One Last Hold (18 page)

Or something worse? Maybe more murders?

“Is everything okay?”

When she stepped toward him, he shook the magazine in her direction. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“What?” She recognized the magazine. His picture graced the cover as he stood beside his stock car, his team in the background. She hadn’t had time to read it, but she’d written it and nothing would be changed without her authority. “I thought it was good.”

“Good? I can’t believe I trusted you!” He wheeled around and hurled the magazine across the room. It slapped against the bar and hit her glass and the bottle of wine. They all shattered to the floor. The resonance of the glass striking the tile augmented the tension in the room. Dark purple liquid spread over the tile, staining.

Caitlyn’s breath froze. She stumbled back a step.

Why was he so angry?

His nostrils flared as he glowered at her. She opened her mouth, licking her lips as she wondered what in the world she would say. What could she say? She had no idea why he was so upset.

“I…I haven’t read it yet,” she stammered. Maybe this was all a big joke on his part.

“You wrote it,” he interrupted, his voice sounding calm but holding an edge. “You know what it says.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what?” He took a step forward and stopped. She shrank into the door, her fingers curling into the frame. “Didn’t mean to destroy me?”

Her lungs constricted and she opened her mouth again but couldn’t force out any words. His steps ate up the distance between them and he stopped inches from her. A vein throbbed in his neck as his face hovered near hers.

“I can’t believe I trusted you.” This time his voice was calm. Steady. Low. Deep. Her nerves retaliated with a tremor. “I only hope no one reads that trash of yours.”

He pushed her out of his way and stormed out, making sure the door crashed behind him.

She stood there a moment, staring at the door and hoping it would open back up and he would waltz in, laughing at her. “I was just joking,” he would claim, and wrap her in his arms.

But that wasn’t going to happen. She went over in her mind what might have upset him but couldn’t think of a plausible answer.

Her thighs trembled as she sidestepped shards of glass and bent to retrieve the magazine from the floor.

Caitlyn attempted to sop up the wine with a towel, flicking shards of glass away. Pieces nicked her, but she didn’t care. Her soul had already been nicked.

Why would Wesley come all this way in such anger? She hadn’t mentioned his past. Favorite colors, hobbies, and how important racing was to him were the only personal things mentioned. She’d given no indication of his family at all. As far as the story was concerned, he could have been brought by a stork.

Hands trembling, Caitlyn finally got up the nerve to open the magazine. She thumbed through the pages and found the article. The beverage she craved earlier now an ingredient of the pages. She sank to the floor and curled into a ball, the words she read revolting her stomach.

No wonder Wesley was furious.

No wonder he hated her.

*

Caitlyn stood at Blake’s door, pacing, waiting for him to arrive. She gripped the paper, stained by wine.

She hadn’t slept at all last night. Her eyes were red and puffy but she didn’t care. She’d relentlessly called Blake last night, but he never answered the phone. No doubt he hoped to avoid her.

The words within these pages were not hers.

Wesley’s past, his mother’s death, the pain of everything he’d experienced and things only and she Wesley and Johnson had known were written on those pages. How could Wesley possibly believe that she hadn’t written it?

And yet, it was harsh and demeaning, based on propaganda. The same propaganda he had accused of the media.

And it held her byline.

How could Blake do this to her?

The picture inside was one she’d taken at his house when he wore his shirt. He leaned against his hobby car, arms wrapped around his chest, displaying an arrogant smirk. Blake was not allowed to use any of her photos without permission, and this one made Wesley look like an arrogant ass. Sure, he could be at times, but this photo had all been taken in fun.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and coworkers watched her with worry. When one approached, Caitlyn scowled and waved her away. No one else came close, but she could hear their whispers. They had to know, they had to have seen the story.

She worried Blake might not come in today. He may choose to hide, let her cool off for a while.

But no, he arrived mid-morning. She glared as he approached his door.

“Are you so stupid to think I wouldn’t see this or it wouldn’t bother me?” She shook the magazine still covered in purple and hopefully still littered with glass. She hoped it’d jab Blake when she threw it at him.

She aimed for his chest and he caught it, scowled and captured her elbow. People ogled them, but she didn’t care. Let them see. They deserved to know what kind of man they worked for.

He unlocked his office, escorted her inside then slammed the door behind them. One of his precious wall photos crashed to the floor. He turned on her, his face red. “How dare you confront me in front of my employees!”

“How dare you take my story and completely falsify it,” she countered.

“What is written in there isn’t false.”

“It has my name on it. I didn’t write that! It’s false. I should sue—”

“That must have been a mistake.” He leafed through the pages until he came to the one in question. “We’ll be sure to correct that in the next issue.”

She clutched her throat and kept her fingers on her chest. “You’ll…you’ll be sure to correct it?” Did he think that would fix everything? That he could just correct her byline and this would all go away? Hot anger crashed over her. Disappointment that he could do this and wave it off like nothing. Like things would go back to normal and they’d go back to a good working relationship.

Never.

How could you do this to me?”

“I’ll correct the author byline right now on social media. Then I’ll make a formal correction in next month’s magazine. I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Oh, he was going to be sorry. She wanted to slice him apart right after she quit.

Only now, she couldn’t pursue her new goal if she quit. She planned to find out what his vendetta was. Why he had given her this assignment, and why he was out to get Wesley and his dad.

Without saying a word, she walked out of his office and into hers. But not before knocking another photo from his wall and hearing it crash to the floor behind her.

*

Caitlyn slinked through Blake’s office, determined to clear her name with Wesley. But the evidence she found wasn’t what she expected.

Wesley might not believe she had nothing to do with that article, but he would have to believe something was not quite right when she gave him this information.

Blake’s two-drawer file cabinet was full of information about Wesley’s family.

