Leo Maddox (21 page)

She smacked me. “Hey, you don't have to be mean about it.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. I’m not sure what had been going on with Maggie or if it was really just Robby who’d driven her to become so confused, but it made me feel a little better knowing that I wasn’t the only one dealing with drama out their eyeballs. I guess most people get so caught up in their own shit that they hardly notice the shit other people are going through. I needed to pay better attention.

“So,” she said to me, “this older, wiser, very sexy guy told me a couple of days ago that I had to fight for what I wanted—”

“Me?”

“No, Dean.” She rolled her eyes. “You're two months younger than me, silly. Anyway, Dean told me that I shouldn't let the moment pass without fighting for what I wanted. How many times in your life did you say something nasty to Clara, instead of grabbing and kissing her or telling her how much you really cared about her? I'm guessing a lot. Same goes for me. I stuck with Andrew for four years—
four years!
—and now I can't even remember why. So, let's do this. We have to fight for the people we love or else you're going to end up like your father—a cold bastard who has more money than God but nothing to really show for it—and I'll end up a trophy wife in a loveless marriage with someone like Andrew.”

I smiled. This was the first time I’d ever heard her swear. And she had a very good point. The last person I wanted to be was my father. “Did you just say
bastard,
Maggie?”

“Shut up!” She walked around to the other side of my car. “C'mon. Let's go find Clara. We both have some groveling to do. I haven't been exactly nice to her over the years either.”

We climbed in the car. I felt instantly better.

* * *

B
etter didn’t last long. Who knew Clara was some kind of Houdini? I swear to God this wasn’t out of the blue because the girl disappeared without a trace. Twenty-four hours had passed and I hadn’t eaten, slept, showered, or spoken much. I wasn’t even craving alcohol anymore. I’d just turned kind of numb. This wasn’t even about me and my heartbreak anymore—it was about Clara and the fact that we were all seriously worried about her.

Reed had called the credit card company and Clara had to be using cash because her credit card hadn’t been used in a few days. No one—seriously, no one, and Maggie had asked everyone—had seen her since she went missing.

I tried calling her and messaging her on Facebook. Then, at my lowest and my most desperate point, I wrote her the sappiest email ever and sent that. No response. Everything proved to be useless. Clara had disappeared into thin air and part of me, though I wouldn't voice it out loud, feared it might be for good.

After another twenty-four hours passed and I wanted to call the police.

Reed talked me out of it.

“Give it another couple days,” he assured me. “Clara’s her mother’s daughter. Maggie…well, she’s always been more like me. And Clara has Carol’s personality”

It was shocking to hear Reed talking about his dead wife. She was never brought up. Never. Even more shocking was when he mentioned my mom next.

“One time,” Reed continued. “Right before our wedding, Carol and your mother stole my car and drove to Mexico. I was left with the last minute wedding plans and left wondering if she’d even show up at the church. Hell, she was three months pregnant with twins and I was scared out of my mind that I might never see her again. But I did. Carol was there—in her wedding gown, beautiful as ever, walking down that aisle in front of all our friends, like she’d never gone missing in the first place. She smiled at me, told me she loved me, and everything was okay. She told me later that evening that she’d just needed a few days alone to think and make sure she was making her decision out of love rather than obligation since she was pregnant. That was Carol’s style. When things got rough—often she just needed to back off, cool down, and reemerge stronger than ever. And with time, rather than running off to Mexico, I became the person she backed off with. Her safe place, so to speak.”

My jaw tight and my eyes stinging, I nodded. I understood what he was saying. “Thanks, Reed,” I whispered. I knew what I needed to do now.

CHAPTER 18:

A
nother twenty-four hours later and Maggie and I were sitting on a plane, halfway to New York City. After two days of
wallowing
, something in me had snapped this morning. Suddenly I felt confident and excited all over again. What Reed had told me about Clara’s mom resonated deep inside me. I’d started to believe that Clara would come home, but more importantly I had shit to do to prepare for that moment. Some things needed to happen first.

“I have an errand to run and then we're going to Brooklyn.”

“That's fine,” Maggie answered.

We'd been forced to fly commercial since my dad currently had the family jet. Worse yet, we were stuck in coach. Sure, I was a trust fund baby with a couple million in the bank—yes, millions but not billions. But since I wasn’t exactly sure what the future held for me in this moment, if I would end up pissing off my dad when I didn’t return to work in the week he’d given me, I decided that spending thousands of dollars on a last minute first-class plane ticket wasn’t practical. I’d never been the least bit conservative with my money, but today that changed.

So for the first time in my life, I was on an airplane sitting in coach. It was cramped, there was a screaming toddler in the row behind Maggie and me, nobody told me food wouldn’t be served so my stomach was growling, but overall it wasn’t too bad. Okay, I lied. It sucked.

But I’d do whatever for Clara.

The plane reached JFK and we hurried through the airport. We hadn't brought bags and our return tickets were booked for a flight home in six hours. We were pressing our time and our luck.

Outside the airport, I claimed a yellow taxi from the long line that waited by the curb. I preferred having my own driver, but there wasn’t any time for that and I didn’t want my dad knowing I was in the city. The second the taxi door slammed shut, I pulled a few hundreds out and handed them over to the driver.

“I'm going to need your services for the whole day. Well, roughly five or six hours.”

The driver stared wide-eyed at the wad of cash in my hands.

“Is that gonna be cool?” I demanded.

The man nodded. “Whatever, man.”

“Good. Now head to Harry Winston. Fifth Avenue. And, please, drive as fast as you can.”

