does it? Jacobs will help us—there’s too much in it for him to not. In
the meantime—“

“We can do whatever we
want,” Charlie says, softly.

EJ makes a soft noise of
agreement, and she sips her drink. “So what do you want to do, Charlie?”

She
let’s
her gaze flick back to the guy in the corner, and catches him watching them.
His lips are tight and when she meets his gaze, he relaxes into a boyish grin,
surprisingly young. He winks at her and she hides her smile. Turns back to EJ.

“Something stupid.”

*

She finds him in the third
bar. By now, Charlie is well and truly drunk, and it’s almost a relief to see
this side of her friend. To see her laughing and relaxed. She’s been worried
about her since that night.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice is low and heavy
with Cajun accent, and it pulls her from her musings back to the bar.

He’s classically handsome,
with a self-deprecating smile and black hair that hangs just a little too long.
He looks nothing like any of the boys she fucks at home, and nothing like
Jacobs.

“Vodka tonic,” she murmurs
and he signals the bartender.

“You here with someone?” He
asks while they wait for their drinks, and she wonders if Charlie would mind
terribly if she vanished for a while.

Stupid. Isn’t that what she
wanted, even before Charlie said it? She wants to forget that Jacobs is
controlling everything, and why they’re here and that everything will change,
when this is over.

And this man, with his
hungry eyes and sharp smile—definitely stupid.

“I’m alone,” she says. The
bartender puts the drink down, and she reaches for it. Holds his gaze as she
sips the icy drink. When she lowers her glass, she leans forward, pulling him
to her lips.

He’s gentle—too gentle. His
lips ghost over hers experimentally, his tongue flirting with hers and she
swallows her disappointment. She pulls back and gives him a flat stare. “No.”
She shakes her head. Finishes the remains of her drink and slides off the barstool.

He catches her by the hand
as she starts away, and her gaze darts back to him, no longer amused. Or
interested. “No,” she grinds out, jerking free.

He’s angry, but he’s a
fucking puppy, and he doesn’t follow her as she slips through the club.

Charlie is on the dance
floor, and EJ smirks as she makes her way to the other girl. She looks fucking
beautiful, and real in a way that she hadn’t been in Charleston. Her hair is
dark with sweat and sticking to her shoulders, her eyes closed as she writhes
to the music.

EJ slips the ecstasy from
her pocket, and swallows it as she come up behind her friend, slipping a hand
around her waist and matching the slow, seductive twist of her hips. Charlie
leans her head back against her, long blond hair falling over EJ’s shoulder.

Something stupid.

Without considering it
further, EJ twists her head, just enough to brush against Charlie’s lips.

She reacts like a live
wire, her entire body tensing against EJ before her hand comes up, twisting in EJ’s
hair and dragging her closer. She catches EJ’s lower lip, nipping just enough
to earn a gasp from EJ. They pull apart and Charlie stares at her with wide,
startled eyes. “What was that?” she asks, too low for anyone to hear over the
music. EJ smirks and shrugs, and dances away, black hair flying.

“Something stupid,” she
yells, throwing Charlie an irresistible grin.