She glanced around the office, afraid Blake would waltz in at any second and not sure what to do if he did. She didn’t belong in his office, especially in the middle of the night, and it hadn’t been easy to break in. Once she managed to get into his office, she rummaged through drawers in search of a key to the file cabinets.

It hadn’t been easy, but then it had been a lot easier than she’d anticipated.

Her muscles twitched and she jumped when something scraped across the floor.

A mouse? God, please no.

Her flashlight thudded to the ground and rolled, stopping at the box she’d put together for the documents. She kept expecting a hand to reach out at any moment and grab her, so she sat with her back flush against the wall, allowing her a view to the entryway.

She reached over and grabbed the flashlight. The handheld attracted more shadows than it cut, and she wasn’t sure what was worse. The small beam of the light, or no light at all. She shut it off but decided shadowy light was better than nothing. Especially if a mouse roamed.

It was past two in the morning. She was known to put in plenty of late nights, but no one was allowed in Blake’s office. She’d worked open the latch with a small pocket knife and would have no explanation if she was caught.

The wind scratched against the window. She jumped and huddled into her flashlight. Was that the wind? She couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to stand and find out.

She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

She found an extensive amount of information on someone named Jack Forrester, but none of it made sense piece by piece. It was like a puzzle, and she made copies of what she could to take with her and patch together to try to make sense of it. She took other things, information she hoped Blake wouldn’t notice. Information on Johnson Webb.

Newspaper advertisements from over twenty-five years ago, character sketches of Samantha and her family, a picture of Wesley when he was in grade school. And birth certificates of people she’d never heard of.

Cold rushed down her spine when she found a copy of Wesley’s family tree.

Johnson played a part in Blake’s business, but something didn’t make sense. People didn’t keep information about their business partner’s families unless they had ill intentions. And information the cops had found in the deceased home?

Why was Blake infatuated with this family? Was there something about Wesley and his family she didn’t know? Her imagination thumped into overdrive and she wondered if they were in the witness protection program. Wesley was adamant no one know about his past. Was there more to his past than she knew?

Caitlyn was cautious to put everything back where she found it, so it wouldn’t look like anyone disturbed Blake’s paperwork. She placed the key in his desk drawer and wondered why it would be in such an obvious spot in the first place. She wondered if this was the information Chad was killed over and if so, why hadn’t Blake hidden the key more carefully? Did he want someone to find it?

Oh God, was Blake involved in Chad’s murder?

She took as much as she could in one box. Her keychain, which held a small can of mace and her pocket knife, was looped through a finger as she carried the box of copies with her. Her purse slapped against her thigh, and she had to sit the box down in order to lock the door behind her.

Wiping her hands down her pants leg, she stopped over to pick up the box. But that didn’t help her clammy hands as she hurried to her car.

Even during a perfectly normal night, she’d feel wary. And this was no normal night.

Once inside the car and driving home, she kept one eye peeled to the rearview mirror to make sure no one followed.

Chad had been murdered. She had no idea what information he had, but Blake had a file cabinet full of information about Wesley and his family.

She wished Wesley was here with her. Maybe he could offer insight. But how did she know he wasn’t capable of murder? Maybe his mother’s death had done more to him than she realized. How did she know he wouldn’t murder to hide his past? The old Wesley, no, did she really know him? A lot could change.

Once home, she brewed a cup of coffee and studied the documents. By seven, she sent Blake a quick text to tell him she was sick. She didn’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious of her, but no way would she go to work today. Maybe he would think she was still trying to get over her anger.

She worked up the nerve to call Wesley, but of course he didn’t answer. She sent a text.

Wesley? We need to talk.

She paced the floor for an hour before sending another message.

It’s important. I found something you need to know about.

He’s reply was short and succinct:
Nothing to discuss.

She dialed him again. Voicemail picked up, and she called again, three times in a row before he finally answered.

“What?” His animosity stretched over the phone line.

Her voice shook, not at his anger, but at her growing fear. Should she take this to the police? If Wesley didn’t want to talk to her, maybe the police should see this information to compare the information they pulled from Chad’s RV.

“I said, we need to talk.”

Silence.

She didn’t know how much to reveal to him, especially over the phone, but he would never forgive her enough to listen to anything she said unless she came right out and told him what it was about.

She wondered if he’d hung up, but his breath over the phone line pulled at her throat.

“Look, Wesley, I know how pissed you are. I’m pissed, too. Blake admitted to replacing my article but not my byline. I found some information in his office, information concerning Chad and the file folder he had on you. I don’t want to go into details over the phone, but you need to see this.”

*

Tim lent his plane, and Wesley met Caitlyn at a small airstrip outside of Austin.

He didn’t know who to trust anymore. Caitlyn’s article prompted a lot of wavering in the racing community and fans, but he’d received more support than he’d expected.

And yet, none of that mattered to him. Caitlyn had betrayed him. He’d never known for her to be a liar, but a lot of things had changed. She had changed.

Wesley hauled a Banker’s box into the plane as she carried a small suitcase. Indifference had taken the place of hurt and anger, and now he’d like to see what explanation she offered.

The only reason he’d agreed to this was curiosity

Once inside the plane, he dropped the box on the floor and opened the lid. “Is this what you insist is important?”

“There’s a lot of stuff in there. I don’t know what went missing from Chad’s trailer, but I found a family tree. Or at least, parts of a family tree. I didn’t have time to pour over all of it.”

Wesley nodded and replaced the lid. She had been there the night Chad was murdered. He hadn’t known it at the time, but she had watched the race. How did he know she didn’t already know Chad? How did he know she didn’t take this from Chad? Maybe she had waited ten years to destroy his reputation.

“So you think I should believe that Blake killed Chad?”