“Are you kidding me?” Maggie shouted, choking and gasping for a decent breath of air. “Harry Winston! As in the jeweler, HARRY WINSTON?”

Dramatic much?

“Relax and buckle your seat belt,” I deadpanned.

The taxi driver zipped the car into traffic, causing Maggie’s body to lurch into the door. Her eyes widened and she hurried to buckle her seat belt. Then she returned to scolding me. “You're nuts! You can't be serious about this.”

There was only one reason a guy would go to Harry Winston…but a wedding ring wasn’t my intention at all. Hell, if I wanted Clara to run screaming in the opposite direction—kind of like she’d already done—then a wedding ring would be my best bet. And, yes, I had every intention of marrying Clara
one day
, if the stars aligned and she’d let me. But not yet. Right now I had something else in mind. And I may have skimped on the plane tickets today, but I wouldn’t skimp on this.

“I know what I'm doing,” I said, trying to assure her.

Maggie grew quiet after that, but I could tell she was dying to say more. We reached the Upper East Side and Fifth Avenue in record time. Regina stood at the curb, waiting for us just like I’d asked of her earlier. “I won't be long,” I told Maggie and the driver. “I'm dropping something off and then we can head to Brooklyn.”

“No.” Before I could jump out of the cab, Maggie suddenly grabbed hold of my arm. “I don't trust Regina.”

“What? You've never mentioned this before.”

“I know. She's probably a great assistant and I have no clue what you need
her
to do for you at Harry Winston, but I don't trust her.”

“Okay then,” I simply said, shrugging. I trusted Maggie so if she didn’t trust Regina then I couldn’t let her anywhere near this project of mine. It was too important to gamble on. I stepped out of the car.

“Hi, Mr. Maddox.” Regina smiled. “May I ask why I’m standing in front of Harry Winston?”

“I’m sorry, Regina. I’m sorry you came all the way over here, but I don’t need your assistance after all. You can head back to the hotel.”

She turned in a huff and hurried away. I’d never seen her do anything that wasn’t completely proper and lady-like. Maybe there was something behind Maggie’s suspicions. Who knows? I didn’t have time to dwell on it though. I had an appointment with a jeweler.

* * *

A half hour later, I came out of the store empty-handed.

“Did you get what you needed?” Maggie demanded as I returned to the car.

I sat back in my seat, relaxing a little. “Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“It's not ready, but I called Great-Grandma Bunny, since you don't trust Regina. She said she'd be able to pick everything up and meet us back at the airport.”

Maggie laughed. “She's ninety!”

“She's fine.” My great-grandma loved me more than anyone else on earth. And I knew this because she was mean as hell to everyone but me. She would do anything for me. And, even at ninety, she was lucid as I was.

I leaned forward and told the driver, “The Alligator Lounge in Brooklyn.”

Time to go find Stephany.

Maggie shot me a look like I’d just told the driver to take me to a strip club, but she didn’t say anything as the cab made its way across town.

“Let me do the talking,” I insisted when we stepped out of the cab and paused outside the bar. I glanced upward to the canvas sign hanging above us. It’s funny how different things look the second time around—always less glamorous somehow. Or maybe daylight always has that kind of an effect on bars. “You stand there and look pretty,” I told Maggie, turning my attention back to her and raising my eyebrows.

“Hey now,” she barked, pretending to be offended.

“You know what I mean. And if it comes to it...do your thing.”

She nodded, knowing exactly what I meant.

When I was in the right mood, and I could control my anger, it was easy for me to manipulate people with my words. And when she felt like it, it was easy for Maggie to manipulate using her looks.

We ventured inside. The place was slow since it was a Thursday afternoon. And as my eyes settled on the bar, I noticed my favorite bartender working today. Yippee. This was going to be fun. So fun. I approached the same guy I’d argued with over Clara’s seat the first time I stepped foot into this place.

“I’m looking for Stephany Mallory,” I said to him. No use beating around the bush.

“Not here,” he answered. God, he was an even bigger douche than I remembered.

“And when is she working again?” I asked, a little anger seeping into my voice. “Tonight? Tomorrow? Steph's friend is missing—the girl with the purple hair, the one you met the other night—and we could really use your help.”

The bartender shot Maggie a confused look. “Look, man,” he said, his eyes shifting nervously back to mine. “I think you should leave. I can't give out personal information like that. Is there some sort of
special
place I can call for you?”

“What?”
I asked, growing enraged. He said ‘special’ like he meant mental hospital.

I wanted to throw him in a mental hospital.

Maggie giggled—all giddy and light. And I knew it was
game on
. No more wasting time. She could see that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this douche…and so she took over.

“Leo means my twin,” Maggie said, acting innocent. She fingered a strand of her hair, tilting her head like a life-sized doll, giving him a giant smile. “There are two of us, silly. And I would never dye my hair purple.”

“Oh,” the bartender answered, smiling back at her. “Gotcha.” Then he winked. Ew.

I huffed, giving Maggie a staged glare and then turning my evil stare at the guy. “Can you fucking help us or not?” I grunted.

“Not,” the guy said flatly.

I turned and left the bar in a huff.

Maggie could be a vampire—because she could compel the shit out of people. Maybe the girl would get all tongue-tied around her sister, but around an unsuspecting boy—she could turn lethal. Witnessing it in action kind of freaked me out and I got pissy on purpose with the bartender just so I had an excuse to wait outside. I couldn’t watch her be so fake.

Her niceness, enhanced by her pretty face, was why everyone liked her so easily. But just like I played up my arrogance and Clara played up her indifference—Maggie played up her sweet and innocent act.

I guess we all had something to hide. Frankly, though, I was kind of over all these bullshit facades we were putting on.